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    The Golden Road
    The Golden Road
    The Golden Road
    Ebook442 pages7 hours

    The Golden Road

    By Marina Oliver

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    About this ebook

    When Josie Shaw's stepfather George dies, and she and her mother Dora are left with nothing but debts. Dora wants Josie to make a good marriage. Josie, however, is strong and independent. She wants a career. Though Dora rejected George's son Leo, who was brought up by his aunt and uncle, Leo offers Josie a job as a secretary in his Birmingham jewellery factory.
    Together with her cousin Lizzie, Josie becomes fascinated by the motoring rallies popular in the 1930s, and longs to compete in the Monte Carlo Rally. Then a chain of disasters strike, and she has no job, no home, and little hope of a bright future.
    The contrasts of the Birmingham slums, the glamorous world of jewels, fast motor cars and the ultimate test of stamina in the Monte Carlo Rally make this an absorbing read.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMarina Oliver
    Release dateJul 21, 2011
    ISBN9781465872760
    The Golden Road
    Author

    Marina Oliver

    Most writers can't help themselves! It's a compulsion. Getting published, though, is something really special, and having been so fortunate myself I now try to help aspiring writers by handing on tips it took me years to work out. I've published over 60 titles, including four in the How To Books' Successful Writing Series, and Writing Historical Fiction for Studymates.I have judged short story competitions, been a final judge for the Harry Bowling Prize and was an adviser to the 3rd edition of Twentieth Century Romance and Historical Writers 1994. If you want to find out more about your favourite authors, consult this book. I once wrote an article on writing romantic fiction for the BBC's web page, for Valentine's day.I have given talks and workshops for the Arts Council and at most of the major Writing Conferences, and helped establish the Romantic Novelists' Association's annual conference. I was Chairman of the RNA 1991-3, ran their New Writers' Scheme and edited their newsletter. I am now a Vice-President.As well as writing I have edited books for Transita, featuring women 'of a certain age', and for Choc Lit where gorgeous heros are the norm.I was asked to write A Century of Achievement, a 290 page history of my old school, Queen Mary's High School, Walsall, and commissioned to write a book on Castles and Corvedale to accompany a new circular walk in the area.Most of my Regencies written under the pseudonym Sally James are now published in ebook format as well as many others of my out of print novels which my husband is putting into ebook format. Our daughter Debbie is helping with designing the covers. For details of all my books and my many pseudonyms see my website.

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      Book preview

      The Golden Road - Marina Oliver

      THE GOLDEN ROAD

      BY

      MARINA OLIVER

      When Josie Shaw's stepfather George dies, and she and her mother Dora are left with nothing but debts. Dora wants Josie to make a good marriage. Josie, however, is strong and independent. She wants a career. Though Dora rejected George's son Leo, who was brought up by his aunt and uncle, Leo offers Josie a job as a secretary in his Birmingham jewellery factory.

      Together with her cousin Lizzie, Josie becomes fascinated by the motoring rallies popular in the 1930s, and longs to compete in the Monte Carlo Rally. Then a chain of disasters strike, and she has no job, no home, and little hope of a bright future.

      The contrasts of the Birmingham slums, the glamorous world of jewels, fast motor cars and the ultimate test of stamina in the Monte Carlo Rally make this an absorbing read.

      Reviews of The Golden Road

      'Thanks to an absorbing background peopled by believable and sympathetic characters this is a book increasingly difficult to put down. Reaching the end is like saying goodbye to old friends.' – Jean Ellis, Bradford Telegraph and Argus.

      'Marina Oliver has written two superb period sagas set in Birmingham in the 20s and 30s The Golden Road and The Glowing Hours and the characters are so real that you really care about them.' – Peterborough Evening Telegraph.

      The Golden Road

      By Marina Oliver

      Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver

      Smashwords Edition

      The moral right of the author has been asserted

      Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Print editions 1996 by Michael Joseph, 2000 by Pan, 1996 by Magna

      See details of other books by Marina Oliver at

      http:/www.marina-oliver.net.

