‘He’s so like Midnight,’ Pips murmured. ‘It’s incredible.’
‘But not as feisty, by all accounts.’
Pips laughed. ‘Actually, I don’t mind if he is, but maybe it’s a good thing really. For Daisy as she grows up.’
‘I could never ride Midnight, Miss Pips,’ Jake put in. ‘But if you get this one, he’d need riding out regularly.’ There was a look of longing in the young man’s eyes. Then suddenly, he hesitated, but Pips guessed his meaning.
‘If I’m away a lot, Jake, you could exercise him, couldn’t you?’
Jake beamed.
‘Right, that’s settled. If you agree, Robert, we’ll take all three.’
‘Hey, wait a minute. We haven’t discussed the price yet.’
‘We’re not haggling. Mr Rudd is being very fair, aren’t you?’
Ben smiled. ‘If you’re taking all three, then I can lower the overall price a bit.’
Pips spat on her hand and held it out to the farmer. ‘Done.’
As they climbed back into Edwin’s car, Pips said, ‘And now I have to tell Mother – and Mr Dawson.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Robert chuckled.
To their surprise, Henrietta was delighted that there were going to be three animals back in the stables and even Len Dawson accepted the news that Luke would have a pony to ride at the hall whenever he wanted.
‘I never thought he’d be so agreeable,’ Pips confided to Robert, ‘but it seems that nothing’s too good for his grandson – never mind where it’s coming from.’
‘When is Mr Rudd bringing them?’ Robert asked.
‘Christmas Eve. Alice and I have arranged for Daisy to go down to the Dawsons for the afternoon. That way – hopefully – neither of them will see them until Christmas morning after church. Mother says she’ll invite the family to have a drink with us after the service and Jake can bring the ponies onto the front lawn for the children to see.’
Pips wrote to Milly to tell her that she was staying in Lincolnshire and inviting her to the hall for the festivities.
Milly wrote back:
Darling, how sweet of you to invite me, but I must spend it with my parents and Granny. I hope you understand. You would have been most welcome at the manor, but I know you just have to be with Daisy at Christmas! Have a wonderful time, but do come back very soon. You have to get some practice in. There’s a meeting at the end of March and Muriel thinks you should enter the all-women’s race . . .
When Len, Norah and Ma were seated in the Great Hall in front of the windows overlooking the front lawn, the maid handed around glasses of mulled wine.
‘Something warming,’ Henrietta smiled. ‘Happy Christmas to you all.’
The Dawsons, a little nervous in what were to them rather grand surroundings, returned the greeting. Luke and Daisy were at the far side of the room, telling each other what presents they had received.
‘Daisy – Luke,’ Pips said, putting down her glass, ‘I want you to put your coats on and come outside with me. We have a surprise for both of you. Sarah . . .’ she turned to the maid, ‘please tell Jake we’re ready.’
The girl nodded and scuttled away.
‘Why, Aunty Pips?’
‘You’ll see.’
They stepped out of the house and down the front steps and waited on the driveway for a few moments before Jake appeared from around the corner leading two ponies.
‘Oh – oh!’ Daisy breathed.
‘Now – don’t rush to them. Go to them nice and gently until they get to know you. One’s for you, Daisy, and the other is for Luke to ride any time he wants to, though the pony will live here so that Jake can look after them both.’ Tactfully, she added, ‘The ponies are brothers and I think they’d be unhappy to be separated, don’t you? Is that all right, Luke?’
The boy was pink with pleasure and lost for words. He merely nodded.
‘Let’s go and say “hello”.’
They walked slowly towards the ponies and Pips showed them how to hold their fists under the ponies’ noses to allow the animals to accept their scent and then to pat their faces.
‘Now, Jake has saddled them up, so how about a little ride?’
‘Yes, please, Aunty Pips,’ Daisy whispered, still understanding that she mustn’t frighten them.
‘Yours is called Lucky and the other is named Jingles,’ Pips said as she lifted Daisy onto the back of the smaller animal. Jake helped Luke to mount and then they both led the children around the lawn.
