There was no mention of the money Ruth sent. No mention of the fact that her brothers were contributing to the household budget either. Instead Eunice supposed Ruth could have nothing to worry about, living a life of luxury in London. How livid she’d be if she knew Ruth was supporting her friends. Ruth had deemed it wise to tell her family nothing of Silver Ladies.
She braced herself for more moaning as she opened the second letter, but it wasn’t from Percy. It was from her youngest brother, Jimmy.
Dear Ruth,
It must be a surprise, me writing like this. I’m not good with writing, so I’ll keep this short, but there’s things I want to say. I’ll start with my news. I’m courting Ellen Tanner from the greengrocers. Our Percy says I could do better, but that’s because he goes for lookers like that Daisy. My Ellen has got more important things about her. A kind heart and a lot of sense.
She hasn’t taken to our family. Most especially, she hasn’t taken to Mother and Percy, and she’s opened my eyes too. Not that I’ve had them shut exactly, but I suppose I’ve kept them half-shut because I haven’t wanted to see what’s in front of me.
Take Mother. I know the Bible tells us to honour our mother and I do. Mother has always put food on the table and kept our clothes clean. But the way she treats you isn’t right.
Take Percy too. I’ve always looked up to him as the eldest, but Ellen says he’s a bully and I agree. Percy’s another who’s treated you badly.
So what I want to say is I’m sorry I’ve always gone along with them but I’m becoming my own man from now on.
The other thing I want to mention is Aunt Vera’s money. I reckon she did the right thing when she said you couldn’t share it with the rest of us because you wouldn’t have seen a penny.
I don’t suppose you remember Aunt Vera, being so young, but I remember how Mother picked holes in everything she did the last time she came to Ruston. If Aunt Vera paid for things, Mother said she was flaunting her wealth. If she didn’t pay for things, Mother said she was tight-fisted. If Aunt Vera kept to the house, Mother said she thought she was a cut above us Ruston folk. If she went out, Mother said she was showing off and making eyes at the men. It ended in the biggest row I ever heard, with Mother saying Aunt Vera was little better than a streetwalker and Aunt Vera saying Mother was poison.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it doesn’t with Mother. She’ll never have a good word to say about you, so I hope you won’t take it the wrong way when I say you shouldn’t come home.
Me and my Ellen would like to visit you once we’re wed, but it won’t be for a year or two as we need to put money by first. It would be nice to hear how you’re getting on meanwhile, but best write care of Ellen whose address I’ve put at the bottom.
Well, sis, all this writing has worn me out so I’ll sign off now.
Your loving brother, Jimmy Turner.
It was touching to know that at least one member of Ruth’s family was on her side and Ruth would write back to Jimmy soon. But the letter reinforced what she already knew: she couldn’t return to Ruston permanently no matter what happened to Silver Ladies. Not that her own situation was uppermost in her mind when she thought about the business now.
She’d been starry-eyed with optimism when she’d pushed the business idea forward, eager to share her good fortune with the people who were dearest to her and make up for her disloyalty back in Ruston. But the amounts her friends had borrowed had mounted up. A fine friend Ruth would be if all she’d done was saddle them with debts.
If only the telephone would ring!
Twenty-two
Now that really was a beautiful car! Driving past in the Silver Lady, Lydia turned around and pulled up so she could get out for a better look.
The Silver Lady was smooth and comfortable, but this dark green beauty was built for speed, being long and low with only two seats. There was a hood that could be drawn up in bad weather, but just now the car was open to the elements. Lydia leaned over the driver’s door to view the controls.
‘Like it?’
She jerked upright to see a young man grinning from three or four yards away. Hating being at a disadvantage, Lydia’s hackles rose.
‘It’s a Groves Peregrine,’ he said.
Lydia realised he was an American. A tall, rather dashing American with dark brown hair flopping over a smooth forehead, equally dark eyes and straight white teeth. Not to mention too much confidence for her liking.
‘I know that,’ she told him scathingly.