      Author Note

      After my husband and I had driven a leisurely 2,000 miles in summer in a modern car over part of the Monte Carlo Rally route, my admiration for the Rally crews, covering 2,500 miles in January in a hundred hours in their often open cars, soared stratospherically. I read many of their accounts, and apart from my two imaginary crews and their adventures, all the incidents referred to are true.

      Acknowledgements

      As usual the librarians in Birmingham and at the Bodleian provided an invaluable service, and I am also indebted to many other people for help and encouragement. The Hockley Jewellery Quarter Discovery Centre, my mother- and father-in-law, Frances and Brookes Oliver, the staff at the Motor Heritage Museum at Gaydon, and the librarians at the Bibliotheque Louis Notari in Monaco all supplied information. I am particularly grateful to Christine Bissett-Powell, Bert Hammond's granddaughter, for lending me some of his mementoes, and the committee and members of the Lagonda Club for showing me their marvellous cars.

      *

      THE GOLDEN ROAD

      BY

      MARINA OLIVER

      Chapter 1

      Josie Shaw, feeling desperately large and awkward in her new black clothes, stood dutifully beside her diminutive mother and scowled at the assembled mourners. How could they look so cheerful, even laugh out loud, when they had just attended the burial of her stepfather, one of the kindest, most generous of men? Even her mother had thrown back the ostentatiously heavy veils she'd worn at the church over her fair hair, and though she clutched a black lace handkerchief in her hand, her eyes were dry and she was talking volubly.

      Josie glared round. She wished they'd all go away. Then she saw one man who wasn't enjoying the funeral feast. Leo Bradley stood alone, black hair overlong and untidy, as it had always been when she'd seen him as a boy. But he was far more handsome now, his good looks and clean-cut profile were the first thing you noticed about him. He held a glass of sherry but seemed oblivious of everything but his own thoughts. His deep-set eyes were shaded, his square jaw jutted pugnaciously, his attention was clearly far away. The mourners tactfully side-stepped his tall, broad figure, leaving him a barrier of space as unscalable as a high wall. After all, it was his father they had buried and Leo, she'd been told, though only twelve at the time, had quarrelled bitterly with his father when George Bradley had married the recently widowed Dora Shaw. He'd never accepted them, never visited them willingly despite George's urging.

      Leo suddenly became aware of Josie's gaze, and stared at her in some surprise. It was a year since they'd last met, when she'd been a leggy, gangling schoolgirl who, he'd thought, ought to have been a boy, she was so vital and strong. Joseph Shaw must have been a big man, like George. Josie was quite unlike her delicate mother, tall and with strong features that softened into a different kind of beauty from Dora's Dresden shepherdess fragility. Black suited her, with her pale skin, green eyes and vivid auburn hair, while it made Dora look ill, even haggard. He raised one eyebrow slightly and inclined his head, then slipped through a doorway into the lush overgrown conservatory. Two minutes later Josie entered from the garden.

      'I wanted to say how sorry I am,' she said softly. 'I loved Papa George very much.'

      'He thought of you as his daughter,' Leo said curtly. 'You probably knew him better than I did.'

      Josie glanced at him curiously. So he still resented his father's second marriage. 'Did you feel I'd pushed you out?' she asked bluntly.

      'I never blamed you. You were only a baby. Two, weren't you? Josie, let's walk in the garden. It's so hot in here, and I'd appreciate it – if you feel you can talk about it – if you could tell me how it happened. You were there, they said, but I wasn't told much else.'

      She led the way across the smoothly mown grass and through an opening in the yew hedge. This surrounded a formally planted rose-garden, and the rich scent filled the hot, still air. 'It was dreadful. I was on the opposite hill, and I saw it, but I – there was nothing I could do.'

      'Sit down.' Leo pushed her towards an ornately carved bench and sat beside her. 'You don't have to tell me, not if it upsets you.'

