‘What can we do?’ Jenny whispered, but Lydia had already consulted the map in her head and chosen an alternative route.
Lydia loved maps. They made her feel like a bird soaring above the earth and she had no trouble remembering how streets connected.
They made good time on the rest of the journey.
‘Grand, isn’t it?’ Jenny said, as they turned into the drive of a large house in Richmond.
Lydia pulled up near the front door, where a butler stood waiting. Mr Frobisher leapt out before he could suffer the indignity of being helped by a ‘gel’, but Jenny opened Mrs Frobisher’s door.
‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, but Madam’s headdress has slipped. May I just…?’ She straightened Mrs Frobisher’s headdress. Mrs Frobisher looked pleased.
The butler ushered the Frobishers indoors and signalled Lydia to drive to the rear of the house. Three other cars were already parked there. At Arleigh Court, drivers waited in a small room off the kitchen. Would there be a similar arrangement here?
A back door opened. A footman beckoned but started in surprise when he saw they were female. The housekeeper looked equally surprised. ‘Well, I never. Can you manage if I put you with the other drivers? Only—’
‘We’ll manage perfectly,’ Jenny assured her.
The housekeeper showed them to a small parlour. ‘Sit yourselves down and I’ll fetch another pot of tea.’
There were three other drivers inside and all of their mouths fell open.
‘Miss Mallory and Miss Grey from Silver Ladies,’ Jenny smiled. She offered a hand to the nearest man, but he didn’t appear to notice.
‘Silver Ladies?’ he asked. ‘What’s that?’
‘Chauffeur-driven car hire,’ Jenny explained.
The men exchanged looks.
‘Things have come to a pretty pass when slips of girls are taking men’s jobs,’ one of them complained.
‘Girls have to earn their livings too,’ Jenny pointed out reasonably.
‘There’s plenty of girls’ work out there.’
‘Shop work and domestic service?’ Lydia scoffed. ‘Feel free to apply for that sort of work if it’s so appealing. There’s no reason why men can’t wrap parcels or flutter dusters. And no reason why women can’t drive.’
There was nothing to gain from antagonising their competitors, but Lydia’s mouth had a way of opening the moment she was provoked. Leaving the talking to Jenny, she buried her nose in The Motor Manual.
Another driver arrived. A private chauffeur. He was surprised to see Lydia and Jenny too but his expression settled to friendly curiosity. ‘Are you with the silver beauty outside?’
‘That’s right,’ Jenny said.
‘How does she run?’
‘Miss Grey is the best person to answer that question,’ Jenny demurred.
He took a seat near Lydia and at last she had someone sensible to talk to.
Ted Gilbert drove a Daimler and was happy to share his experiences of shortcuts, petrol supplies and good places to park. He wished Silver Ladies luck.
‘It’s all right for you,’ another driver complained. ‘You’re private. We’re for hire, same as them.’
‘I think there’s room for everyone,’ Ted told him.
‘Humph.’
At least the Frobishers enjoyed their evening. Lydia heard fragments of their conversation as they got back in the car.
‘Giles Dawley’s looking old.’
‘Ferdy too. He’s got more chins than ever.’
‘Fancy Hugh Delaney marrying again.’
‘That young gel will lead him a merrier dance than Maude, and she was bad enough.’
The conversation dwindled as though wine and rich food were settling in the Frobishers’ stomachs and sending them off to sleep.
‘Well,’ Mr Frobisher said, when they arrived back in Chelsea. ‘I don’t mind admitting I had my doubts about you young ladies. Man feels a bit of a fool being driven by gels, you know. Only agreed because m’wife had a fancy for the car. But I’ve been pleasantly surprised. You gels are almost as good as men.’
Lydia tried not to roll her eyes, but Jenny smiled. ‘That’s high praise indeed, Mr Frobisher. Thank you.’
‘M’wife wants to use you again. Makes sense to set up an account, don’t you think?’
‘Our manager, Miss Lavenham, will be happy to arrange it,’ Jenny told him.
‘Much obliged, m’dears.’ He nodded goodnight and they headed back to Silver Ladies.