Groves produced a range of cars all named after birds of prey. The Peregrine was named after the fastest bird in the world because it aimed to be the fastest car in the world.
‘You’re interested in cars?’ he asked.
Shrugging, Lydia began to back away, only to see him frown as he noticed her uniform.
He looked behind her to the Silver Lady. ‘You’re a driver? A lady chauffeur?’
His amazement brought Lydia’s chin up. ‘Do you object to lady drivers?’
‘Hell, no. I think you just might be the woman of my dreams.’
Lydia rolled her eyes.
‘You misunderstand me.’ Smiling again, he walked towards her. ‘I need a female driver for a his-and-hers treasure hunt.’
‘A what?’
‘It’s a treasure hunt which requires men and women to take turns at driving.’
‘Why?’
‘I guess they want to add to the challenge.’
‘Because women only drive slowly?’
‘Some women drive slowly but some women drive fast. That’s the sort of woman I’m looking for.’
‘How do you know I’m that sort of woman?’
‘You have the air.’
‘Huh. Why should I want to be your partner? I only met you ten seconds ago.’
‘You’re exaggerating. We’ve known each other at least two minutes. I’m getting the impression the pleasure of my company isn’t going to be enough, but there’s a prize. A bottle of champagne.’
‘One bottle between two people,’ she scoffed.
‘A magnum,’ he said.
Lydia didn’t know what a magnum was but guessed she was supposed to be impressed. She wasn’t impressed.
‘I’m quite prepared to be the gentleman and let you keep it,’ he added.
‘It isn’t yours to give.’
‘You think we won’t win it?’
His dark eyes challenged her, and for a moment Lydia’s spirit of adventure stirred. She suppressed it quickly, having no wish to involve herself with an arrogant American who’d expect her to follow his orders. ‘You can’t possibly guarantee a win.’
‘We can have a wonderful time trying. You know we can.’
‘I know nothing of the sort.’
‘You really don’t fancy driving this speed machine? Your silver car is a beauty, but it’s also sedate. My ageing godmother would love it. My little Peregrine on the other hand… Come on. What do you say?’
‘I say no.’
‘You’re breaking my heart.’
‘Now who’s exaggerating?’
‘Please?’
‘It might be the custom in America for complete strangers to accost women in the street, but it isn’t the custom here.’ Lydia walked to the Silver Lady.
He followed. ‘You started it by taking liberties with my car. If you’d leaned over any further, you’d have fallen inside and that would have been trespass.’ He sent her another grin.
‘Take me to court.’
‘I’ll need to know your name first. For the warrant. I’m Harry, by the way. Harry James Dellamore. You’re…?’
‘Driving away from you right now.’
‘I could stand in your way until we’ve talked some more.’
‘And I could run you down. The choice is yours, Mr Dellamore.’’
‘You remembered my name. I’m touched.’
‘Touched in the head? I don’t doubt it.’
‘The treasure hun
t isn’t until New Year’s Day. That means I’ve got plenty of time to persuade you to join me.’
Lydia drove away.
‘I’m not giving up!’ he shouted after her.
Lydia couldn’t help smiling. It felt good to spar with someone. Exhilarating. She liked the look of the Peregrine and she’d love to drive it, but not if it put her under an obligation. Lydia preferred to be beholden to no one. Doubtless, he’d find some other girl to join him in the treasure hunt, one of those clinging little creatures – ravishingly pretty – who’d shriek if he drove above twenty miles per hour and fuss over him in relief when, miraculously, he survived.
Even if he didn’t find someone else, he had no way of tracing Lydia. Or had he? The Silver Ladies sign was attached to the car, but would he have noticed? Unlikely. He’d been too busy sparring.
Lydia realised she was driving too close to the vehicle in front and braked. It stung her pride to catch herself driving badly. Enough of Harry James Dellamore.
