The Silver Ladies of London

by Lesley Eames

  Fortunately, Alice always did as Jonas asked so she didn’t protest. She wrapped Jenny in a hug then, still in awe of Johnnie, blushed as he kissed her cheek.

  Jonas stepped towards Jenny only to find the taller Johnnie in his way. ‘Goodnight, Mr Cartwright,’ Johnnie said, offering another handshake.

  Jonas took his hand warily. ‘Have a safe journey home,’ Johnnie told him, but there was a warning in his eyes that said Jonas wouldn’t be welcome in London again soon and not at all unless he improved his behaviour.

  As though to be sure he was getting rid of them, Johnnie walked them downstairs and Ruth heard him close the door firmly behind them.

  Grace and Lydia arrived back soon afterwards. They were delighted to see Johnnie and thrilled to hear about the engagement.

  ‘We should open the champagne I won at the treasure hunt,’ Lydia suggested.

  She moved into the living quarters to fetch it and, seeing Grace following, Ruth went in too to fill them in on what had happened.

  ‘No wonder Johnnie looks fierce,’ Grace said.

  ‘But good on him for sending Jonas packing,’ Lydia approved.

  They carried the bottle and some glasses back into the office

  ‘They’re not champagne glasses, but who cares?’ Lydia said.

  The bottle was opened; the glasses handed around. A toast was drunk to the happy couple then they sat around enjoying a wonderful moment, Johnnie looking proud and Jenny looking stunned, grateful, and above all happy.

  Celebrating past midnight meant Ruth was tired at work the next day. She was collecting the shoes her last customer had rejected when the shop door opened and closed. It was Dorothy’s turn to serve their next customer so Ruth didn’t look up. But then a pair of feet stepped into her line of vision. They were wearing the brown shoes she recognised from the churchyard.

  Thirty-eight

  ‘Nervous?’ Harry asked.

  Lydia shot him a scathing look. ‘Why should I be nervous?’

  ‘Because you’ll be meeting Sam and Hux? Because you’ll be driving a fast car on a track built for speed?’

  ‘Either it goes well or it doesn’t,’ Lydia shrugged, but Harry’s smile showed he knew she was putting on an act.

  His ability to peer into her feelings was one of the most irritating things about him. Lydia was indeed nervous. For several reasons.

  Firstly, she feared that Harry’s racing friends might consider her to be too spiky as a person, especially as the more anxious she was, the more truculent she became. Secondly, she was worried about developments at Silver Ladies. Lydia suspected Grace was preparing to leave. ‘I think it would be a good idea for the rest of you to learn about my side of the business,’ Grace had suggested.

  That meant dull things like contracts and bookkeeping.

  ‘You need to know what to do if I’m ever ill,’ Grace had explained, but was that the real reason?

  Lydia knew Grace was torn between the business and her gran. Not that Lydia thought it would be the right thing for Grace to return to Ruston. On the contrary, Lydia felt Grace’s talents would be wasted in an ordinary job, even if she could find one. But Grace was in a difficult position, and if she left, Lydia might find it hard to get time off to race, especially as Jenny too must have other priorities now she was engaged to Johnnie.

  ‘We won’t be getting married for months,’ she’d said. ‘And Johnnie’s a modern man, he’s happy for me to continue working at Silver Ladies.’

  But Jenny wasn’t looking entirely happy, so perhaps she was simply saying what she thought they wanted to hear because she was reluctant to let them down. Secretly she might prefer to leave and keep house for Johnnie. It sounded dreary to Lydia, but Jenny was made differently.

  There was a third reason Lydia was nervous. Try as she might to dismiss it, a voice kept whispering in her ear that she just might not be a good enough driver.

  Harry found her nervousness entertaining, but it was all right for him because his future with cars was assured. He’d studied engineering and was interested in designing cars as well as driving them. Lydia’s future with cars was as fragile as a snowflake. It could melt away in a moment.

  ‘This is it,’ Harry finally said, swinging his car between high gateposts. ‘Welcome to Fairfax Park.’

  They entered a long drive flanked by trees, acres of rolling parkland visible in between them. At the end was a mansion with stone pillars ranged across the front.