Grace and Ruth were waiting up for them. ‘Wonderful!’ Grace cried when she heard what Mr Frobisher had said. ‘But now it’s time for bed. Especially you, Ruth. You’ll be yawning over people’s feet tomorrow.’
Ruth looked too happy to yawn the following morning.
Lydia watched her pack a sandwich for her lunch. ‘Hopefully, you won’t be doing that for much longer. We’ll need you in Silver Ladies.’
Ruth smiled and left, but moments later she ran back upstairs. Her face was white. ‘You need to come,’ she said.
Twenty-seven
Grace saw Lydia and Ruth bolt downstairs and followed only to come to a sudden halt, gasping in horror. Red paint had been thrown over the garage gates. It ran in ugly lines all the way down to the cobbles.
Jenny had come down too. ‘Who could have done such a thing?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Lydia’s voice was grim.
‘You can’t mean those men from last night? Those other drivers?’
‘I doubt they’d have had time to organise this. But we’ve another rival closer to home whose resentment must have been festering for weeks.’
Grace felt a surge of dismay. ‘No, Lydia.’
‘You know it makes sense.’
‘I don’t.’
Owen hadn’t done this. Grace was sure of it. Or was she? Might she just be reluctant to believe he’d done this because she liked him?
Certainly he knew Silver Ladies was beginning to thrive because she’d told him. They’d chatted in the mews a couple of times and yesterday he’d pulled up beside her when he’d been driving along Farley Street.
‘It’s your first booking tonight, isn’t it?’ he’d said. ‘I want to wish you good luck.’ He hadn’t lingered because another driver had tooted him to move on, but he’d called out, ‘We must make our tea a celebration, Miss Lavenham!’
If Lydia were right, he’d been friendly only to gain information and once he’d learned that Silver Ladies was stirring into life he’d acted to sabotage it.
Surely he wasn’t that calculating? That cruel?
‘Is everything all right?’
Oh, no. Here he came.
‘I’m going to be late for work,’ Ruth fretted.
‘Go,’ Grace urged her. ‘We’ll sort things out here. Jenny, will you—’
‘Look after the phone? Of course.’ Jenny returned indoors.
‘What on earth…?’ Owen stared at the damage. ‘Have you any idea who did this?’
‘Ooh, let’s think,’ Lydia said, and Grace winced.
‘You think I did this?’ Owen looked incredulous.
‘I don’t see any other likely candidates,’ Lydia drawled.
‘You share that opinion?’ Owen asked Grace.
‘We all need to calm down,’ she began, only to pause as her eye was caught by movement at Owen’s end of the mews. A woman was approaching, a baby in her arms and a toddler at her side.
‘Is something wrong, Owen?’
‘Go home, Bethan,’ Owen called back. ‘I’ll be along in a moment. Well?’ he asked Grace.
Her mind had frozen. Owen was married. He had children. Stupidly, it hadn’t crossed her mind that he had a family. It made her wonder at the accuracy of her other impressions of him.
Jenny emerged from the office, looking awkward. ‘You’re wanted on the telephone, Grace. It’s Mr Frobisher from last night. He wants to set up an account.’
Owen’s expression hardened. ‘Better n
ot keep the caller waiting, Miss Lavenham.’ He turned to Lydia. ‘I didn’t do this, but I’ll clean it up for you.’
‘We’ll clean it up ourselves,’ Lydia told him.
‘Mr Frobisher’s waiting,’ Jenny repeated.
Grgh! Grace looked towards Owen, torn between staying and leaving, then ran upstairs to the telephone. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Frobisher.’
She hastened back outside when the call was finished but Owen had gone.
‘He must have done it,’ Lydia insisted. ‘Why else would he offer to clean it up?’
‘Perhaps he just wanted to be neighbourly,’ Grace said. ‘We’ve been distributing Silver Ladies cards all over London. Any rival could have taken exception to us.’
‘Other rivals aren’t on our doorstep.’ Lydia paused for a moment. ‘All right, maybe I can’t be certain he threw the paint, but can you be certain he didn’t?’
‘No, but I don’t like to condemn before I know the facts.’