‘That’s enough for today,’ Pips said after half an hour. ‘Now, Luke, I want you to promise me something. Like I said, you’re welcome to come and ride Jingles any time, but you must never do it on your own.’
Luke nodded solemnly. ‘I promise, Miss Pips, and besides, I’ll only want to ride when Daisy’s riding. And anyway, I’ll be at school in the week and I help me granddad afterwards, so . . .’ Luke, though not yet five at the time, had been able to start at the nearest primary school the previous September.
‘Then perhaps we can arrange with Jake that you come every Saturday afternoon. How would that be?’
The boy nodded and stroked Jingles’s neck. ‘See you on Saturday, boy.’
‘Eh, but it’s nice to see Miss Pips riding out again on a black horse,’ Ma said as she sat for a few moments outside the cottage on Boxing Day morning. ‘Quite like old times.’
Sitting beside her for a brief respite, Norah said, ‘It is, but I’m not sure about Luke being allowed to have his own pony at the hall. He’ll get ideas above his station. I’m surprised Len agreed to it.’
‘Oh Norah, for Heaven’s sake, let the boy have some fun. There’s not been much of that in recent years. They’re too young to be grieving like us. And besides, haven’t you noticed, they’re very carefully avoiding saying that it’s Luke’s pony – only that he can ride it any time he likes?’
‘He’ll look upon it as his.’
‘I think you’re wrong there. For a little chap, he’s very sensible and it’s not in his nature to take advantage of his privileged position as Daisy’s cousin and best friend.’
‘You think not.’ Norah was still doubtful. ‘Well, I can see trouble ahead if they get too close. It’s all very well now, but what happens as they grow up? You tell me that, Ma.’
But Ma, smoking her clay pipe, didn’t even trouble herself to answer.
Seventeen
When Pips arrived back in London early in the New Year, there was a letter from William waiting for her. Knowing that Pips now spent much of her time in London, he often wrote to Milly’s address. He had written it in the middle of December.
‘It only arrived yesterday,’ Milly told her, recognizing the Belgian stamp. ‘I expect it was delayed in the Christmas post.’
Pips opened the letter and then read it to Milly:
‘. . . I can hardly contain myself for joy, Pips. Brigitta is expecting a baby, due towards the end of March or early April. I have written to Alice too and hope she will be able to find a moment to tell Mam and Ma . . .
‘How wonderful. I’m absolutely thrilled for them.’
‘March is going to be an exciting month, then,’ Milly laughed. ‘Because Muriel has entered you for the all-women’s race that Paul’s arranged at the end of the BARC meeting.’
‘Oh my! Then I’d better get some practice in.’
‘Have you seen that huge car that Count Zborowski’s entered in the first race?’
They were sitting on Members’ Hill for the race meeting on Easter Monday. They had a good view of part of the track, including the finishing straight. Below them were visitors’ cars of all shapes and sizes and motorcycles parked haphazardly. Men in overcoats and trilbies chatted to one another and discussed the form of the racers. A small black dog ran around, but never strayed far from its owner’s side. In the distance they could see the name ‘Vickers-Brooklands’ emblazoned on the side of a building and beyond that, trees lined the track that curved away to the right.
‘No. Where is it?’
‘Over there, lining up for the start. You can hardly miss it.’
‘Good Heavens! What is it?’
Mitch laughed. ‘He calls it Chitty-Bang-Bang, but it’s a Mercedes with a twenty-three-litre engine. It’s a noisy beast and I don’t think Paul’s Sunbeam will stand a chance against it – or probably any of the others, for that matter.’
The start was noisy and Pips laughed; the big car sounded as if its engine was exploding. ‘I see why it’s called that now.’
‘I was right,’ Mitch said, as the cars sped round the track. ‘There’re really only the two cars in it. One or two have fallen out already.’
As they rounded the bend in front of the members’ enclosure, the count’s car swerved and there was a universal intake of breath amongst the watchers, but he righted it and on the far banking increased his speed to pass the Sunbeam, finishing the race in first place.