  ‘Looks great from here but it’s a wreck inside,’ Harry told her. ‘We’ll be restoring it and opening it as a hotel, but that’s Stage Two of the project.’

  ‘Stage One being…’

  ‘The race track, of course. We’re building a separate entrance for the track that’ll come in at the back of the estate, but I thought I’d show you everything.’

  They drove on past formal gardens until she could see mellow roofs peeping over more trees. Lydia supposed they belonged to old stables and carriage houses.

  She was right, but the horses and carriages were long gone. As Harry came to a halt in the central courtyard, a man emerged through a door, rubbing his hands on a rag. He was fifty or so, with a fit, outdoorsy look to him. Seeing Harry, he waved.

  ‘That’s Sam,’ Harry said, leaping out of the car without bothering to open his door.

  He strode round to Lydia’s door, but she’d already got out, pretending to a confidence she didn’t feel.

  The two men shook hands with obvious affection, then Harry introduced Lydia. ‘This is Miss Grey, but you can call her Gladys.’

  ‘You can call me Lydia,’ she corrected, sending Harry a glower.

  Sam smiled, crinkling the weathered skin around his eyes. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lydia.’ His voice was gravelly, his accent English. ‘I’m Sam Perkins. I’d shake your hand but—’

  ‘Lydia doesn’t object to oil stains. She’s as mad about cars as we are.’

  Lydia held out her hand to prove it and sensed Sam’s approval. So far, so good.

  ‘Where’s Hux?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Around.’

  They walked back to the door through which Sam had emerged and Lydia’s eyes widened in impressed surprise. The carriage houses might have retained their traditional appearance from the front but the backs had been opened up and extended to create an enormous space, with tools and spare parts lining the walls, and men working on cars in the middle.

  The far wall was made up of a series of tall gates which all stood open. Sam led the way through them into another yard edged with sheds of a newer vintage.

  ‘A shortcut,’ he said, taking a downwards path between two of them.

  Suddenly the vista opened up and there was the track below them.

  Lydia had seen photographs of the racing at Brooklands, but the size of the track here at Fairfax Park still took her breath away. It was incredibly wide here at the start and finish point, and it stretched as far as she could see in both directions. She knew there were three miles of it in total, flat stretches over which cars could reach their fastest speeds together with loops and curves that tested the drivers’ skills to the utmost. There was no way spectators would be able to see all of the track, but its position on lower ground combined with the construction of a tall viewing stand meant they would still see a lot of it.

  A Groves Sparrowhawk stood on the track and a man was inspecting its wheels.

  ‘Hux!’ Harry called.

  Glancing up, he saw them and came running, leaping over a fence and some flower tubs, and grinning broadly. He and Harry grabbed each other like gambolling puppies.

  Was this the American way? It certainly wasn’t the British way. Lydia’s feelings were mixed, her loathing of hugs doing battle with her liking for anything that challenged stuffy English convention.

  ‘How was Scotland?’ Harry asked him.

  ‘Cold. But I got a good deal on bolts.’

  Hux turned to Lydia. He was a little shorter than Harry but still tall. We
ll-muscled, too. And if he lacked Harry’s dashing handsomeness, he made up for it with a face that looked designed for good humour, having smiling blue eyes, freckled skin and thick corn-coloured hair that stood up straight. Lydia liked him on sight.

  ‘You don’t look like a Gladys,’ he said, his voice American.

  ‘That’s because I’m not.’

  ‘Gladys is one of Harry’s little jokes?’

  ‘He seems to think it’s funny.’

  Hux roared. ‘You’ve met your match here, Harry. I’m Luke Huxtable, by the way.’

  She’d been thinking Hux must be some sort of crazy American name, but the nickname suited him. ‘I’m Lydia Grey.’

  ‘Harry says you drive good.’

  Lydia’s nervousness flooded back. It would be awful if she proved a disappointment.

  ‘I’ve never actually raced,’ she admitted and, to conserve her pride if they turned her down, she shrugged to suggest it mattered little whether she raced or not.