‘Facts aren’t available, are they? I hate to say this, but I think we’re going to need to paint this door as well as wash it.’
Jenny agreed to help Lydia with the gates while Grace prepared Mr Frobisher’s contract. She typed the sort of agreement she thought would fit their circumstances and wondered if she ought to take a reference from Mr Frobisher’s bankers. It would be terrible if he and his wife used Silver Ladies on credit, then refused to pay the bill. But it wouldn’t do to offend their first account holder. Grace decided to take a chance.
She put the contract into an envelope and added a short letter. Then she sat back and thought about Owen Tedris. She’d been taken aback to realise he was married, but why? Had her feelings tiptoed into romantic territory without her being aware of it? Grace could find no better explanation for this oddly disconcerted feeling. She supposed she just hadn’t recognised the signs, having no experience of such matters. Growing up, she’d focussed on achieving a satisfying, well-paying job and had little space in her head for daydreams. Then work and looking after Gran had kept her busy.
Still, there was no harm done. It was only a little crush and entirely one-sided too. Owen had never been more than friendly and professional to Grace, and she could ensure she was no more than friendly and professional to him. If she ever got the chance.
Grace sighed. It would be terrible if Owen were responsible for the vandalism. It would be equally terrible if he’d been falsely accused.
She was glad to be distracted by the telephone. ‘Good morning, Silver Ladies. How may I help?’ She listened for a moment. ‘No, I’m afraid your name isn’t familiar, Mr Dellamore. Other ladies? Untamed?’ Amusement bubbled up through Grace’s anxiety. ‘I think we have someone fitting that description here. I’ll see if she’s available.’ Grace ran down to Lydia who was throwing clean water over the gates. ‘Telephone for you.’
‘Telephone?’
‘The instrument that helps people talk to each other over a distance?’
‘I know what a telephone is,’ she huffed.
‘There’s a call for you. At least, I think it’s for you. The caller’s a Harry Dellamore. American, I think. Apparently you—’
‘I don’t want to talk to him.’
‘Why not?’
‘He isn’t right in the head. He’s a stranger who accosted me in the street.’
'Accosted you? How alarming.’
‘All right, he spoke to me,’ Lydia corrected. ‘But he’s obnoxious. Don’t look at me like that, Grace Lavenham. He’s only interested in my driving skills.’
‘Oh?’ Wasn’t that a good thing?
‘For a treasure hunt or something equally stupid.’
‘Might it be a chance to promote Silver Ladies?’ Grace pressed.
‘I don’t see how. He wants me to drive his car.’
‘It might be worth talking to him about it.’
‘He’s annoying.’
‘Perhaps, but he’s waiting on the telephone. The fastest way to get rid of him is to speak to him.’
Grace returned to the office. Her ears caught an unladylike oath, then Lydia stomped up after her.
Grace handed her the telephone. ‘Shall I leave you alone?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Lydia took a deep breath. ‘Are you hard of hearing or is it your brain that doesn’t work? My answer is no.’
Walking into the office, Jenny’s eyebrows shot up. She looked at Grace, who shrugged.
‘I know you said you weren’t giving up, but that’s your problem, not mine,’ Lydia continued. ‘It may be different in America, but over here the word no doesn’t mean maybe and neither does it mean playing for time. It means the opposite of yes.’ She snorted. ‘I don’t want champagne and I don’t want a free lunch. And begging won’t help. You’ll just make an even bigger fool of yourself. I’ve said all I’m going to say. I’m not even going to say goodbye because you’ll only take it for encouragement.’ With that, Lydia put the phone down.
‘A treasure hunt might be fun,’ Grace suggested.
‘In the right company, maybe.’ Lydia stomped back downstairs.
‘Mr Dellamore is the wrong company, I conclude,’ Grace told Jenny.
‘Who is he?’
‘Someone Lydia met by chance, I believe.’
‘I don’t suppose she’ll hear from him again after the way she just spoke to him,’ Jenny said.
‘Time will tell,’ Grace shrugged.
Jenny went into the living quarters for the old coat of Aunt Vera’s she wore for painting then headed back downstairs. Alone again, Grace’s thoughts returned to Owen. Her smile faded.
