Rise of the Petrol Queen

by Jon Hartless

‘Yes,’ muttered Amy, peevishly.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ demanded Poppy.

  ‘You’re always showing off your knowledge,’ muttered Amy, feeling a vast sense of inferiority at Poppy’s higher intelligence. The relationship had declined further as Poppy’s commitment to her new company saw her spend many hours away from home.

  ‘Why don’t you try reading, then?’ snapped Poppy, savagely.

  ‘And you notice Wicksy didn’t even say hello to me?’ whined Amy, glad to have something genuine to complain about. ‘It’s always about you.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered to do this, not before a race,’ snarled Poppy.

  ‘Is Thunderbus ready, Amy?’ asked Simeon, trying to keep the peace while feeling as though he were stuck between a rock and an explosive volcano.

  ‘Yes, all warmed up and ready,’ said Amy in a pointed manner, directing the remark solely to Simeon ‘There was one funny thing, though,’ she continued, making it clear she was a vital member of the team. ‘Two of the sparking plugs were loose and I don’t see how that’s possible, unless someone did it deliberately.’

  ‘Has Thunderbus been left unattended?’ asked Simeon, sharply.

  ‘Just for a moment, when I was looking in the spare’s truck for something.’

  ‘It could be coincidence but sabotage has been known before on a track,’ said Simeon in answer to Poppy’s look.

  ‘Then from now on, we always make sure we mount a guard whenever we’re racing, even if it means staying with the vehicle overnight,’ Poppy replied, violently pulling her face scarf and goggles into place. Ignoring Amy, she climbed into Thunderbus, started the engine, and with a flick of her mechanical arm steered out onto the track.

  59 In truth, Poppy’s clothing line was very successful, as was her range of cosmetics and toiletries.

  60 The Sussex was run by enthusiasts with support from local businesses, meaning the board was made up of tradesmen and not the aristocracy, relegating it to an amateur – and independent – event. Although Simeon’s old school friend, Sir Trevor Baxter, had been the chairman, the position was little more than a figurehead and in any case he had recently stepped down after a scandal involving unregulated betting. It is possible Lorenzo’s permission to run his Albizzi owed much to the board’s desire to move on from the scandal.

  Chapter Fifteen

  FATS OUR GIRL!! POPPY ORPINGTON reveals double chin and BLOATED stomach in shocking new NEWS FLASH picture exclusive! EXCLUSIVE to NEWS FLASH!!

  The self-styled petrol queen has come in for withering criticism for her unnatural antics on the race tracks of England, where her freakish build has seen her steal several races from proper competitors.

  Of course, the FREAKISHLY tall POPPY ORPINGTON towers over men so it is no wander she has no man, much less any chance of getting a ring on her finger. On deeper reflection, we suppose this explains why she continues to haunt the race track, filling her empty head with engine fumes to distract her from her unnatural life!

  As the huge black car appeared and growled forward, the crowd erupted into cheers and whistles. Motor sport was immensely popular with the public, and the lure of Thunderbus had sold many more tickets than usual, justifying Poppy’s invitation.

  Poppy slotted in at the back of the waiting cars, next to Lorenzo’s Albizzi. Peering up ahead, she could see cars twelve and fourteen, driven by the execrable Hussey and Williamson respectively, about half way up the grid. Poppy glanced over at the Albizzi; it truly was a stunning car being in essence a smooth, aerodynamic cylinder flanked by four discreetly flared wheel arches. Standing next to such mechanical beauty, Thunderbus seemed ungainly and ugly; it was, after all, a vehicle hammered together by one man in his workshop, unlike the Albizzi which was crafted in a factory of experts and designed by Fabio Albizzi himself, who came from a long line of artists and sculptors.

  Poppy began to doubt if she could win, but oddly this calmed her nerves; if she had no chance, she could at least hang onto Lorenzo’s slipstream and take a good second place. Simeon was right – consistency was important, and the publicity would still be excellent if she could end the season with a collection of podium finishes. But she’d be damned if she’d lose to a pair of bigoted idiots like Hussey and Williamson.

  A snort of flame blasted out from Thunderbus and licked out toward Lorenzo. ‘Sorry,’ bellowed Poppy over the noise of her engine. ‘I think he’s getting nervous.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ yelled Lorenzo with a stiff grin, his face taut and pale.