      'No, I'd like to talk about it. Mother couldn't bear to listen. I haven't told anyone yet. They didn't want to upset me, they said.' She paused and gathered her thoughts. 'Mother wasn't in the best of moods. She had been saying that she wanted to go to the French Riviera, but we couldn't afford it. The weather had brought on a headache. Papa George went out for a breath of fresh air, he said. It was terribly hot, like today. I'd hoped he would take me with him and teach me more about driving, but he'd gone by the time I'd helped Mother to bed, so I decided to climb up the hill behind the house. Do you know Church Stretton? It's all hills. It was so peaceful, the woods, and fields with ripe corn, and animals grazing. I was looking at all the timbered buildings, and wishing I could walk in the Welsh hills. There was a train coming, I could see the smoke and hear it chugging, but it was so far away I could still hear the skylarks and the bees. I was so happy on my own. I was planning what I'd do when I left school. Women can do all sorts of things now. We have the vote at twenty-one; there's even been a woman cabinet minister. I want a career, not to be like my mother, dependent on a man.'

      For the first time Leo smiled. 'Did my father bring you up a suffragette?'

      Josie glanced at him and shook her head. A single tear glistened on her surprisingly dark eyelashes. 'No, but he understood,' she said with a slight quaver in her voice. 'He talked to me about important things – the Nazis in Germany, and the General Strike a few years ago, and India becoming a dominion, as well as the new television experiments the BBC is working on. But he didn't talk to me about why Wall Street is so important.'

      'I expect he thought you wouldn't understand about the stock market.'

      'I can't understand why people trust others to make their money for them like Papa George did rather than opening their own business.'

      'It's called investment.'

      'I'll work for my money when I have a business. I won't depend on anyone else and risk being let down by them.'

      'Women shouldn't have businesses. They're better off at home.'

      'Oh come on, Leo. It's 1930, not 1830. Women run shops, become doctors – they even fly aeroplanes. I won't depend on a man like my mother did. It's not done her much good.'

      Her voice wavered and Leo stretched out and took her hand in his. 'Stop, if it upsets you.'

      Josie gritted her teeth. 'No, I want to tell you. I heard a car, an odd, high-pitched tone which didn't seem normal. Yet the engine noise was familiar. Bentleys have a distinctive whine. He loved that car. Even when he lost so much money he wouldn't sell it. It was on the hill opposite, coming down a very narrow steep road, and it was travelling fast, much too fast. It was coasting out of gear; that was the odd sound. Something must have gone wrong.' She shuddered, reliving those terrifying moments, and Leo hugged her comfortingly. Josie took a deep breath. 'He didn't have a chance. The car smashed into a stone wall. It was thrown into the air and landed upside down on some rocks. It burst into flames and just fell apart. They said – they said he was dead or unconscious before the fire. I hope so. Oh, Leo, I do hope so.'

      *

      'My poor Josephine,' Dora whispered. 'She can't bear even to look at a motor car now. We had to come home by train, you know, after George was taken from me.'

      Josie, entering the room quietly, almost exclaimed out loud when she overheard these words. Leo grinned at the look of indignation on her face and hastily seized her hand.

      'Come and have some food,' he ordered, and dragged her across to where a buffet had been laid out.

      'It's not true, though!' Josie protested. 'It was Mother who said she'd never again go in a motor car. She'll never agree to let me have one, and Papa George had promised. She's starting to believe her own fairy stories,' she hissed angrily at Leo, impatiently shaking her head as he offered her a plateful of ham. 'I can't eat. How can people seem so happy at a funeral and guzzle food?'

      'I didn't feel like eating before I'd talked to you. Now, it's odd, but I'm ready to say goodbye to my father.'

      'Well, I still don't! I want to drive out in a car just to show her,' she added petulantly.

      'Can you drive? You're only – what – fifteen?'

      'I'll be sixteen in October. And Papa George taught me to drive, though he only let me practise on private roads. But the Bentley's gone. Leo, you have a car, don't you?'

      'Yes. Josie, come back. You can't drive my car!'

      Josie grinned mischievously over her shoulder and ran from the room. By the time he caught up with her she was wrenching open the door of his small car. He grasped her shoulder and spun her round, then shook her angrily.

      'You madcap! You're not old enough, and even if you were I wouldn't let you drive my Midget.'

      'Why not? I could,' she challenged. 'Are you afraid I'd smash it into the nearest ditch?'

      He reached over and removed the ignition key. 'I'm not letting you try. Women can't drive.'

      'Oh! What a load of rubbish. How about the women who drive in rallies and even at Brooklands? Mrs Bruce was placed two years running in the Monte Carlo Rally. And she flies aeroplanes and –'

      'And you want to emulate her?'

