Classic Calls the Shots

by Amy Myers

  No need. He thought it up for himself. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t take it off your invoice.’

  ‘You’re all heart.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, she rates you highly as a sleuth, hence her decision to risk giving you only the slightest hint where the Auburn could be found.’

  I felt better. ‘Are you charging her?’

  ‘Yes, though I doubt it will come to court. She was quite aggrieved about it. Told me the government kept on urging older people not to retire but to continue working as long as they could.’

  Which just left one more outstanding issue. Louise.

  She came back to me at the weekend with eyes shining and with good reason – for her, at least. We loved with great passion that night, although even then I suspected it might be for the last time. The next day we went for a walk through woodland that in May had been thick with bluebells, and now as July opened had a canopy of green leaves so thick there was little light for undergrowth. You need undergrowth for a strong relationship, and that’s what Louise and I would never have while those trees reached higher and higher towards the stars.

  ‘I’ve got the part, Jack,’ she told me. ‘It’ll be in the press soon. It’s going to take me away for at least six months.’

  I knew what that meant. I congratulated her on getting the part. Sincerely, but . . . ‘You’ll be leaving me then.’

  ‘Me or my heart?’

  ‘They’re both the same, my love.’

  ‘The answer is that I don’t know. Perhaps . . .’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  ‘There’ll be someone else sooner or later.’

  ‘Probably, but not you.’

  ‘Will it hurt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For me too.’

  I wanted to say, ‘Then don’t leave me,’ or ‘We’ll work something out.’ But I couldn’t. That’s the trouble with wandering stars. They wander. That’s what they do. If you haul them down to you, they’re not the star you wanted.

  ‘Come back some day, Louise.’

  ‘I will.’ A pause. ‘Come with me, Jack.’

  I thought about it, I thought of what I had here, I thought of Louise and I knew I had to cut her free. And myself too.

  ‘Some day,’ I said. ‘A few things to sort out here.’

  After she’d gone, I looked around at what I’d chosen. In the Pits I could hear Zoe and Len singing. Well, not exactly. Zoe was singing and Len was grunting some unrecognizable ditty. In a few moments I would go to join them. First, I went round to look at my Lagonda and my Gordon-Keeble, both awaiting my pleasure. Then I went into the Glory Boot. Dad did not seem to be around, but after a while he condescended to drop by for a minute or two. What was it he used to say?

  ‘There’ll always be classics, Jack. Remember that, son. You can rely on cars.’