  Poppy doubted she looked any better. In some ways, this was the most anxious part of the race; a bad start could ruin any chance of a good finish. ‘Good luck,’ she shouted, and she meant it.

  ‘You too,’ replied the count, his face relaxing. The quick exchange with Poppy had soothed his pre-race nerves. He was there to win, but his friendship with Poppy would still be there afterward, no matter what the result.

  They turned their attention to the front of the grid where Wicksy could be seen with a huge flag in his hands, pacing back and forth, building the tension and the excitement until he abruptly swivelled around and dropped the flag. With a hiss of steam from thirteen vehicles, and a roar of pure petrol anger from the fourteenth, the race was on.

  Poppy floored the accelerator and wheeled to her right, hoping to overtake the line of cars ahead of her before they could reach the first bend; once there, congestion would force the pack to slow down, allowing those at the front to get further ahead. She noted Lorenzo had the same idea except he swerved to the left, the Albizzi and Thunderbus roaring forward in unison. A fresh cheer erupted from the crowd, the spectators sensing a real battle was about to be fought.

  Four cars were already behind them, yet Poppy didn’t take any cheer from the fact; nine cars were still ahead, including Lorenzo’s Albizzi which surged forward with lithe grace. She cursed as she realised her rev counter was high in the red and the engine screaming; she changed gear and lurched forward with a fresh burst of speed.

  They were now approaching a gentle curve on which all the cars would try and hold the inside line. Poppy decided raw power was her best option. Most of the other vehicles were relatively slow compared to Thunderbus, but would she have the muscle to pass them all before the track narrowed again? ‘One way to find out,’ she muttered as she steered to the outside line and stamped hard on the accelerator.

  Thunderbus hurtled forward, the engine roaring in pleasure as it was allowed to run free, passing two cars with ease, but Lorenzo was almost through on the inside line and was nearing the race leaders. Poppy kept her boot to the floor as the track began curving in the opposite direction; she swung the wheel and guided Thunderbus through the bend and hence onto the inside line as the road snaked the other way.

  A blue Derrit-Thompson Cruiser was aiming for the same space and so Poppy quickly engaged the clutch while pumping the accelerator, filling the area with noise, flame and fume, causing the blue car to wobble in fright before losing confidence and falling back, allowing Poppy to roar through and confirm seventh place behind Lorenzo who was already challenging for fifth.

  They had now reached a long stretch and everyone released the full power of their cars, trying to gain not only speed but also space over their rivals, but one vehicle immediately erupted in clouds of steam as the turbine blew under the stress; many steam-driven cars were temperamental beasts requiring gentle handling.61 The driver had been pressured into building up his speed and power too quickly, with inevitable results.

  Unfortunately, there seemed little chance of the Albizzi blowing a turbine as it overtook another competitor; it was clearly a far superior product than its British counterparts. To beat the Albizzi, speed and driving skill would be required, skill that Poppy – as a relative novice – just didn’t have. She could, however, hang on the back bumper and learn from following Lorenzo around the track, but to do that she would first have to catch him.

  As they rounded the next turn, Poppy saw th
e car directly ahead was number 14; Williamson’s racer. She glanced ahead and saw another beautiful stretch of long road. As they passed through the bend and onto the straight, she again opened Thunderbus to its full extent, letting the power pull her along, drawing alongside her smaller rival before easing past him.

  Poppy was now approaching the first set of tight bends on the track, a wriggling snake of sharp, narrow corners. There was barely room for two small vehicles to drive side by side, so Thunderbus had no chance at passing anyone at this point. Poppy eased off the accelerator and braked sharply, slowing enough so she could engage second gear before concentrating fully on swinging the huge, heavy car through the tight bends.

  As she erupted onto the next straight, Poppy accelerated hard, trying to overtake the car in front, but she ran out of road before the next set of tight corners; some things were beyond even Thunderbus’ ability. Simeon’s prediction was coming true with a vengeance; the car was too bulky and the steering too bad in tight corners to make it truly competitive.