      'And what about Amy Johnson? If she can fly to Australia on her own I don't see why I can't drive a tiny little car.'

      'Don't be silly. Do you want another funeral?'

      Josie went white and her head drooped. Leo, afraid he'd hurt her, began to try and explain but she turned and ran away round the side of the house. He shrugged. She was just a naughty child, sulking at a deserved reprimand. He'd leave her to herself. At least she couldn't now steal his car, and he doubted whether she would be idiotic enough to take one belonging to another guest. He walked slowly back towards the house, and for a few seconds didn't associate the new sounds he heard with Josie. Then he leapt hastily aside as she appeared astride a small motorcycle, waving gleefully before roaring off towards Redditch.

      *

      'Josie, you devil, bring me bike back!' A thin, sandy-haired young man gesticulating wildly cannoned into Leo as he raced after Josie.

      'Come on!' Leo grabbed him. 'My car,' he explained tersely as he thrust the fuming young man into the passenger seat and fumbled for his key. The Midget shot out of the driveway, terrifying a huge draught-horse pulling a passing coal waggon, and set off in pursuit.

      'You're old George Bradley's son, ain't yer?' the young man asked when he'd recovered his breath. Leo nodded. 'Me sister Lizzie said so. Me name's Freddy Preece, I'm Josie's cousin. Ma an' Aunt Dora are sisters.'

      'Is she always this crazy?' Leo asked. He'd just seen Josie in the distance and relaxed slightly.

      'Dunno. We don't see a lot of our posh relations,' Freddy replied. 'Only came to the funeral 'cause Ma said we 'ad to show respect. Aunt Dora likes us ter keep out of 'er swanky friends' way. We're not respectable enough. Think yer'll catch 'er?'

      'Yes, she's going quite slowly, and I can get over sixty in this little baby.'

      'Blimey!' Freddy was impressed.

      By now they'd passed all the houses of Moseley and were out in the winding country lanes. Josie had to slow down but Leo, laughing suddenly at the thought that Josie's bright beacon of hair was helping him keep her in sight, barely slowed his headlong pace. Freddy grabbed at the door when Leo slid round one bend on two wheels, then was thrown forward on to the dashboard as Leo braked abruptly. When he'd disentangled himself he found Leo furiously berating a defiant Josie. Freddy clambered out of the car, an appreciative grin on his face.

      Josie swung round. 'You utter cretin!' she blazed at Freddy. 'Your stupid machine's run out of petrol. I'd have got away if you kept the tank decently full.'

      Freddy gave a crow of laughter. 'I can't afford petrol fer thieves that pinch me bike. An' if yer've damaged it, young Josie, yer'll pay.'

      'I know better than to damage it,' she flared.

      'Yer, but 'ow'm I gonna get it 'ome?'

      'There's a spare can in my car,' Leo said, amused. 'You, Josie, are coming home with me.'

      'No! I won't! I'd rather walk!'

      She stalked off, watched in exasperated amusement by Leo. Freddy, busy squeezing the last possible drop of petrol into the motorcycle tank, laughed.

      'Carrots an' temper,' he explained. 'Gals with red 'air are a menace. I always steer clear of 'em meself.'

      He replaced the petrol can, and gave a cheerful wave, shouting his thanks as he rode past Josie with a nonchalant flourish. She ignored him, as she ignored Leo when, having turned the car in a convenient field gateway, he drove slowly alongside her and civilly offered her a lift.

      'It's several miles,' he pointed out. 'Your mother will be frantic.' She turned her head away. 'There are matters to discuss with the solicitors. Don't you want to be there?' Silence. 'Perhaps you're too young to be consulted.' That brought him a glare of fury. 'Or perhaps they wouldn't listen to a girl anyway. This is men's business, after all.' Josie's mouth opened, then she recollected herself and her nose went up in the air. Leo chuckled. 'Oh, don't be a little ass! Excuse me while I let the pony and trap overtake me.'

      He drew forward a few yards and halted, the side of the car hard against the hedge. The trap driver, with a curious glance at them, raised his whip in acknowledgement and trotted on. Leo waited. Josie had to come on his side of the car. She hesitated, and then, as he opened the door and stepped out, turned and began to run back the way they'd come. He sprinted in pursuit.

