The Runaway Women in London

by Lesley Eames

  Silver Ladies was doing well for a new business. They’d begun paying themselves a small wage, though not enough to start repaying Ruth what they owed her and certainly not enough to meet the costs of better accommodation for themselves, let alone for Gran.

  Grace had always known it would take time before the business brought in significant income, but could she wait? Gran needed her right now.

  Grace rubbed her temples, wishing she felt clearer-headed. Months had passed since the vandalism, but she still listened out for suspicious noises at night. And when she did sleep, she often woke in panic.

  She’d seen Owen several times since that awful morning but only distantly. On one occasion his attention had been focused on a lad of nine or ten years, doubtless his son. On other occasions he’d been walking to or from his workshops at the far end of the mews. He hadn’t ignored her exactly. If he’d seen her, he’d sent her nods, but he hadn’t waved or given any sign of the friendliness of old. The distance had been too great for her to see his expression when he’d nodded at her, but she’d imagined cold disapproval.

  Even Jenkins the cat appeared hostile these days. She’d called to him in the mews, but he’d glanced back with what she’d taken to be contempt.

  They’d never got to the bottom of the vandalism. They hadn’t even talked about it for a while. Presumably, Lydia still blamed Owen. Frustratingly, Grace still had doubts. But the damage had been done anyway and it saddened her. She’d put a stop to the attraction that had crept up on her, but she missed Owen as a friend. He’d understood her ambitions and always been there with words of reassurance. With advice too, if she’d wanted it.

  ‘Your letter wasn’t bad news, was it?’ Jenny asked.

  Grace roused herself. ‘Gran’s been a little unwell but she’s better now.’

  The telephone rang.

  Grace answered it. ‘Yes, Mr Dellamore. I do remember you called before.’

  ‘Your friend, Miss Grey, plays hardball,’ came the light reply.

  ‘I’m not sure what that means, but I suspect you might be right. I believe you want her to take part in a treasure hunt. It sounds fun, but our energies are focussed on promoting our business at present, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Silver Ladies?’ he asked.

  ‘Correct. We’re a new business and, as you can probably imagine, it isn’t easy for women to work in an area that some men seem to think should be reserved for them.’

  ‘I’m not one of those men. In fact, I might be able to help,’ he offered brightly.

  ‘In what way, Mr Dellamore?’ Lydia hadn’t mentioned the American again but Grace found his good humour appealing and was interested to hear what he had to suggest.

  ‘Cars are my business too. Why don’t we meet to talk about it? I can be with you in twenty minutes.’

  ‘As long as we confine our discussion to business.’

  ‘I give you my word.’

  ‘Who’s going to tell Lydia?’ Jenny asked, and they giggled.

  ‘I’ll take biscuits as a peace offering.’ Grace placed two biscuits on a plate and carried them down to Lydia. ‘Mr Dellamore’s coming over,’ she said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Grace!’

  ‘He said he might be able to help. We should hear what he has to say.’

  ‘You can hear it. I’m staying in my overalls so you’d better keep him in the office.’

  Grace jumped back as water sprayed from a cloth Lydia threw into a pail of water. ‘I’ll let you know when he arrives.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  There was no need to announce his arrival because Lydia couldn’t have missed the throaty sound of his car engine.

  ‘Goodness.’ Jenny stood at the office window with Grace and looked down on a long, low two-seater. ‘I would have expected Lydia to be desperate to drive that.’

  ‘Mr Dellamore’s company must be too high a price to pay.’

  There was nothing wrong with his appearance, though. On the contrary, Harry Dellamore looked positively dashing from a distance and didn’t disappoint close to. He shook their hands with enthusiasm. ‘Miss Lavenham, Miss Mallory, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Miss Grey is…?’

  ‘Busy,’ Grace told him, and he grinned.

  ‘Busy avoiding me.’

  At Grace’s invitation, he sat in a visitor’s chair and relaxed his long legs.

  ‘Forgive my directness, but how do you think you can help us, Mr Dellamore?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Call me Harry. As I said on the phone, I’m in the motor business too, only my interest is racing. Designing, testing and racing. My partners and I are in contact with car lovers every day.’