  Even so, Poppy was up to fifth and the leaders were still in view. Lorenzo was harrying for third, and she watched as he skilfully eased by a green Staunton TS500. The TS500, however, was not ready to relinquish its spot, and as they

  approached the next bend it tried to swing through the inside line but was compelled to brake sharply as Lorenzo maintained his course. With an explosive pop, a front tyre blew on the TS500.

  Poppy gasped as the TS500 slewed through ninety degrees and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the track. A smash seemed inevitable. Without thinking, Poppy yanked the steering wheel to one side. The huge black car screamed in protest as it skidded, Poppy hauling the steering wheel in the opposite direction to compensate for the drift as Thunderbus somehow curled around the TS500, practically grazing the paintwork as it did so. Frightened but unharmed, the adrenalin pounding through her system after the near-miss, Poppy accelerated once more.

  As Poppy gained on the race leaders, she saw Lorenzo had already taken second place while Algernon Hussey was cutting a frustrated figure behind the stylish Albizzi. Hussey spitefully slowed down on seeing Poppy in his small rear-view mirror, trying to block the road and prevent Poppy from claiming third, a move which infuriated the crowd which had been previously cheering the thrilling encounter.

  Poppy kept her temper, guessing at Hussey’s motives but confident he was going to have to go in for a pit stop on the next lap, in which she was proved correct. As he pulled over, Poppy accelerated past, thankful Thunderbus’ large petrol tank required only one stop in the entire race, and settled down to her tactic of learning from a master, keeping within a wheel’s length from Lorenzo as they continued to lap around the track. Even when the race leader, a modified Kineton 250, went in for its pit stop, Poppy resisted the temptation to mount a serious challenge, keeping second place behind the Albizzi which, being of better design, also only required one pit stop on the short course.

  Indeed, the rest of the race was relatively tame, though the crowd was thrilled by the enormous speed of the two leading cars. By the final lap, Thunderbus was just a few feet behind but the gap was enough to keep Lorenzo ahead, especially with the help of the tighter bends where the superior handling of his car increased the distance between them.

  As she passed over the finish line in second place Poppy’s thoughts moved on from the disappointment that her father’s design was no longer the best, to serious contemplation on how to improve Thunderbus and make him, once again, the fastest car on the track. Given that the issues lay with the steering and chassis, it was clear a radical new body design would be called for...

  Her musings were brought to an unexpected halt as Lorenzo’s Albizzi gave a terrific shudder before slewing across the track, the back wheels splaying out in an almost comical fashion. She breathed out in relief as Lorenzo leapt from the car, clearly unharmed, and peered at his rear axle. She slowed down and shouted in half-genuine, half-amused vexation; ‘Couldn’t you have broken down a mile ago?’

  Lorenzo smiled and shrugged for both Poppy and the crowd, ruefully accepting that his victory came at such a high cost. ‘These Albizzis; they are fast but they are fragile, you know? It is the axle; she has split right across!’

  ‘I’ll make a note of that,’ replied Poppy, immediately determined her production cars would all be exceedingly robust; it would be a good selling point.62 ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift round.’ Lorenzo bowed in gratitude, jumped onto Thunderbus running board and was taken on his victory lap by his great rival and close friend, waving at the cheering crowd who all appreciated the gesture and the sportsmanship being shown by the sportswoman.

  High in the stands, in the executive box reserved for the wealthiest of the land, Lord Hepplewhite watched in fury and dismay as a foreign car came in first, closely followed by the wretched petrol-driven number six. The huge crowd was cheering louder and longer than he had ever known, and he doubted he could keep foreign and petrol competitors away from the hallowed grounds of Purley any longer – especially as the board were vigorously protesting that Thunderbus would bring in some desperately needed revenue after the disastrous closure of the track.

  ‘Dunn,’ he snapped at the thin man standing next to him, his chief engineer at Kineton Engineering. ‘We cannot let that, that, that abomination win against our cars. It would be a public relations disaster!’

  ‘It’s fast; faster than anything on the roads. Even as fast as the Albizzi, at least on the straights,’ observed Dunn, morosely. He had once been a cheerful man, but many years in the employ of Lord Hepplewhite had changed that.

