Classic In the Clouds

by Amy Myers

  Tom snorted. ‘He’s out to wheedle you out of your rights. That car’s only taking part in the rally if he gives up this stupid claim.’

  ‘He won’t do that.’ Patricia changed her tone. ‘But I am sure the car belonged to my mother and now to me. The Major did suggest though that Nick and I drove in it in the rally.’

  ‘Did he?’ Tom’s face darkened. ‘We decide who drives in it. What’s the old codger think he’s up to?’

  ‘I’m driving it,’ Nick shouted.

  ‘I take it it’s all settled legally?’ I hastily asked, seeing all the signs of a diversionary row breaking out.

  ‘Not yet. Our solicitors, Benson & Hawkes, have all the papers to do with the car though,’ Tom informed me. ‘My poor mother-in-law must have given them to Benson after your sweet old thing, Pat, came over to bully her.’

  ‘Is that how she worded it?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Tom shot back at her, just as Pat answered:

  ‘No.’

  ‘The problem is this.’ Helen took charge again. ‘We need to know where we are for the rally before we can begin publicizing it, and there’s only two months to go now. If ownership is still in dispute and the Major won’t give up his claim, are you still telling us that you won’t let the car take part in the rally?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tom said instantly.

  ‘No,’ Nick objected. ‘I’m going to drive it, Dad.’

  ‘It seems not,’ Helen said coolly, ‘if the Major has to give up his claim before your parents will allow the car to appear in the rally. He won’t do it.’

  Father and son glowered at each other.

  ‘Mum—’ Nick began.

  ‘No!’ Tom thundered.

  Helen sighed. ‘I take it therefore that we can’t have the De Dion in the rally.’

  ‘Not until that madman gives up his claim.’

  ‘Isn’t that for the solicitors to decide?’ Nick persevered. ‘Possession being nine tenths of the law, we own it anyway. So the De Dion will be there. And me, Helen darling.’

  Helen darling didn’t move an inch. ‘Not unless Mrs Morris agrees.’

  Patricia hesitated, looking in appeal at her husband.

  ‘I think you’ll find Julian Carter will dole out a fair sum to buy the car,’ Nick said casually. ‘He’s after Mum to sell it to him.’

  So we hadn’t quite heard the full story from Julian. There was a look in Helen’s eye that said he would be hearing from her.

  ‘You didn’t tell me that, Pat,’ Tom said grimly.

  ‘Why should I?’ Pat said with a show of spirit. ‘It’s my car. In fact I think it’s a very good offer.’

  ‘I told you to leave this business to me,’ Tom yelled at her. ‘And that goes for you, too, Nick.’

  ‘It’s my car,’ Patricia said with flushed face.

  ‘We all—’

  There was a gentle cough. The others had their backs to her, so I was the only person who had noticed that Brenda Carlyle was standing in the garden. She must have come through the side gate while the fury was raging.

  ‘Actually no,’ she said hesitantly, and instantly had everyone’s full attention.

  ‘No what?’ Tom hurled at her.

  ‘You don’t own the De Dion. None of you does.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about, Brenda? Who owns it then?’

  ‘According to Mr Benson, it seems I do.’

  ELEVEN

  I can only describe the stunned disbelief at Brenda’s revelation as seeing someone you thought to be a car lover proceed to chuck a can of red paint over a Rolls-Royce. Such things do not happen, although one look at Brenda should have been proof enough. Her happy smile indicated she was under the impression that she was amongst friends who would rejoice at her good fortune.

  The stunned period then ended. After a string of expletives that would make a trooper blush, Tom declared, ‘I’m ringing that creep Benson now. He told us we get the lot except for a couple of bequests. Some bequest!’

  Galvanized out of stupor, Nick rushed after Tom as he strode into the house. Patricia took one scared look at us and scuttled after them.

  Helen drew a long breath. ‘What now?’ she said flatly.

  I could see how shaken she was. Once again her plans for publicizing the rally were thrown into the melting pot and this pot had come out of the blue. Brenda was clearly shocked at the Morrises’ reaction and hadn’t yet foreseen the ramifications of her announcement. I had – all too clearly.

  ‘Here,’ I said to her, drawing up a chair. ‘You should sit down. You’re going to need that.’ She would. Nevertheless I was watching her carefully. Her arrival seemed too good – or bad – not to be timed. Surely no one could be that innocent of the ways of the world?