  ‘Don’t car lovers have cars of their own? And aren’t they interested in fast cars?’

  ‘Not all of them own cars. And an interest in fast cars doesn’t exclude an interest in other cars, especially unique ones like your silver beauty. Besides, they have families who need transportation sometimes. I’ll be happy to promote Silver Ladies to them.’

  So far, so good, Grace thought. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Your Miss Grey will have the chance to promote it too. She’ll certainly get noticed in that sassy chauffeur outfit. The treasure hunt is only the first opportunity. There’ll be more. I wasn’t going to say anything until I’d seen her drive, but do you know Brooklands?’

  The name nudged at Grace’s memory. ‘Isn’t that where people drive in races?’ Lydia was always reading about it.

  ‘That’s the place. Brooklands is in Surrey. South of London. I’m involved in a new track in Bedfordshire. North of London. Fairfax Park. We’re planning a home team and we’re looking for a woman to join it. That’s where Miss Grey could come in. If she’s a good enough driver.’

  ‘I think she might be,’ Grace said, and Harry Dellamore smiled.

  ‘I think so too. I’ve never seen her drive except away from me, but there’s something about her…’

  ‘Indeed. But you haven’t explained how racing your cars can help Silver Ladies?’

  ‘I’ll make it known that Miss Grey works for you. There’s another thing. You may have noticed my accent. I’m an American and I know plenty of other Americans who come over without their own transportation. They’ll love your silver bus.’ He paused, then said, ‘I should make it clear that Miss Grey won’t have to pay to join the team. She might even win prize money. Racing won’t take her away from Silver Ladies either. At least, not often. Do we have a deal?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going too fast for us,’ Grace protested. ‘We need to discuss your proposals with Miss Grey.’ Racing was Lydia’s dream but she might still have reasons for turning this proposal down though Grace hoped aversion to this tall and dashing man wouldn’t be one of them.

  ‘Is she here?’ he asked.

  ‘It would be better if I talked to her privately.’

  The meaning wasn’t lost on him. ‘You’ve got a hard hill to climb with her, but if she’s really interested in driving she shouldn’t let this chance slip by.’

  ‘What date is the treasure hunt?’ Grace asked. ‘Even if Miss Grey is willing, she can’t take part if we have a booking.’

  ‘New Year’s Day.’

  Grace consulted the diary. ‘There’s no booking at present but that could change.’

  ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed. You’ll let me know when you’ve talked Miss Grey round?’

  ‘If I talk her round. Miss Grey has a mind of her own.’

  He grinned again. ‘She surely does.’ He extracted a business card from a silver case and passed it to Grace. ‘My telephone number. I won’t outstay my welcome now, but I’ll hope for a call soon.’ He got to his feet. ‘Four girls setting up in business… I think it’s swell. No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.’

  He headed for the door, looked back to nod a final farewell, then ran downstairs. Moments later, Grace heard him drive off. She looked at Jenny who was smiling.

  ‘I like Harry Dellamore,’ Jenny said.

&nb
sp; ‘So do I. It’s going to be fun watching developments between him and Lydia.’

  Grace walked down to the garage.

  ‘I heard him leave,’ Lydia said. ‘I hope that means he isn’t coming back?’

  ‘He still wants you to be his partner in the treasure hunt, and there’s more.’ Grace told her about the possibility of racing.

  Excitement flared in Lydia’s eyes, though it was tempered by suspicion. ‘What does he mean when he says he’s involved in Fairfax Park? Does he really get to choose who races? How do I know he isn’t making it up just to persuade me to drive in the treasure hunt?’

  Grace raised her hands in self-defence. ‘I don’t know, Lydia. I hope he isn’t misleading you, but only he can answer your questions. Obviously you’ve heard of Fairfax Park.’

  ‘It isn’t open yet, but I’ve read about it.’

  ‘Perhaps it’ll be worth partnering him in the treasure hunt so you can find out more.’

  Grace left Lydia brooding and returned to the office.

  Thoughts of Gran swooped back in as soon as she sat down, so she reached for notepaper and penned a letter to Mattie, begging her once more to telephone the moment Gran’s health showed signs of trouble.

