Classic In the Clouds

by Amy Myers

  Pen considered. Then she brightened up. ‘Graphic journalist first on killer’s trail,’ she pronounced.

  I laughed. ‘Go for it, Pen.’

  There were a couple of holes in the story that still puzzled me. I couldn’t discuss them with Helen and they were not strictly relevant to Dave or Fielding’s investigations. Firstly, why the Major hadn’t played his ace over the ownership of the car when he had every chance to do so? Secondly, why had Victoria left that car to Brenda, thereby cutting Patricia out? The motivation that Dave and I had come up with seemed weak. It was an expensive bequest to leave to a friend because she didn’t want to go back on her word, and yet it seemed she had acted of her own free will. True, Brenda could be a forceful woman when she chose, but Victoria was even more forceful and to leave that car (restored at great cost) to Brenda without good reason seemed out of character.

  I decided there was only one person who might settle this for me, and that was the man who had first commissioned me for this crazy venture: the Mad Major. The man had managed to upset Julian, his partner in the museum, although I gathered Julian was now hopeful of buying the car from Brenda (and the Major himself if the legal position worked out that way), and had also upset Helen and me. The Mad Major, I decided, was at the heart of this puzzle and at present he was showing every sign of sliding away from the limelight. It was time to beard him in his den.

  I found him at Brooklands race course, the version laid down in his garden. He was sitting in an old-fashioned deckchair peacefully examining a model Bentley. His peace ended.

  ‘Ah. Morning,’ he said unhappily as he saw me. ‘Thought you might be over.’

  ‘Just for a chat,’ I said cheerily.

  ‘The De Dion’s still safe?’ he ventured. ‘Bad business that.’

  ‘It was. And yes it’s safe. Did you know that both bills of sale, not just Victoria’s, were fake?’

  ‘Thought they might be,’ he mumbled. Then he rallied. ‘But it doesn’t change a thing. Only the documents. The car’s the real McCoy.’

  ‘Not according to Alf King. There’s no evidence of any damage at the docks bad enough to get anywhere near warranting a write-off. No sign of damage to the chassis, only wear and tear.’

  ‘Perhaps Pascal nicked it on its way back to Paris and made up the whole story?’ he tried hopefully.

  ‘I think not, Major. The evidence points up to Pascal buying a used De Dion Bouton, and sending it back to English with Florence with this fairy-tale attached. That’s why he never bothered to pick it up.’

  I thought he would continue to argue, but he didn’t. ‘Ah well, still a nice car. Had a word with my solicitors.’

  ‘Are you still challenging the ownership?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Mrs Carlyle came over to see me. Feels badly about all this. Victoria and that rotter Fairhill and so forth.’

  She wasn’t the only one. Alf, Doris, Victoria, the Morrises – all victims of one man resorting to murder to achieve his objective.

  ‘Fact is,’ he continued awkwardly, ‘Brenda’s turning her claim over to me, so that the car is mine whichever claim is the better. The Morrises are not going ahead with their claim on it.’

  ‘But that’s great news!’ I couldn’t think of a better way out. ‘So why aren’t you looking happier about it?’

  ‘It’s Pat. Patricia Morris,’ he added as if it had slipped my mind who she was.

  ‘You think she should have inherited it?’

  ‘From Victoria, yes. And from me. Fact is . . .’ He looked embarrassed.

  I was beginning to see the light. ‘Nineteen sixty-eight,’ I said.

  ‘Right. Pat’s my daughter.’

  The last piece in the jigsaw. ‘Does she know?’

  ‘No. Got to tell her.’

  ‘She’ll be pleased,’ I said. ‘That’ll be good news, considering the man she thought was her father is a murderer.’

  He brightened up immediately. ‘Hadn’t thought of it that way.’

  I was still puzzled though. ‘Why didn’t Victoria tell her the truth?’

  He was cast back into gloom. ‘She didn’t want to face it – or me. She was married to that rotter at the time. Wanted to marry her myself when she told me. She wouldn’t have it. Said she didn’t want to divorce a parasite only to marry a stick insect. Didn’t like me being in the military, I suppose. Anyway, she did a runner. Said she never wanted to see me or hear from me again. Not my fault.’ He glared at me. ‘She said sorry and all that, but this was her life and she was going to live it without me. Never heard from her. False address. Heard she had remarried but didn’t know where she was. When this rally idea came up, I thought I’d give it a go. Didn’t know her new name but had a hunch she might be in Kent somewhere – her parents came from here. Florence could have been local too. So that’s what Victoria and I were talking about that day – Pat. I didn’t know she was at Brenda’s house, and was fooled when Victoria said she’d take me over to her home to satisfy me. When we got there she was out of course, so she offered to take me to see the De Dion instead. As if that was any compensation. Didn’t care two hoots about that, so I said no.’