  ‘This is the car you’ll be driving.’ Hux gestured back at the Sparrowhawk.

  Lydia swallowed. It looked a glorious little car. She only hoped she could handle it and handle it well. ‘Is there anywhere I can change?’

  ‘The clubhouse,’ Sam said, pointing to one of the new buildings. ‘Go carefully. They’re still working on it.’

  There were carpenters and decorators in there, but Lydia found an empty room, changed into overalls and tied her usual duster over her head. Jenny would despair of her, but Lydia wasn’t here for a fashion parade.

  A smile danced on Harry’s lips when she emerged. On Hux’s too. Sam simply offered her some goggles and introduced her to the car’s controls. ‘Take her for a spin, but don’t rush it. Get to know her.’

  Lydia’s stomach fluttered as she set off. It had been a while since she’d driven Harry’s Peregrine and the Sparrowhawk nearly got away from her. But she settled down and began to enjoy the feel of it.

  Harry had explained that the track was designed so that sections could be closed off to make shorter circuits. She drove a circuit of about a mile and Hux waved her on twice more. After the third lap, he beckoned her over. Harry had disappeared. Had he walked away in embarrassment because her driving was so poor? She hadn’t crashed or made any other drastic mistakes but perhaps she’d been slow?

  ‘That was terrific,’ Hux told her, and she breathed out in in relief. ‘Harry’s going to give you some practice at racing. Don’t try to beat him. Just focus on being aware of him and avoiding a smash.’

  Harry roared up in another car but let her set off first. Almost immediately she realised she needed all her wits about her if she were to stay aware of his position. He appeared at her left, then at her right. He dropped behind and she had to search for him in her mirrors. Then he came up so close behind her she thought he must surely hit her. They rounded a bend and suddenly he was in front and she had to brake to avoid hitting him.

  Perspiration broke out on Lydia’s forehead. She hauled air into her lungs and concentrated hard. Harry was much the more experienced driver so she didn’t expect to be as good as him – yet – but she didn’t want him to think her an incompetent fool.

  Hux brought a third car onto the track. Staying aware of one competitor had been difficult enough. Keeping an eye on two was much harder. God only knew what it would be like in a real race with numerous cars taking part.

  Lydia was exhausted when Sam signalled them all to drive into the courtyard. Hux and Harry leapt out of their cars. Lydia took longer to be sure of her shaking legs, then stood like a prisoner awaiting sentence.

  ‘You have fast reactions,’ Hux complimented.

  But was she good enough to join the team? Lydia saw Harry watching and froze her expression to haughty indifference though she was desperate to know what he thought. Had Hux spoken for both of them or was Harry unimpressed?

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ Sam said.

  There was a galley kitchen in one of the workshops. It was full of oily rags and tins of oil remover.

  Sam made tea in an ancient teapot and poured it into chipped enamel cups which they took outside. Despite it being February, the day was fine. Hux produced biscuits and cigarettes, and they slouched back in metal chairs to swap stories about breakdowns, loose wheels, ice skids and Lydia’s experiences at Silver Ladies.

  It was wonderful to sit around with people who didn’t think it odd for a female to join in conversations about gears and crank shafts. It was fascinating to piece together some of their histories too.

  Sam had been a car man for more than twenty years. He’d met Harry and Hux in America and they’d bought into Fairfax Park along with Stockton Groves of Groves Motors who’d contributed the lion’s share of the purchase and development costs. ‘Stockton will use Fairfax Park to showcase his sporting vehicles,’ Sam said.

  Harry and Hux had been friends since their schooldays. ‘Harry ran tame in my house when we were kids,’ Hux told her.

  Hadn’t he had a house of his own?

  ‘My grandparents took me in when my parents were killed in a train crash,’ Harry explained.

  Should Lydia say she was sorry?

  Harry spared her the necessity. ‘I was three years old and I don’t remember them. But I was a little too wild for my grandparents.’

  Lydia could picture him as a wild sort of boy, always up to one trick or another.

  ‘Fitted right in at my house,’ Hux grinned. ‘I’ve got three brothers and three sisters, so it’s a lively kind of place. Do you have family, Lydia?’