  Grace’s head was aching again. Needing fresh air and exercise, she asked Jenny to mind the office while she walked to the post-box.

  It felt good to be out, though the November air was crisp and Grace was glad of her hat and gloves. Grace had bought oil heaters – one for upstairs and one for the garage because Lydia insisted the garage be kept above freezing in case the car seized up – but it was still very cold in Shepherds Mews. Cutler’s End would be even colder. ‘Use as much coal as you need to keep Gran warm,’ Grace had told Mattie, but she knew from experience that the damp would persist.

  Sighing, Grace headed for the post-box on Shepherd Street. Pulling her gloves off, she dug in her bag for her letter. She didn’t notice Owen approaching from the other direction until she was almost at the post-box. She faltered, surprised, confused and also dismayed because she realised the attraction she felt for him was pulsing as strongly as ever.

  ‘Miss Lavenham.’

  ‘Mr Tedris.’

  He gestured to the post-box. ‘After you.'

  ‘Thank you.’ Grace posted her letter and watched him post his.

  How awkward this was. Grace wanted to say something, but what?

  Before she could decide, Owen uttered a terse, ‘Good day,’ then turned and walked away.

  Perhaps it was for the best.

  Grace turned and walked away too, only to hear him calling, ‘Miss Lavenham!’ He was approaching with one of her gloves. ‘You dropped this.’

  She took it from him. ‘Thank you.’

  Nodding curtly, he walked off again at speed.

  Grace stared after him. He couldn’t have noticed her glove unless he’d looked back at her, but had he looked back with anger or regret? Either way, it had been kind of him to restore her property.

  Sadness reached into her heart, but she willed it away. Gran was her priority. And Grace had to think long and hard about what she would do if her letter failed and Mattie still couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth.

  Thirty-two

  ‘Having fun?’ Johnnie yelled, for the music at the Velvet Slipper was often loud.

  ‘I’m having a wonderful time!’ Jenny yelled back.

  She’d been delighted the day he’d returned from Yorkshire but also tense, unable to decide if she should apologise or pretend the disastrous kissing incident had never happened. And when he’d raised his hand to stroke her cheek she’d shrunk away before she could stop herself. ‘I rushed you the other night,’ he’d said, taking all the blame onto himself. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be patient from now on. But a kiss on the cheek… It isn’t too soon for that?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Jenny had still needed to steel herself to get through it.

  ‘Another drink?’ he suggested now.

  ‘Please.’ They’d danced through several songs and she was parched.

  Heading back to their table, Jenny willed herself not to skitter away when he placed a guiding hand on her back. It was ridiculous because she hadn’t minded Johnnie touching her at all before that disastrous kiss. But now he’d invaded her thoughts, Jonas was proving hard to shift. Even the most innocent contact with Johnnie was making her panic.

  Jenny wanted to weep with frustration because weeks had passed since his return and it could only be a matter of time before he questioned her feelings for him. But there was nothing wrong with her feelings. Johnnie was wonderful and he made her feel wonderful too: appreciated and admired despite her humble origins in Ruston, which bothered him not at all.

  It was her body that was letting her down. Jenny knew she wasn’t to blame for the way Jonas was with her, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling of being tainted and ashamed.

  Unable to face Jonas in Ruston, Jenny had taken to asking her mother to meet her in Northampton instead. ‘We can look around better shops in Northampton,’ she’d said, but she’d still had to sit fuming as Alice praised Jonas to the heavens over tea shop lunches. Heaven was the last place Jonas was going.

  Johnnie saw Jenny into her seat, then asked the waiter to bring cocktails.

  ‘Delicious,’ Jenny said, but Johnnie’s attention had been caught by a large, smiling young man who was shepherding a small but sophisticated young woman towards them.

  Johnnie got up to shake his hand. ‘If it isn’t Rollo Crockford.’

  ‘Hello, old man.’

  Johnnie turned to Jenny and she took this as encouragement to get up and be introduced. ‘May I present Miss Jennifer Mallory? This is Roland Crockford, an old friend.’

  ‘May I present Miss Martha Allerdale,’ Rollo said. ‘Soon to be Mrs Rollo Crockford.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard!’ Johnnie cried. ‘Congratulations. You’ve got a good ’un in Rollo, Miss Allerdale.’