  Brenda did look genuinely bewildered, however, and took up my suggestion. ‘They seem upset,’ she ventured. ‘It was Victoria’s wish, however, and I would have thought she would have told them.’

  ‘Perhaps you misunderstood what the solicitor said,’ Helen said hopefully.

  False step. ‘I did not,’ Brenda said with dignity. ‘I’m quite clear on the subject, thank you.’

  After that put-down, we sat there in silence while I tried to make sense of the situation. The silence went on for so long I thought the Morrises might have gone straight to the pub to drown their sorrows, but more probably they were drawing up hasty plans for attack. If so, would that imply Brenda’s statement was true? If not, Tom would have been back in the garden with the news faster than a Ferrari.

  After twenty-odd minutes the Morris family came storming back, this time presenting a united front. Needless to say, Tom was spokesman. ‘That jackass Thomas confirmed your claim, Brenda. Now kindly explain to us, if you please, how this came about.’

  ‘There’s no point taking that tone with me,’ Brenda said bravely. ‘I don’t see why I should tell you anything, except that it was obviously Victoria’s decision.’

  ‘It isn’t in the will we hold,’ Patricia said instantly.

  ‘Benson said she made a new will a year or two ago,’ Brenda said. ‘Perhaps she didn’t discuss it with you.’

  ‘A new will?’ Patricia snorted. ‘I don’t believe it – and if it’s true who pushed her into that? Why leave it all to you and not her own daughter? It’s just not fair.’

  I might have felt sorry for her except that I’d noted the look of sheer hatred she shot at Brenda. It spoke not just of disappointment and anger, both of which would have been understandable in the circumstances, but of something more personal. It showed a tough side to Patricia Morris that I had not seen before.

  ‘It’s only the car she’s left to me,’ Brenda said quietly. ‘And as for the suggestion that I influenced her, that’s ridiculous. Although I demurred, Victoria insisted I should have it. She believed very strongly that the De Dion is part of France’s heritage and should be displayed there. My French neighbour and I plan to marry and I shall live there permanently, so I shall ensure that Victoria’s wish is honoured.’

  ‘And what,’ Tom sneered, ‘if that old gargoyle Hopchurch claims it’s his car?’

  In the excitement I’d clean forgotten about the car’s disputed provenance and from the expressions around me it seemed I wasn’t alone in this. Would the Major extend his fifty-fifty offer to Brenda? I wondered.

  ‘Mr Benson is looking into that matter,’ Brenda said shortly. ‘Until proven otherwise, however, the car is mine subject to probate.’

  Tom eyed her. ‘No way. You took advantage of an old lady and we’ll fight it.’

  Brenda dismissed this so quickly I knew the solicitor must have discussed it with her. ‘You’ll lose,’ she said briefly.

  ‘You old bat,’ Nick said almost admiringly. ‘You’re going to flog the De Dion to the gargoyle, aren’t you? Settle with him out of court.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Patricia shouted, now fully geared up for the fight. ‘If you’re so bloody keen to do what my mother wanted, you’ll have to bear i
n mind that she didn’t want it shown at this crazy rally of theirs.’

  I felt for poor Helen but wisely she seemed to be keeping a tight rein on her feelings. Not one word of protest did she utter. I also felt rather sorry for Nick, who was already in panic.

  ‘But I’m driving it in the rally, Mum,’ he cried. ‘No doubt about that.’

  ‘I’d say there was quite a lot of doubt.’ For the first time a note of tartness entered Brenda’s voice.

  Helen’s tight rein began to crack. ‘Mrs Carlyle, perhaps I should telephone you at a more suitable time to talk this over.’

  ‘We’ll settle it now,’ Nick said viciously. ‘Don’t forget I hold the only keys to the garage where my gran put it, Brenda.’

  ‘Perhaps you do,’ Brenda said primly. ‘However my De Dion is now in the formal possession of Benson & Hawkes. It was moved early this morning.’

  Nick lunged forward so quickly I was on my feet to stop him attacking her. Luckily, Nick must have realized he’d be doing himself no favours by throttling Brenda, and retreated.

  ‘Keep your cool, Nick,’ Tom barked at him. ‘We’ll have a word with this Major Hopchurch. He’ll see this farce is ended. He’s got a claim out against it, so he’ll want it in the rally – and you can drive it.’

