by Lesley Eames
‘Dashed pretty girl that.’
‘Isn’t she?’ Johnnie agreed.
‘Is it serious?’
‘I think so. No, I know so.’
Jenny felt a thrill of joy. Liking had turned to love for her too. But the joy was followed by a pang of anxiety. She really did need to overcome this silly nonsense about Johnnie touching her.
‘Share a cab, old man?’ Rollo slurred, when they finally left the club, but a car screeched to a halt just ahead of them.
‘Crockford!’ the driver shouted. ‘We’re heading to Hawthorne’s for a nightcap. Coming?’
The car was full of giggly young people.
‘Go on,’ Johnnie urged.
‘Sure? S’been a wonderful evening, old man. So nice to meet you, Jenny…’
Martha smiled her goodbyes and steered him towards the car. Room was made in the back and the car sped off.
‘You didn’t mind spending the evening with them?’ Johnnie asked.
‘Not at all. They were great fun.’
‘I thought so too. But now it’s good to have you to myself.’
Oh dear. Drink could make men amorous, Jenny knew.
Johnnie flagged down a taxi, directed the driver to Shepherds Mews and took hold of Jenny’s hand.
‘Did I tell you Maggie O’Hara made a booking?’ she said, to keep him talking instead of kissing.
‘No. But how marvellous.’
‘We took her to a first night at the Prince Rupert Theatre. There were photographers outside and she posed with the silver lady. I know she did it to help us because she winked at me.’
‘Maggie’s a great girl and I’m eternally grateful to her. If you hadn’t gone to see her, we might never have met. That would have been a tragedy.’ He raised Jenny’s hand and kissed it.
Luckily, they’d arrived at Shepherds Mews. ‘Keep the taxi,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s too chilly for you to walk home tonight.’
He wouldn’t attempt a kiss with the taxi driver present. Jenny shivered to emphasise the coldness and he took hold of her hands to rub warmth into them. ‘I’ve had a letter from my mother,’ he told her. ‘She’s coming to London for a few days. With Father.’
‘I won’t see you for a while.’ Jenny was disappointed but of course Johnnie needed to spend time with his family.
‘Actually, I’d like you to meet them.’
Jenny stared at him. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready.
Johnnie raised his hands to cup her face, too intent on what he wanted to say to notice her flinch. ‘You know my situation, darling. I’m not well off like Rollo. Not yet. But soon I hope to be in a position to ask you to do me the honour…’ He smiled. ‘I could snatch you away to Gretna Green, but I want to do the thing properly. Meeting my parents is a step along the way. Do say you’ll meet them.’
Jenny’s heart beat wildly. Her mouth was dry. ‘When are they coming?’
‘In the New Year. I hope you’ll be able to get the time off.’
‘It’ll depend on what bookings we have. Good heavens, how late it is. Thanks for another lovely evening, Johnnie.’
She didn’t wait to be helped out of the taxi but walked briskly to the office door and let herself in. How was it possible to feel joy and terror at the same time? There was nothing Jenny wanted more than to marry Johnnie. But she didn’t feel ready to meet his parents yet.
Johnnie might feel that Jenny fitted into his social circle perfectly, but what would his parents make of their son’s involvement with a former lady’s maid who hadn’t a penny to her name? Would they try to turn Johnnie against her on the grounds of her unsuitability for a man of Johnnie’s class? Perhaps even suggest she was marrying him for the money he’d inherit one day?
In normal circumstances, Johnnie was too good a person to listen to objections about her social class alone. But if his parents saw how Jenny could hardly bear for him to touch her, it might not be so hard for them to persuade him that she was using him to further her ambitions. Somehow she had to overcome this ridiculous aversion, but how?
Thirty-three
Ruth loved Christmas. Despite the cold and long hours of darkness, she felt little bursts of joy when she saw lights strung prettily between trees and lamp posts, or gazed into shop windows which had become treasure troves of toys and festive foods.