  I stared at him open-mouthed. ‘What about Treasure Island?’

  ‘Yes, well, jolly pleased about the car for its sake, if Julian gets it,’ he said hastily. ‘But Victoria – and my daughter. That’s what was in it for me. Chiefly Pat. Getting older, you see. Wife passed over, no other children. But now I realize Victoria didn’t want Pat to know anything about me. That’s why she left the car to Brenda. Victoria knew the full story about the car and was worried Pat would find out about my rival claim if she inherited the car and the whole story would come out.’

  ‘That must have been hard for you.’

  ‘I wasn’t pleased, I can tell you. I’ve been thinking, though. If Brenda makes the car over to me, I’ll give a half share to Pat provided we can keep the De Dion in Treasure Island. Might make her feel a bit better about me as a father. Whether it’s the 1907 rally car or not, it’s still worth a bob or two. What do you think of that?’

  ‘A really good idea,’ I said. ‘But given that husband of hers, I’d make it forty-nine per cent.’

  He grinned at me. ‘Jolly good idea.’

  That jigsaw complete, I turned my attention to the other matter worrying me. Helen had been remarkably busy in the last few weeks. I’d only seen her twice and never at Frogs Hill. It was understandable enough with the future of Treasure Island to organize. Even so . . .

  So I went over to the museum. Start on neutral ground. ‘Where will you put the De Dion when and if you have her for keeps?’ I asked her. When we’d finished discussing that and everything else under the sun except the vital matter, I suggested: ‘Dinner at Frogs Hill tonight? I’m a dab hand at spaghetti.’

  She was silent for a little while, then said, ‘You know, Jack. I think I’m busy this evening.’

  So there it was on the table, writ clear. No more walks, no more loving, no more Helen. ‘Why, Helen?’ I asked. ‘Can you explain?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘There’s a famous verse about a man who wasn’t there. Well, that’s you, Jack. You seem to be there, but you’re not. Not at present, anyway.’

  I knew she was right. I was still out there somewhere, with Louise.

  I tried though. ‘She’ll not come back, Helen.’

  ‘But when will you, Jack?’

  ‘Some day, I will. Some day soon.’

  Would I? Common sense told me I would, but how would I know when? I had a brief moment of hope in October. Helen rang me. ‘Dinner?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘Sweetheart, not yet. It’s the De Dion Bouton. It’s all settled. Probate is through, and the car’s registered in Stanley’s name with Patricia Morris owning part of it.’

  ‘How’s Julian with that?’

  ‘Content. Now its authenticity has been blown to smithereens, he’s not so bent on personally owning it, and we’ve thought up a way of displaying it in
Treasure Island despite the question mark over it. Did Len tell you he’s already been over to check it out?’

  ‘No,’ I said glumly.

  ‘Good. We were keeping it as a surprise,’ she explained. ‘We thought you might like to drive the car down here on Charlie.’

  I brightened up immediately. ‘Love to.’

  And one late autumn day I did just that. Not alone. Len and Zoe insisted on coming too, and so we drove the De Dion in state through Harford Lee to Burnt Barn Bottom. Or, to be correct, I drove Charlie with Zoe while Len drove my Gordon-Keeble for my return journey.

  ‘Hey! Look, there’s a reception party,’ Zoe said in glee as we arrived.

  Outside Treasure Island was a table with glasses and a bottle of champagne. By the open double doors, Helen, Julian and the Mad Major were waiting to escort the De Dion in. I drove it in state to its appointed place, and then we returned to pop the champagne corks. Julian looked rather wistful as if he would have preferred to have driven it in himself. Tough. This privilege was mine, even if Helen remained out of my reach. I had a terrible feeling she might be turning into a friend rather than my lover. But, hey, what’s so wrong with that?

  As I arrived back at Frogs Hill driving in state in my Gordon-Keeble, I found Charlie had arrived first and saw Len and Zoe were waiting for me. I took the Gordon-Keeble back to its home and then invited them into the farmhouse for a celebratory drink and to chew over the day.

  ‘You know, Jack,’ Len said after a while, ‘I’m not so sure about that car.’

  Alarm bells clanged. ‘The De Dion? What about it?’

  ‘Alf said it wasn’t one of the 1907 rally cars, because there was no sign of damage at the docks, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘When I was checking it over, I had a look at it,’ he said. ‘Careful look. Saw what he meant.’

  ‘And?’ I asked impatiently. We’d been over this a hundred times or more.

  ‘Went on looking. Difficult to spot, but inside that butterfly radiator there are a few flakes of old white paint.’

  ‘How do you know it’s old?’ Zoe countered.

  ‘White lead content. Had it analysed. Also tung oil and soya bean.’

  I gazed at him. I thought I saw where he was heading, rustled up my knowledge of the 1907 rally and a wild hope sprang through me.