  She’d been curious about their lives but had no wish to talk about her own. ‘I live with friends,’ she said. Picking up a cigarette, she changed the subject. ‘What happened to the matches?’

  Harry lit her cigarette but wasn’t to be fobbed off. ‘You have no parents either?’

  Blast him. ‘My father lives in Ruston, but we don’t see much of each other. My mother left years ago.’

  ‘That must have been hard,’ Hux said.

  Lydia shrugged.

  ‘You’ve no idea where your mother is?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Somewhere in London, I believe. I don’t really know. Biological connections are overrated in my opinion.’ Lydia didn’t like the thoughtful look in Harry’s eyes but decided to ignore it. ‘Who’s going to tell me more about your plans for Fairfax Park?’

  ‘We open in a month,’ Sam said. ‘Long term, we aim to offer serious racing to drivers from all over the world and we’ll be using modified cars for those races. We expect to break records here. But we also want to attract ordinary folk so our opening will be a gala day to show the public that racing is for spectators as well as drivers. The home team will be driving cars anyone can buy and the races will be short. One race will be for women only.’

  Lydia held her breath.

  ‘Stockton will have to approve you, but, subject to that, we’ll pay you a fee plus your expenses, and you can keep the prize money if you win. We’ll include an advertisement for Silver Ladies in the programme free of charge and you can talk about the business as much as you like in conversation. How does that sound?’

  It sounded wonderful. Marvellous, in fact. Lydia strove to appear calm. ‘Acceptable,’ she said, but Harry’s smile told her he knew how she really felt.

  There remained the potential obstacle of Stockton Groves’ approval, but Lydia wasn’t going to think of that now.

  ‘We’re promoting Fairfax Park as a great day out for all the family,’ Sam told her. ‘We’ll have a carousel and Punch and Judy show for the kids, fine food, two bars and we want our drivers to be accessible to anyone who wants to chat. Outside of race days we’ll be offering lessons and a chance to try our cars.’

  ‘Bring the Silver Lady if you can,’ Harry suggested. ‘Bring Grace, Jenny and Ruth too. They’ll certainly be noticed if they wear their uniforms.’

  It would depend on the diary. Bookings had to come first though Lydia knew the others would do everything th
ey could to help her follow her dream.

  ‘Ready for more practice?’ Hux asked.

  Lydia didn’t need to be asked twice.

  *

  Lydia was drained but exhilarated when Sam finally called a halt.

  ‘When can you come and practise again?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll have to let you know but I’ll come back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Just telephone. If Harry can’t bring you, come by train. One of us will pick you up from the station.’

  ‘Come again soon,’ Harry advised, as he drove her back to London. ‘The more you practise, the less afraid you’ll be.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ Lydia snapped.

  ‘That’s right. You’re afraid of nothing. So why don’t you speak to your mother? I know you’ve seen her in London.’

  Lydia turned on him. How did he know she’d seen Celia? He couldn’t have known. He’d simply guessed or she must have given it away somehow. Either way, Lydia was angry. ‘My mother’s nothing to me. A complete stranger.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s had to be a stranger.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. She chose to leave and she didn’t go alone. There was someone else.’ Lydia remembered rows about Celia’s fancy man.

  ‘She might not have been happy with your father. But it doesn’t follow that she was happy to leave you.’

  ‘I never heard from her again. She didn’t even write to say she’d married a man called Sutton. Whoever he is.’

  ‘She might have sent letters that your father destroyed.’

  Lydia snorted in disbelief. She doubted the well-preserved Selfridges Celia had given her abandoned daughter a thought.

  ‘The point is, you don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘And unless I’m very much mistaken, you’d like to know.’

  ‘You are mistaken.’

  ‘But—’

  Lydia had had enough. ‘Your parents are dead. Perhaps that makes families seem rosy and romantic to you. But I’m not like you. And my family isn’t the fairy tale you think it is.’

  ‘I just don’t believe in letting doubts fester,’ he told her calmly. ‘Confront them head-on. That’s my philosophy. If they don’t work out the way I want, I can draw a line under them and move on.’