She’d driven out to deliver supplies of business cards to a number of florists, who’d agreed to take them after Grace had explained how beautiful the Silver Lady would look bedecked with their flowers for weddings. Now she drove back to Silver Ladies to collect Jenny. They were going to spend the afternoon playing the roles of rich young lady and chauffeur again as they’d turned a lot of heads when they’d tried it before and given out numerous business cards. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before Lydia was chauffeuring real customers around London.
*
Seeing shops full of smart hats, clothes and shoes had a way of bringing Celia into Lydia’s mind. It was only because the finery reminded her of those dull days when she’d been dragged out to look at Ruston’s inferior offerings. Ancient history now. Best forgotten.
Jenny was wearing a pink summer dress with matching hat. They looked expensive but Jenny had made them herself.
‘Pull into the kerb,’ Jenny said, when they drove along Regent Street. ‘I’ll get out and look at the shops.’
Lydia pulled in, then got out and opened Jenny’s door. ‘Madam has arrived,’ she joked.
Jenny strolled to a shop window. The day was warm again, so Lydia stood by the car instead of getting back in.
‘My goodness, Ralph,’ someone said. ‘That’s what I call a motor car.’
A man and woman were approaching.
The woman paused to look at the sign on the Silver Lady’s door. ‘It’s for hire, Ralph.’
‘Would you like a business card?’ Lydia asked her.
‘Why not? Who knows when we might have to attend a grand event and need a grand car to take us there?’
‘Good work,’ Jenny approved when she returned to the car.
‘Where next?’ Lydia asked.
‘Oxford Street.’
They parked in a side street.
‘Come and be my parcel bearer,’ Jenny suggested.
Arms loaded with fake parcels, Lydia followed her into the store, then stood back as Jenny looked at summer gloves.
‘Weren’t they the most darling little shoes, Celia?’ someone said behind her.
Lydia tensed, then cursed herself for a fool. Celia was a common enough name.
‘Such a pity they didn’t have your size,’ someone else agreed.
The voice was thin and reedy. Definitely not Celia. But then another person spoke. ‘I’d have liked to wear them to Moira Carling’s bridge party.’
There was a deeper, breathier tone to this voice. It made Lydia tingle with familiarity even as her mind screamed that she was being ridiculous because she hadn’t heard Celia’s voice in fifteen years and surely this voice was more refined than Celia’s had been?
The voices quietened as the women moved away. Turning to look, Lydia saw the backs of three well-dressed women with the slightly thickened figures of the middle-aged. None of them were tall, but how tall had Celia been? Nowhere near as tall as Frank.
It was the woman in the middle who had Lydia’s attention. There was something about the provocative swing of her hips.
The women stopped at a counter. Lydia kept a distance but moved to the side of them, hoping to catch a glimpse of the middle woman’s face. Frustratingly, her friend’s hat was in the way. But then the hat moved back and just for a moment Lydia had a glimpse of a profile. That sharp nose…
She stepped closer only to collide with a lady who was passing by. ‘Sorry!’
One of Lydia’s parcels slid to the floor. She grabbed it and fled. What did it matter whether the woman was Celia or not?
‘What happened to you?’ Jenny asked, joining her by the car a few minutes later.
‘I was hot.’
‘It’s the uniform. I’ll make summer coats next year when we’ve got some money coming in.’
‘I’m fine now,’ Lydia insisted.
Grace rushed down to open the garage gates when they returned to Silver Ladies. ‘We’ve had a telephone call!’
‘Not a booking?’ Jenny asked, excited.
‘Our first! Come up to the office and I’ll tell you all about it.’
This was what mattered. Lydia was making her own way in life and Celia meant nothing at all.
Twenty-three
‘A Mrs Stirling wants to hire us to take her to a party in Chalfont St Giles,’ Grace explained. ‘That’s in Buckinghamshire.’
‘Wherever it is, I’ll find it,’ Lydia promised, with all the fervour of someone who’d succeed if it killed her.
‘The party isn’t for another fortnight, but the important thing is that Silver Ladies is in business. Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Beyond wonderful,’ Jenny beamed.