  ‘Do call me Martha.’

  ‘A pleasure. You’ll join us?’

  ‘Wouldn’t like to intrude,’ Rollo said.

  ‘You wouldn’t be intruding. Would they, Jenny?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Rollo and Martha looked pleasant enough and it would be interesting to learn more about Johnnie and the life he’d lived.

  They all sat down. ‘Rollo and I were at school together,’ Johnnie explained.

  ‘Remember when we draped Matron’s bloomers over the statue of the founder?’ Rollo asked.

  ‘How could I forget? I remember the time we accepted dares to sneak out of the dorm window to buy pints in the Fox and Hounds too.’

  ‘Who should be having a pint in there but the Classics master?’ Rollo grinned. ‘He made us scrub the boys’ lavatories every day for a week as punishment.’

  As Johnnie signalled to the waiter for more drinks, Jenny sensed Martha studying her and hoped it wasn’t because she’d somehow divined that Jenny’s white and silver dress had been created out of linings and trimmings cut from Aunt Vera’s clothes. Martha’s scarlet dress shrieked money. So did her pearl and diamond jewellery. Jenny wore only a silver locket.

  ‘I’m wondering if we’ve met before,’ Martha said.

  For a heart-stopping moment, Jenny wondered if Martha had seen her in her servant days. Jenny shared Grace’s opinion that a servant could be just as worthy a person as a master, but not for anything did she want to embarrass Johnnie.

  ‘Do you take Twentieth-Century Woman?’ Johnnie asked Martha.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Did you notice a series of advertisements featuring a silver car?’

  ‘That’s it!’ Martha turned back to Jenny. ‘You’re one of the girls in the photographs.’

  ‘Jenny and her friends have a business called Silver Ladies,’ Johnnie told her. ‘It offers the car for hire with the girls as chauffeurs. I was looking for something special for the photographs and when I discovered Silver Ladies I knew I’d found it.’
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br />   He smiled at Jenny proudly. She’d told him all about Arleigh Court and the beginnings of Silver Ladies, and he’d made it clear that he admired her and her friends for making their way in the world.

  ‘You’re a photographer?’ Martha asked him.

  ‘Johnnie’s a bohemian,’ Rollo teased. ‘A disappointment to his pater who has a perfectly good law practice waiting for him when he comes to his senses.’

  ‘We can’t all be fat bankers like you, Rollo,’ Johnnie smiled.

  ‘How true. You don’t mind a bohemian, Miss Mallory?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Jenny’s non-conformist herself, being a woman in business,’ Johnnie pointed out.

  ‘What a spirited girl you are,’ Rollo said.

  ‘Unlike me,’ Martha admitted, without regret. ‘I conserve my energies for shopping.’

  Everyone laughed. Martha had the sleek, manicured appearance of a life of ease, though Jenny suspected she was far cleverer than her betrothed.

  ‘Champagne!’ Rollo called, when they’d finished their Martinis. ‘On me.’

  They toasted Rollo and Martha’s engagement, then Rollo cajoled Martha onto the dance floor, where he performed with enthusiasm, if not with style.

  One dance was enough for Martha. ‘Rollo has no respect for my toes,’ she complained.

  ‘Care to risk your toes, Jenny?’ Rollo asked, and she followed him onto the floor, where she dodged his large feet as best she could but still had her toes crunched.

  She didn’t mind because sore feet gave her an excuse for declining Johnnie’s invitation to dance when the music slowed. Lively dancing was fun but the slower sort… Jenny knew she had to move past the memory of what Jonas had done to her but until then the feel of Johnnie’s arms around her was more than she could bear.

  Rollo called for more champagne and once again insisted on paying. ‘Can’t take money off a chap who’s starving in a garret or whatever you bohemians do. Here.’ Rollo handed Johnnie a business card. ‘Scribble the garret’s address on there and we’ll send an invitation to the wedding once we’ve fixed the day.’

  The waiter brought the champagne and also sandwiches because the licensing laws required food to be provided with alcohol served late in the evening. Rollo tucked into a sandwich and shouted in Johnnie’s ear so loudly that Jenny could hear every word.