‘Second’s not bad for Paul in the circumstances,’ Mitch said magnanimously. ‘Let’s go and have a closer look at this beast.’
They watched the rest of the BARC’s races until it was time for the two events Paul had organized for his own club members, one being the all-women’s race.
‘And now, I’d better get ready for my little effort,’ Pips said.
On the starting line, dressed in her brown driving suit, leather helmet and goggles, Pips gripped the steering wheel and crouched forward in her seat. All around her, the noise of revving engines filled the air and she breathed in the exhaust fumes from nine other cars. But she loved it; loved the atmosphere of this place, the excitement, the crowds, the noise and the bustle. She glanced to either side of her. Two cars away was Pattie and, beyond her, Muriel. There were three other drivers, whom she’d only met briefly, but who made up the unofficial club that had become known as the Brooklands Girls. And then there were three more women, who were strangers to her. She knew Milly and Mitch would be watching from the bridge or from Members’ Hill, though Paul was somewhere close if she needed help.
The starter passed in front of each one of them, raising and dropping his flag, and they were off. It was a six-lap race, approximately sixteen and a half miles. Starting on Railway Straight she soon reached the Byfleet Banking and steered her car to a line about halfway up, passing the aviation village and then along the gently curving part of the track and round behind Members’ Hill and on to the Members’, or Home, Banking – but she dared not take her eyes off the track to look up at her friends. Muriel, Pattie and two others were ahead of her but she kept up a steady speed and on the second time round the Byfleet Banking went a little higher. Her speed increased as she came off it and she passed one of the cars. On and on for four more laps, again overtaking another car to finish in third place.
‘Darling, that was wonderful. Another prize,’ Milly trilled as she found Pips parking her car in the paddock.
‘Well, I don’t mind losing to Muriel and Pattie, but they’d better watch out. I don’t mean to make a habit of it,’ Pips said, as she climbed out of the car and removed her goggles.
Milly dissolved into a fit of giggles. ‘Oh Pips, your face is black except where your goggles have been. You look like a Panda in negative.’
Pips grinned, her adrenalin still pumping, as they made their way to the area where the prizes were given out.
As they stood to have their photographs taken, Pattie said, ‘You know, Pips, you really are a very good driver. Where did you learn to drive like that? You’re absolutely fearless.’
‘Riding around the lanes of Lincolnshire on my brother’s motorcycle started it all. And then I used to drive my father’s car in secret. He’s a doctor and he needed a vehicle for his rounds. In the countryside he had to travel miles to do home visits.’ She stopped, unwilling to talk about her service in the war, but Muriel had no such reserve.
‘And she drove ambulances at the front. That’s where she gets her fearlessness from.’
Pattie’s eyes widened. ‘Did you really? What a wonderful thing to have done. I ended up in a munitions factory and, though I know it was worthwhile work, Lord, it was boring.’
They posed a little longer for a few more photographs before, growing restless with standing about, Pattie said, ‘Come on, let’s go and find a drink. I’m parched.’
The talk in the clubhouse centred around cars and racing and though Milly didn’t drive herself, she seemed quite at home amongst those who did. Muriel smiled. ‘She keeps our spirits up when we lose.’
‘Which isn’t often,’ Milly laughed, ‘though I think you’ve got some more competition now with Pips.’
‘We certainly have,’ Pattie said, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to you, Pips. Just don’t win too often, will you?’
But Pips’s first win came with the very next race and this one was not just for women, so it was a double triumph.
‘Wow,’ Mitch greeted her as she climbed, rather shakily, out of the car. ‘That was some drive. Come on, there’s a gaggle of photographers waiting for you and one or two newspapers want an interview with you. You’re going to be famous . . .’