  Len blushed. ‘Wanted to be sure before I told you,’ he added.

  ‘And now you are?’

  ‘Right for Chinese paint for 1907.’

  ‘And maybe a lot of other years too. So what’s so special about that?’ Zoe asked.

  ‘Just before the five rally cars set out from Peking in June 1907,’ I said slowly, ‘two French soldiers painted the words “Peking to Paris” in Chinese script on the radiator of one of the De Dions.’

  Zoe’s eyes grew as big as the De Dion’s hubs. ‘You mean . . .’

  ‘Of course a speck or two of white paint isn’t conclusive,’ I said hastily.

  Len cleared his throat. ‘Let’s get back to the Pits. There’s an Alvis to restore.’

  1 See Classic Calls the Shots

  THE CAR’S THE STAR

  James Myers

  Jack Colby’s daily driver: Alfa Romeo 156 Sportwagon

  The 156 Sportwagon is a ‘lifestyle estate’, which means that it’s trendy, respectable to have on the drive, although it lacks the interior space of a traditional load-lugger. For those who value individuality, its subtle and pure styling gives it the edge over rivals such as the BMW 3-Series. It gives a lot of driving pleasure even with the smaller engines.

  Jack Colby’s 1965 Gordon-Keeble

  One hundred of these fabulous supercars were built between 1963 and 1966 with over ninety units surviving around the globe, mostly in the UK. Designed by John Gordon and Jim Keeble using current racing car principles, with the bodyshell designed by twenty-one-year-old Giorgetto Giugiaro at Bertone, the cars were an instant success but the company was ruined by supply-side industrial action with ultimately only 99 units completed even after the company was relaunched in May 1965, as Keeble Cars Ltd. Final closure came in February 1966 when the factory at Sholing closed and Jim Keeble moved to Keewest. The hundredth car was completed in 1971 with leftover components. The Gordon-Keeble’s emblem is a yellow and green tortoise.

  Jack Colby’s 1938 Lagonda V-12 Drophead

  The Lagonda company won its attractive name from a creek near the home of the American-born founder Wilbur Gunn in Springfield, Ohio. The name given to it by the American Indians was Ough Ohonda. The V-12 drophead was a car to compete with the very best in the world, with a sporting twelve-cylinder engine which would power the two 1939 Le Mans cars. Its designer was the famous W.O. Bentley. Sadly many fine prewar saloons have been cut down to look like Le Mans replicas. The V12 cars are very similar externally to the earlier six-cylinder versions; both types were available with open or closed bodywork in a number of different styles. The V-12 Drophead also featured in Jack’s earlier case, Classic in the Barn.

  The 1935 Bentley Silent Sports

  In the 1920s, Bentleys enjoyed numerous racing and record-breaking successes, most notably five victories at Le Mans! But the cost of all this was massive losses and the company was bailed out by millionaire adventurer and Bentley racing driver Woolf Barnato, one of the famous ‘Bentley Boys’. The Bentley ‘Silent Sports Car’ series was introduced in 1933. This new model was very different from the previously huge and muscular Bentleys.

  1906 10hp De Dion Bouton

  This was the most popular car of its time in France and the pride of the nation. It was was small and light – ideal for the gruelling conditions of the 1907 Peking to Paris raid (literal translation long-distance trek). The two 10 hp De Dion Boutons that completed the event had the advanced engineering qualities that made these cars such strong contenders in this ultimate endurance test. They both benefited from recently introduced and extremely reliable fast-revving engines, user-friendly three-speed gearboxes and a robust suspension layout. One such model racked up over 80,000 miles of everyday use in England.

  Bentley 50s Continental

  Bentley used the Continental name on a number of models in the fifties and sixties. The name was reserved for cars with more powerful engines than standard, installed in lowered chassis provided to coachbuilders for distinctive body shapes of specially lightened construction. Continentals have usually been ‘coupé’ styled two-door saloons intended for high speed. They were named Continental, as with some Rolls-Royces before them, because until the 1960s there were no high-speed roads of any length in their home country.

  1930s Bentley drophead

  The Bentley 4½ Litre is best known for epitomizing pre-war British motor racing. Created by Walter O. Bentley, the Bentley was a more powerful race car due to its increased engine displacement. In the twenties and thirties prominent car manufacturers like Bentley focused on designing cars to compete in the 24 Hour race of Le Mans, a popular automotive endurance course established a few years earlier. A victory in this competition would quickly elevate any car maker’s reputation. The most famous models in this regard – with supercharged engines – were known as Blower Bentleys. A 4½ litre Bentley won the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1928 and most famously set a top-speed record in 1932 at Brooklands with a recorded speed of 138 mph.

  For more information on Jack Colby’s cases, see www.amymyers.net and his own website and blog on www.jackcolby.co.uk.