  A quick turnabout, I thought admiringly.

  ‘The Major,’ Brenda said firmly, ‘is in no position to promise you anything. Probate is not yet granted and until it is and the solicitors involved have looked into the question of his claim, Mr Benson is the sole executor and responsible for the car.’

  Tom bristled, as this new challenge presented itself. ‘I’m my mother-in-law’s executor.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I understand from Mr Benson that the new will was the same as its predecessor save for the De Dion and an executor. Mr Benson remains one of the two, however.’

  ‘Who’s the other then? Patricia?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Alfred King.’

  ‘We can still hold the rally,’ Helen said desperately as we set off home. ‘The De Dion isn’t the be-all and end-all so far as that’s concerned.’

  I pulled my mind back from Brenda’s bombshell to consider this. ‘No, but its presence could double, even triple, the takings.’

  ‘I was trying to be optimistic.’ She pulled a face. ‘Who’s going to break the news to Stanley and Julian?’

  I thought this through. There was no doubt about it that the number of those with reason to wish Victoria Drake out of the way had omitted one major player. Brenda Carlyle’s role in this affair was increasingly mysterious. Nor did the fact that Patricia Morris didn’t inherit the car as she had expected rule her out of suspicion, nor her husband or son. There were others too, amongst whom were the Mad Major and Julian Carter, both of whom had seemingly their own separate agendas where the De Dion and Victoria were concerned.

  We agreed that Helen would break the news to the Major and I would talk to Julian. First I needed to talk to Dave and via him get this news to DCI Fielding – though it was possible she already knew through the solicitors. Helen occupied herself with a visit to my Lagonda.

  Dave is usually fairly laconic on the phone but I had his full attention when I explained the rumpus. He had heard about the bequest because Solicitor Benson had rung him about moving the car.

  ‘Wily old bird, isn’t she?’ was Dave’s comment on Brenda.

  ‘My jury’s out,’ I said. ‘OK for me to talk to Benson direct? I’d like to know where the car is and how it’s guarded.’

  ‘Fire ahead. Talking of firing, about that arson case and Mick Smith . . .’

  ‘The body wasn’t his?’

  ‘It was.’

  It looked as if Pen and Bob’s theory about Meyton was right, I thought, as I hung up. On the other hand, Meyton wasn’t in the habit of leaving obvious clues, even given the fact that he was giving a warning to Dean Warren. That left me with another niggle and in the crime world niggles can be the difference between life and death.

  Helen and I drove to Old Lilleys and Harford Lee respectively in our separate cars. Unfriendly, but sensible, she told me. She had enjoyed wandering around my ‘estate’ while I had been on the phone.

  ‘Frogs Hill seems an enchanted place,’ she said.

  ‘I think so too. For me it has memories, of course. My parents, growing up, all the people who’ve come here over the years.’

  ‘Was this your married home too?’

  ‘No, for which my parents were duly grateful. Eva wasn’t the calmest of daughters-in-law.’ I told her a little more of my early brief marriage and daughter.

  ‘Was your marriage spent in Kent?’ she asked me.

  ‘Yes, but luckily a reasonable distance from here. Canterbury. Then I scuttled back here to lick my wounds.’

  ‘That’s what’s so enchanting about Frogs Hill.’

  ‘Define?’ I asked her.

  ‘It’s an away place. Over the hills and far away.’

  ‘You make it sound like Harry Potter’s Hogwarts.’

  ‘Different kind of magic.’

  ‘Helen – after the rally . . .’

  ‘That’s a different place too. Let’s get the rally over first.’

  I found Julian at Cobba House where he was working that day. He looked completely thrown at seeing me and even more at my news.

  ‘Brenda Carlyle?’ he asked blankly. ‘It can’t be true. The woman who gave us coffee and biscuits that morning? Sure you’re right about this, Jack? Why on earth should the De Dion be bequeathed to her? She doesn’t look like a car lover to me.’

  ‘Maybe not, but that’s the situation.’

  He looked more cheerful. ‘Good. If she’s not a classic buff herself, she’ll sell it to me. I’ll get on to that right away.’

  ‘What about Stanley’s claim?’ I asked gently.