‘I can’t wait to tell Ruth when she gets home from work,’ Grace said, then she paused. ‘We had a second call, but I didn’t know if it was business or personal. A Mr Fitzpatrick wanted to speak to you, Jenny.’
‘It’s business,’ Jenny said, but Grace was intrigued to see that her cheeks had turned a pretty shade of pink. ‘Did he leave a message?’
‘He said he’d call again. He isn’t a customer?’
‘He said he might be able to help, but I don’t know what he’s got in mind. I’d hate you to get your hopes up only to be disappointed.’ Jenny told them about her visit to Maggie O’Hara on Fleet Street. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment idea and I was told in no uncertain terms that Silver Ladies won’t be news until we do something newsworthy. But Mr Fitzpatrick was there and he followed me outside.’
‘He works for the newspaper?’ Grace asked.
‘I don’t think so. He might be a photographer. Did he say when he’ll call again?’
‘I didn’t like to ask.’
‘It’s business,’ Jenny insisted, though it wasn’t business that had put that sparkle into her eyes.
Grace hadn’t anticipated the distraction of romantic involvements while they were trying to establish the business. But she was leaping too far ahead. Jenny hardly knew this Johnnie Fitzpatrick. If he really was a photographer, he might be hoping they’d buy photos of the car and, in fact, photos could be far more effective than words in putting the beauty of the car across to the people who might use or recommend Silver Ladies. It wouldn’t hurt to get a price from him.
With Jenny and Lydia back to answer any more calls, Grace went to Farley Street to buy vegetables. She knew she had an aptitude for business matters but also knew she lacked experience. She would have liked to talk things through with someone more established who might advise on what sort of progress it was reasonable to expect with a new venture, but the only business person she knew was Owen Tedris. He’d been gracious, but they were competitors to some degree and he might consider it cheeky, if not downright impudent, to be asked for advice.
Grace had seen him twice since clearing the air with him. The first time they’d simply waved from opposite ends of the mews. The second time they’d met posting letters on Shepherds Street.
‘All well at Silver Ladies?’ he’d asked.
&n
bsp; ‘We’re just trying to make the business known at present.’
He’d nodded as though that was only to be expected. But should they be doing more?
She’d hesitated, tempted to ask his opinion but held back by reluctance to offend. ‘Is your business thriving?’ she’d asked instead.
‘I’ve no complaints.’ With that they’d parted.
Grace had regretted her reticence almost immediately. Even with their first booking in the diary, she’d welcome a talk with him.
Stepping out of the shop, she wondered if she should simply walk down the mews and ask for a word but she’d prefer their paths to cross by—
Good grief. He was walking towards her. Smiling, he reached for one of her baskets. ‘Let me take that. I hope you and your friends are well?’
Unwilling to let another serendipitous opportunity pass her by, Grace plunged in. ‘We’ve got our first booking.’
His eyes warmed with pleasure. ‘Congratulations.’
‘We’re delighted, but we need a lot more bookings before we can consider ourselves established.’
‘It’s early days yet,’ he said. ‘Are you advertising?’
‘It would be expensive to advertise in the sort of magazines our customers are likely to read,’ she admitted.
‘What are you doing instead?’
Grace explained what they were doing to encourage recommendations and get the car noticed.
‘All that may take a while to filter through into actual business, but building a new venture always takes time,’ he said.
This was exactly the sort of thing Grace needed to hear. ‘Was your business slow to start?’ she asked.
‘Slow and small.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m from a long line of coal miners. My da worked down the pit all his life until the coal dust did for his lungs. So did his da and granda. My two brothers are miners still.’
‘You prefer to be on top of the earth instead of under it?’
‘I like to be able to breathe. Not that London air is the freshest.’ He sent her a rueful smile. ‘Coming here wasn’t just about staying on top of terra firma, though. It was about shaping my own destiny. As you’re doing.’
The Silver Ladies of London Page 12