Robert wrote the following week:
Dear Pips,
We saw your picture in the newspaper. Mother was mortified at how you were dressed and with black smuts all over your face but Father is more concerned for your safety – as am I. Although I tried to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about and that all you do is just tootle round a racing track, I rather suspect that ‘tootle’ is not quite the right word for the speed you go! Daisy was intrigued with the picture, but couldn’t quite understand that it was her Aunty Pips. I have to admit you weren’t exactly easily recognizable. I’m enclosing a photograph of her on her tricycle. Perhaps she will follow in her aunty’s footsteps – Heaven forbid! – though she’s a little young yet to be let loose on my motorcycle. She’s getting on very well with her riding lessons. She’s a natural horsewoman – just like you were . . .
Pips pored over the picture of her niece and a wave of homesickness engulfed her.
Two days later a letter from Alice told her the news that William and Brigitta had had a baby boy.
No doubt you’ll be hearing from William directly, but I couldn’t wait to write to you. The baby was born on Easter Sunday, so they are calling him Pascal, which means ‘born on Easter’ apparently. When I went to tell Mam and Ma, Dad was there, so I haven’t been able to tell them yet. It’s not that I’m frightened of him any more, but I have to think of Mam . . .
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Pips muttered. She was very tempted to travel all the way back to Lincolnshire and give the stupid man a piece of her mind!
Eighteen
‘Good Heavens! What are you doing here? I hardly recognized you in civvies.’
At the race meeting in May, a distinguished-looking man, tall and straight-backed, with dark hair and a small neat moustache had pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing in front of Pips. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit, with a white shirt and striped tie. ‘I was hoping to see you,’ he said, smiling.
Pips moved towards him and held out her hands. He took them both into his own.
‘Captain George Allender,’ she murmured softly. ‘How good it is to see you again.’ As she looked into his dark blue eyes she could see the sadness was still there. No doubt he had horrific memories of the war too.
For a moment, he seemed embarrassed. ‘Actually, it’s “Major” now.’
‘Oh George, how wonderful. When did you get your promotion?’
‘In the last year of the war. In July various French, British and US forces launched a counter-attack that became known as the second battle of the Marne. I was posted there with the rank of major.’
‘Not before time, George.’ She smiled saucily at him. ‘And did you have any disobedient nurses to contend with?’
He laughed but, strangely, the amusement did not reach his eyes. ‘No, but I missed you, Pips.’
&nbs
p; ‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘I saw your picture in the newspaper when you won your first race back in March and when I saw that there was another race meeting here today, well, I just took the chance that you’d be here.’
‘How are you? How’s life in civvy street?’
This time he did not smile. ‘More difficult than I could ever have imagined.’
‘Of course, you must miss the army life? How are your wife and your daughter, Rebecca? Did she pursue her nursing career like you wanted her to once you left the army and could take over caring for your wife? Oh I’m sorry, what a lot of questions all at once.’ She linked her arm through his. ‘Come on, I’ve got a hamper in my car. We can have a picnic on Members’ Hill and you can tell me everything. It’ll be less crowded now than going to the clubhouse or the restaurant.’
They shared cucumber sandwiches and a flask of tea. ‘I suppose it ought to be champagne,’ Pips laughed, ‘but I don’t drink if I’m going racing.’
‘Very wise,’ George said, as he pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped the crumbs from his moustache. ‘Are you racing today?’
‘Yes, the last race is an all-women’s event, so I’m in that.’
‘I see you still have the brooch,’ he said.
Pips smiled as she touched it. ‘I always wear it. It’s my good-luck charm.’ For a moment, she was catapulted back in time to a small, muddy cemetery near Brandhoek, standing beside the grave of one of George’s friends, with poppies growing all around them and he was telling her that he had fallen in love with her. And then he had given her the brooch in the shape and colours of a poppy. He had asked nothing of her, vowing that he would never be unfaithful to his invalid wife. As Alice had rightly said, he was a gentleman in every sense of the word, but in the middle of the catastrophic war, he’d wanted Pips to know that he loved her, just in case they should never meet again. No one, apart from the two of them, knew about that moment and she had pushed it into the far recesses of her mind.
The Brooklands Girls Page 12