  ‘Then we will create a new car which will be even faster,’ snapped Hepplewhite, also privately deciding that as Thunderbus struggled on tight turns, he would ensure the revamped Purley track would be full of them. ‘We will show that steam and British manufacturing is superior in every way. This takes precedence over all other work at the factories. I want the car to be ready for the final race of the season.’

  ‘Impossible,’ objected Dunn. ‘The Purley Cup is only a few months away.’

  ‘I don’t care. Take whatever resources you need, hire whatever staff you need, but we will have a new car ready to race – and to win. Otherwise, you will be looking for another job.’

  The two men made their way down to the presentation area. Poppy was still on the track with Lorenzo in a display of genuine friendship which irritated Hepplewhite for its emotional excess. As he watched, Poppy finally rolled to a halt by the mobile podium, assembled where the view was best for the huge crowd.

  Lorenzo jumped lightly down and received a vigorous handshake from Wicksy along with his genuine congratulations. He turned to Poppy as she got out of Thunderbus and gave her an enormous hug. ‘Thank you for the lift, and for being a wonderful friend,’ he said.

  ‘Congratulations on your win,’ replied Poppy, responding in kind to the hug and forcing herself to congratulate Lorenzo, despite her hot disappointment at losing.

  Lorenzo laughed. ‘Thank you. The celebratory banquet will be held at Batsford’s63 this evening, and you are all invited.’

  ‘This way, Count Sellini, and you, Poppy,’ said Wicksy, shepherding them to the podium. ‘We’ll do the presentation as soon as Mr Hussey arrives as he took third, albeit some distance behind you two after the Kineton 250 retired. Ah, there he is. Right, is this microphone on? Yes?’ Wicksy’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers, ending in a shrill whistling sound. ‘Oh yes, sorry everyone.’ Wicksy quickly and elegantly presented the smaller cups and cheques for second and third place before handing a huge trophy and cheque over to Lorenzo, followed by the portable microphone.

  ‘Thank you, thank you all, you are wonderful,’ beamed Lorenzo at the cheering crowd. ‘It is a pleasure to race here in England once more, and to be allowed to bring in a foreign car also. I hope you all enjoyed seeing what Italian manufacturers can do?’

  ‘Yes!’ rumbled the crowd, though a few dissenting voices were r
aised, mostly of the ‘bloody foreigners’ brigade. Lorenzo was wise enough to ignore them, though Poppy felt a stab of irritation at the moronic bigotry; Lorenzo and his car had won cleanly and fairly, so why not acknowledge that? Why turn his success into a weapon to attack him, as the newspapers would also surely do?

  ‘Good,’ boomed Lorenzo. ‘I sincerely hope other tracks in the country follow the wonderful example set here today and allow more foreign cars into their competitions. After all, it does make for exciting races, yes?’

  ‘And you, Miss Orpington,’ said Wicksy as he retrieved the microphone with a happy nod at Lorenzo. ‘An excellent and very close race indeed. Would you like to speak to the visitors?’

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’ bellowed Poppy to the crowd after congratulating Lorenzo and thanking her pit crew.

  ‘Yes!’ roared most of the crowd, though a substantial number still hated seeing a woman racing in a man’s world.

  ‘Do you think Thunderbus is one of the best cars on the track?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Then I’m delighted to tell you I will soon be producing a mass market version of the car for all to buy! A petrol car priced for everyone, to allow you to enjoy the freedom and democracy that driving can bring to us all!’

  ‘Oh, isn’t that exciting,’ exclaimed an elderly gentlemen close by. ‘I wonder when Mr Thunderbus will get his cars out to the showrooms?’

  Late edition – Petrol Queen EXPOSED! by Harvey McArdle, editor of the Daily Post; YOUR newspaper!

  The truth finally emerged in motor sport here today in Sussex as we witnessed the FALL from on high of the vulgar Petrol Queen, Poppy Orpington.

  Orpington’s poor showing at the Sussex Racetrack, Sussex, shows her fast speed at other tracks is nothing more than a run of lucky FLUKES. She FAILED to win against other prestigious competitors, none of whom wanted to see a woman involved in such an UNFEMININE activity as driving a car and competing against men, for women are not men, they are women, and they would do well to remember this, a feeling shared by the disapproving crowd!