  He was thrown only for a moment. ‘We can use that as a handle to buy her out, now that his crazy idea of a fifty-fifty offer to Patricia Morris is off. I’ll pay her the probate valuation and more if I can have it right away. I’ll talk to her solicitor. She’s an old woman. She won’t care. She’ll be happy with a bit of cash.’

  Sexist, ageist – I was beginning to dislike Julian. ‘Somehow I don’t think so,’ I warned him. ‘Women are capable of infinite variety. Victoria apparently wanted Brenda to take the car to France and live happily ever after there.’

  Julian’s eyes took on a somewhat manic look. ‘All right. She can sell it to me and I’ll take it to bloody France for her. After the rally. Is it still in that garage on the A21? Benson never got back to me on my offer to store it.’

  So that was what Julian had had in mind. ‘No,’ I answered him. ‘Benson had it removed this morning. The Morrises have the keys to that garage which might have influenced his decision. I doubt if even Brenda knows where it is now. There’s still Stanley’s claim for him to sort out.’

  At that moment I heard a car drive up – the true lover of motor cars can identify an engine as easily as a dachshund’s bark from a Rottweiler’s. The car engine I could hear was a Bentley and it was sweeping to a grand halt in front of Julian’s house. Through the window I saw a red-faced and purposeful Major emerging and, from the far side, Helen. Julian ushered us all into his living room, as his office would have been too cramped for full-scale histrionics from four people. Within seconds we were plunged into battle again. Helen winked at me, so I knew whatever had happened after she had broken the news to Stanley it couldn’t be too bad – at least for her. Not for us, anyway.

  The phone rang just as hostilities began, however, and Julian went out to answer it. It took ten minutes for him to return, during which time Helen tried to talk to Stanley on routine rally matters, while I waited impatiently for the next development. And development there certainly was. Julian returned, looking bemused.

  ‘Bad news?’ I asked.

  ‘Far from it. It was from Benson.’

  The Major went red with annoyance. ‘That was for me. I told him
I’d be here.’

  ‘No, he wanted to speak to me, but he’s holding on for a word with you, Stanley.’

  ‘What did he want, Julian?’ Helen asked, as the Major stomped off.

  ‘He’s sending the De Dion over this afternoon. To be kept in my secure garage,’ he announced complacently.

  Alice in Wonderland was back in town. Curiouser and curiouser. Julian was an interested party in this affair, so why on earth should Benson suggest the car come here? Then it was the Major’s turn again. Hardly to my surprise, he returned looking annoyed.

  ‘Benson rang me earlier to tell me Mrs Carlyle was concerned that we might be worried about the rally because of my claim and this news about her inheritance. So she has suggested – against that fool solicitor’s advice – that the rally goes ahead with the De Dion either just displayed or driven in it as we wish, Julian. We could sort out ownership questions, if not before, then afterwards.’

  So why was he looking annoyed? I wondered. This seemed good news to me.

  Because of course there was a catch. While we were still reeling from this shock, the Major added, ‘Just one thing though.’ A cough. ‘I told her I wanted Nick Morris to drive the De Dion in the rally. Only fair for the Morrises.’ Benson was ringing back to tell me the answer. ‘Mrs Carlyle doesn’t agree.’

  ‘Then I’ll drive it,’ Julian announced, agony writ large on his face as he saw the prize so nearly slipping from his grasp.

  ‘Afraid not, Julian. She’s happy to be passenger, but she’s got someone else in mind to drive it.’

  ‘Lewis Hamilton maybe?’ Julian said angrily. ‘Stirling Moss?’

  Another cough from the Major, then: ‘No. I don’t like it, but I’ve agreed. She wants you to drive it, Jack.’

  Helen travelled back with the Major to collect her car, and I returned to Frogs Hill, still juggling the events of the day and hoping to make sense of them. He had reluctantly cheered up, perhaps in the hope that I would persuade Brenda that Nick not I should drive. Fat chance of that. There was a warm glow in my stomach every time I thought of driving that glorious De Dion. It was the only piece of this crazy jigsaw that I could grasp. I’d driven an early Panhard and an even earlier Daimler, but never a De Dion or indeed any car with such a pedigree as this one. Why me? I couldn’t help but wonder. I had no special chemistry with Brenda Carlyle. I quite liked her, but I had gained no impression from her that I was flavour of the month in any respect.