Money was still tight, but Ruth bought inexpensive sprays of holly to decorate the office and was thrilled when Johnnie offered to go with her to buy a tree. They spent an enjoyable twenty minutes with Johnnie holding up trees for Ruth’s inspection before she finally selected one. Then they walked home with the tree slung over Johnnie’s shoulder. ‘You need baubles,’ he said, so they went out again for silver baubles and bows which Johnnie insisted on buying as a treat.
The tree looked beautiful by the time they’d finished decorating it and Ruth took some photographs to record their first Christmas at Shepherds Row.
She was delighted when they attended a carol service too, their voices soaring high as they sang about frosty nights and angels while the church glowed in candlelight.
Silver Ladies was busy taking people to parties, balls, pantomimes and concerts. Not wanting to miss out on bookings, and not wanting to spend time with their families anyway, they agreed that only Grace would return to Ruston for Christmas. She left on Christmas Eve and Ruth, Jenny and Lydia shared Christmas Day in Shepherds Mews. Having agreed on modest, useful gifts only, Grace had bought lemon-scented soaps while Jenny had bought stockings. Lydia had bought steak and kidney puddings wrapped up in muslin. ‘They’re useful!’ she protested, when they laughed.
Ignoring their agreement, Ruth had bought gorgeously thick eiderdowns for each of them because even with the oil heaters Shepherds Mews was perishing.
Johnnie had gone to his parents’ house but not before arranging for a Fortnum’s hamper to be delivered to Shepherds Mews. With ham, plum pudding, mince pies, chocolates and sherry amongst the delights, they feasted luxuriously while playing charades and consequences.
They’d all bought small gifts for Johnnie too. Grace had bought gentleman’s soap, Lydia another pudding, Jenny a rather smart tie and Ruth a box of handkerchiefs with a note inside that read, In case of dogs. It was a joke present because one day when they’d been out taking photographs Johnnie had bent down to pet a dog only to have it jump up and lick his face enthusiastically. Having forgotten his own handkerchief, he’d borrowed one of Ruth’s to wipe the wetness away.
Ruth felt relaxed and happy when she returned to work two days later. At lunchtime she wrapped up warmly and took her sandwich into the nearby churchyard where she sat on a bench and shared her meal with the birds that lived there.
‘Come on, little one.’ Ruth placed a breadcrumb on her shoe, and felt a thrill of pleasure as a robin pecked it off.
Shoes came into view. Brown gentleman’s shoes with pointed toes. They stopped in front of her and Ruth looked up, taking in brown trousers, coat and finally red hair and a cruel face she’d hoped never to see again.
‘Rather chilly for a picnic.’ Victor Rabley sat down beside her.
Ruth jumped up, but he caught hold of her sleeve and pulled her back. ‘What way is that to greet an old friend?’ he sneered.
‘What do want? I did as you asked.’
‘It would have been stupid to defy me,’ Vic pointed out. ‘Don’t scowl, Ruthie. I only want a little chat.’
‘You haven’t come all the way from Ruston just to talk to me?’
He smiled nastily. ‘Hardly. I came on other business.’
‘To sell stolen property?’
‘Why be bitter when you’ve cause to be cheerful? I heard you came into money.’
‘A little,’ Ruth admitted.
‘I heard it was a lot. All for you, too. None for your family.’
Ruth didn’t answer.
‘You didn’t tell me about the money. You didn’t tell me you were coming to London either.’
‘I didn’t think it was
any of your business.’
‘Friends talk to each other.’
‘I have to go.’ She jumped up again and this time he didn’t pull her back down.
‘Going anywhere exciting?’ he asked.
‘I have a job, Mr Rabley.’
‘How sensible. We must meet again when you’re not in such a hurry.’
Ruth’s lips curled. ‘We’ll do no such thing.’ She rushed to the gate and looked back. Victor smiled and sent her a wave. Shuddering, Ruth hastened back to the shop.
She was distracted for the rest of the afternoon. Why hadn’t she asked how he’d found her? Even Eunice would have thought it strange if he’d asked for her address and the Turners didn’t move in the same social circles as the Rableys so Ruth couldn’t imagine he’d have heard about her whereabouts by chance. Could it have been just the unluckiest of coincidences that had placed him in the churchyard at the same time as Ruth? London was huge but coincidences could occur anywhere.