She still couldn’t picture Owen stealing along the mews to do them harm but she couldn’t discount him. He’d worked long and hard for his success. Who knew what he might do to defend it?
But if Owen hadn’t thrown the paint, who had? Why? And what might they try next? More paint? Or something worse?
Twenty-eight
‘Only me!’ Johnnie called, and Jenny felt a small burst of delight.
He bounded up to the office and waved a paper bag. Johnnie had become a regular visitor and often brought little gifts with him.
‘Currant buns today,’ he announced.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Grace said.
‘There’s something else.’ With a flourish he produced a magazine from behind his back.
‘Is that—’ Jenny began.
‘It certainly is.’
‘Lydia should see it,’ Jenny said, running onto the passage to shout down to the garage. ‘Johnnie’s brought the magazine.’
Lydia was unimpressed. ‘Parading about in fancy clothes with muck on your face is your area. My area’s down here.’
‘Do I have to drag you up?’
Sighing, Lydia clomped up the stairs wearing the hideous overalls with a duster around her head. ‘The Silver Ladies sign has come out well,’ she said, when she saw the adverts.
Jenny shared an amused look with Grace. The sign did indeed look good but Lydia herself looked incredible.
Despite the colourfulness of other pictures in the magazine, Johnnie’s photos had lost none of their shimmering, silver-screen quality and were impossible to ignore. Nice and clear below them were the words: Rolls-Royce courtesy of Silver Ladies, chauffeur-driven luxury car hire, Shepherds Mews, Bayswater and their telephone number.
‘You’ve done us proud, Johnnie,’ Grace said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank me when it brings you more business. Have you had any more bookings?’
‘We’re up to fifteen altogether,’ Grace told him.
Not enough, but progress.
Grace made tea and Johnnie passed the buns around. One remained in the bag for Ruth. Johnnie never forgot her.
‘Have you been busy?’ Grace asked him.
‘I took a twenty-first birthday portrait for the Honourable Arabella Agnew yesterday. The Agnews were pleased with it, thankfully, though it wasn’t much of a showpiece for me. Arabella was
terribly stiff, poor love.’
‘Here’s hoping the magazine brings us all more business,’ Grace said.
‘Amen to that,’ Johnnie agreed. ‘Luckily I still have some of my grandmother’s birthday money left. Would you ladies give me the pleasure of your company at the cinema? Douglas Fairbanks is on at the Drury Palace and I’d love to see him.’
‘Is he the man who prances round in tights?’ Lydia asked, and Jenny laughed.
‘He’s a hero! On film, anyway.’
Lydia shrugged. ‘Not my cup of tea.’
‘I need to write to Gran,’ Grace said.
‘I’d love to come to the cinema,’ Jenny told him, pleased to see the answer gladdened him. ‘I’ll pass the invitation to Ruth when she gets home from work.’
But Ruth declined it too.
‘Johnnie’s a dear to invite us, but it’s you he’s sweet on and we don’t want to get in the way,’ Grace explained.
‘You do like him, Grace?’ Jenny asked.
‘Of course. It’s wonderful to see you happy.’
‘I am happy. Walking out with a man as nice as Johnnie is… Well, it’s lovely.’
‘He’s done a wonderful job with these photographs,’ Ruth said, looking at the magazine. ‘You and Lydia look beautiful.’
‘The car looks beautiful. That’s the most important thing,’ Jenny said, though she was pleased with all aspects of the photos.
Johnnie drove her to the Drury Palace in his battered Ford Model T. It was their second visit to the cinema and, as before, Jenny was conscious of his closeness as he sat beside her.
‘Eat your chocolates,’ he whispered.
‘You shouldn’t have bought them.’ He’d already paid ninepence each for their tickets.
The film was good though Jenny lost concentration halfway through it after she glanced across at Johnnie and found him watching her with obvious pleasure. She smiled shyly then turned away only to sense him watching her again a few minutes later. It was disconcerting but nice. Very nice.
‘I wish I could buy you supper,’ he said later as they walked back through the foyer.
The Silver Ladies of London Page 15