If he really had come upon her by chance, Ruth could avoid him simply by staying away from the churchyard. But if he’d tracked her down, it begged the question why? To remind her to keep her mouth buttoned or for some other reason?
Another thought struck her. She’d looked back and seen him sitting on the bench, but if he’d got up afterwards and followed her, she would have led him straight to where she worked. How incredibly stupid!
She’d have to make very sure he didn’t follow her back to Silver Ladies, because who knew what mischief he might make amongst her friends?
Thirty-four
‘So,’ Harry Dellamore said. ‘May I know your name?’
‘Miss Grey,’ Lydia told him.
‘Your first name.’
‘This is a business arrangement.’ A means to an end only. Certainly not a pleasure. 'You don’t need to know my first name.’
‘Agnes? Agatha?’
Lydia scowled at him.
‘Marjorie?’
‘Do you want to play guessing games or win a treasure hunt?’
‘Both.’ Harry had raised the hood on the little Peregrine now it had turned colder. He opened the passenger door and Lydia got inside. ‘Vera?’ he asked.
‘I’m not listening.’
He drove north to the meeting point by Hampstead Heath. Lydia was only here because he’d held out the lure of racing so she was desperate for him to say something about Fairfax Park. But he hadn’t mentioned it when she’d telephoned to say she’d take part in the hunt and he hadn’t mentioned it today. Perhaps he was waiting to see how good a driver she actually was. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been possible to arrange for her to try his car before today as they’d both been busy, but Lydia watched him now to get a sense of how the car responded to the steering and controls.
It was with the same determination to succeed that she’d kept a clear head when she and her friends had celebrated New Year’s Eve last night. It had been a pity they hadn’t had a radio as the chimes of Big Ben had been broadcast for the first time, but they’d watched the hands on Aunt Vera’s silver clock instead and cheered when they reached midnight. They’d wished each other a happy 1924 and burst into ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
‘You’re meeting Johnnie’s parents soon, aren’t you?’ Lydia had asked Jenny, and Jenny had looked slightly sick. ‘If they don’t like you, they’re stupid, Jenny.’
As far as Lydia was concerned, 1924 was set fair to be a wonderful year. Silver Ladies had been much in demand over the festive season and so far bad weather hadn’t interfered with any bookings. The only minor disaster had been a puncture, but their passenger had been Julia Arleigh, who’d treated it as part of the adventure of being back in London. Julia wasn’t a bad sort, considering her mother was a vindictive old witch.
But the business still needed more bookings and Lydia was supposed to be using the treasure hunt to get some.
Once they were through the centre of town, Harry pulled to the side of the road and got out. ‘Scoot over to my side, Mabel,’ he said, grinning.
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him but climbed into the driver’s seat while Harry took the passenger seat. Having seen that Harry’s driving was very good indeed, she had no intention of putting them into a ditch, so she drove off carefully, shocked by the Peregrine’s power but gradually gaining confidence. It was exhilarating to drive such a fast and responsive car.
Harry directed her to the meeting point. ‘Not bad, Doris,’ he said, as they arrived.
Lydia was pleased, but the feeling drained away when she saw the crowd in greatcoats and furs, drinking out of silver flasks and laughing, the men’s voices hearty and the women’s sounding like icy bells.
What was Lydia supposed to do? Barge into the group and say, ‘Book a drive with Silver Ladies’? Grace, Jenny and even shy little Ruth would work their way in with charm, but Lydia would be as subtle as a rhinoceros.
‘Come along, Maude,’ Harry said.
Glaring to show she wasn’t intimidated, Lydia followed him into their midst.
‘Harry!’ someone cried, and he was welcomed with handshakes by the men and cheek kisses by the ladies. No one kissed cheeks in Ruston.
He made room for Lydia. ‘May I introduce my partner for the day? This is Miss Grey. Miss… Gladys Grey?’ His dark eyes danced a challenge which Lydia answered with a scowl.
The names of the other competitors barely registered with her. How stupid she was! She was here to represent Silver Ladies and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
She looked round at the other vehicles. Not all were two-seaters. Some were substantial cars that didn’t look fast at all. Perhaps appearances were deceptive, or perhaps their owners simply wanted an entertaining day out.
Lydia realised someone was talking to her.
‘What a splendid driving coat,’ the girl was saying. ‘It reminds me of a chauffeur’s coat, but it’s much more elegant.’
Here was Lydia’s chance to introduce Silver Ladies, but her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth.
‘Miss Grey has an interest in a chauffeur-driven car-hire business,’ Harry explained smoothly.
She should have been grateful but she didn’t want him to give the impression that she was a rich girl dabbling in business for a lark. ‘I’m a chauffeur.’ These people could either accept her for who she was or go whistle. ‘I drive for a living.’
‘You’re a professional? Goodness, we have some serious competition.’ The girl’s tone remained pleasant.
‘The car Miss Grey drives in business is a silver Rolls-Royce. It looks like something out of a fairy tale,’ Harry said.
‘Does it have a roof?’ the young woman asked.
‘Sure does,’ Harry told her. ‘It’s a limousine and as comfortable as anything.’
‘That’s more than can be said for our little Aston Martin. It may be Charlie’s pride and joy, but without a hood it’s hopeless for most things. Last week I arrived at the theatre drenched with rain and the week before I lost my hat to the wind.’
Harry gave Lydia a nudge. Which meant what exactly? Oh! ‘Would you like a business card?’ Lydia asked the girl.
‘In the interests of your hair and evening clothes,’ Harry added.
‘Thank you, I would.’
Several others took cards too, much to Lydia’s relief. The day was turning out more successful than she’d imagined.
‘Think you can beat us today, Dellamore?’ The speaker was a tall, fair young man.
‘The best team will win,’ Harry told him, bristling with competitiveness.
‘Indeed.’
Clearly, they had different ideas on which was the best team.
‘Who’s that?’ Lydia asked when the fair man walked off.
‘Cranfield. He fancies himself a good driver.’
‘Don’t you fancy yourself a good driver?’
Harry acknowledged the hit with a grin, but Lydia sensed he wanted to beat Cranfield more than anyone else. Lydia had read about society’s
Bright Young Things in the newspaper and supposed Cranfield was one of them, being young and rich with an appetite for fun. All of the people here had that air and Harry was perfectly at ease with them. But was he actually one of them? He was certainly young, being a few years short of thirty. He also appeared to be rich. But he had a sense of purpose too. Not that Lydia cared what he was like except in so far as he could help with Silver Ladies and her dream of racing.
The meeting was called to order. ‘You’re driving to Hertfordshire,’ the organiser told them. ‘There are eight clues and you’ll receive the first of them shortly. Each clue will lead you to the next. Once you’ve mastered all the clues, you’re to race back here. Safely, mind. We don’t want any accidents. Ladies are to drive to the first treasure point and then you’re to alternate. Any cheating will lead to disqualification and we have spies posted along the route, so beware. The first team back will win the treasure.’ He held up an enormous bottle of champagne.
‘I have your first clues here,’ the woman beside him said. His wife, Lydia assumed.
People stampeded for their clues, Harry included, then dashed for their cars. Harry tore the envelope open as Lydia spread a map over the car bonnet. ‘A gentleman in good company with Joan, Mary, Stephen, Francis and others,’ he read out.
Lydia was horrified. She’d expected straightforward clues, not riddles.
A car engine roared into life. Cranfield’s car. Blast.
‘This is a challenge for drivers, not brainboxes,’ Harry said. ‘It can’t be that hard.’
Another engine roared into life. Grgh! Harry had picked her to help him win, not to stand here like a brainless puppet.
‘Joan, Mary, Stephen, Francis and others,’ Harry repeated. ‘Joan of Arc? Mary— Saints!’ he cried.
Lydia looked at the map. ‘St Albans?’
‘Got to be.’
Lydia jumped into the Peregrine and prayed she wouldn’t mess up her driving.
She braked as someone dropped a picnic hamper across her path. Bottles, glasses and foods were scooped up quickly, but more teams got ahead.