      'Let me go!' she panted, struggling in his grasp. She was big and strong, but Leo was much bigger and stronger, and within half a minute was carrying her back to the car, dumping her unceremoniously into the passenger seat and blocking her escape as he climbed in after her.

      'You'll stay there!' he commanded briskly, and before Josie caught her breath the car was bowling along at a speed which precluded any thought of jumping out.

      Josie fumed impotently and began to plan revenge. Before she could devise anything sufficiently awful they'd reached her home, and he virtually frogmarched her into the dining room where Dora was talking to George's solicitor.

      'You mean I'll have to sell this house?' Dora was saying angrily. 'Leo – there you are. Tell him it's nonsense. George said he'd always take care of me,' she went on accusingly. 'He was a wonderful husband, but why on earth he had to gamble on foolish schemes to build silly gadgets for cars, I don't know. I blame that dreadful man Scott.'

      'It is in no way Mr Scott's fault,' the solicitor said wearily. 'I have explained. Mr Bradley was no longer a partner in his business. William Scott did all he was legally bound to do when he repaid the investment, as Mr Bradley asked. He has no further obligation towards you.'

      'But his business is flourishing now, and it was George's money that helped him get started.'

      'That makes no difference,' the solicitor began, but Dora went on angrily.

      'It was only because William Scott didn't keep his word and make that fortune he said he would that George put money into those American companies, and when that beastly Wall Street crashed and he lost it he was so distraught that he drove carelessly.'

      The solicitor sighed. He knew she had not accepted the verdict of suicide. Now was not the time to discuss it. 'In any case there are many debts, and to meet them this house must be sold. As yet I can't say what will be left, if anything. Fortunately Miss Josephine's school fees have been paid for next year, but I strongly advise you to prepare yourself to take a job after that,' he added, turning to Josie and smiling encouragingly at her.

      'I want a job. I'll take one now, if it will help.'

      'No, that would be premature. The school fees are not refundable, so it would be a pity to waste them, and in a year you will be better qualified. With two million people unemployed you need qualifications. I suggest you spend some time learning to typewrite. It is a genteel occupation, better than working in a factory.'

      Dora was affronted. 'My Josephine work in a dirty filthy factory! How can you even think of such a thing?'

      'I don't, Mrs Bradley. Now we must make arrangements for you to move. You could rent a couple of rooms, just until we see what money is left, when perhaps you might be able to afford a small house in one of the new suburbs. Three hundred pounds would buy quite a pleasant house.'

      'A tiny house in a suburb?' Dora exclaimed. 'Nonsense. George knew that I don't understand money. He's left it to Leo. You'll take care of us, won't you?' she asked, turning to Leo who was leaning against the marble mantelpiece.

      'It's not my affair,' Leo said shortly. 'He left me nothing apart from my mother's jewels, for he knew I have enough with what my uncle left me. I won't keep you in idleness when you must have plenty of money of your own, from what my father gave you when he was alive.'

      Dora raged, saying it was his duty to look after his father's wife and her daughter, and Josie writhed inwardly. After a while Leo, icily calm, simply turned and left the room. The solicitor gazed after him enviously, but remained seated. Josie, though still smarting from the humiliating way he'd forced her to come home, swiftly followed him.

      'I'm sorry,' she said awkwardly.

      She'd always felt obscurely guilty about Leo, who had been brought up by his aunt and uncle after his own mother died. Josie had seen him rarely, Dora being unwilling to become responsible for a stepson only seven years younger than she was. She'd been sixteen when she married Joseph Shaw just before the Great War. Josie had been born the following year, days before her father had been killed in the trenches. Two years later, George Bradley, a much older widower, had fallen for Dora's fragile and helpless air and married her.

      *

      'Leo won't want to leave his aunt and uncle or his friends, will he?' Dora said to George a week after she'd met the boy. 'He's so big and noisy and energetic, climbing trees or doing other dangerous things. I thought the house was collapsing round us when he came down the stairs on that tin tray. I adore little children, but I couldn't manage him. Besides, your brother and his wife can't have children and he owns a very good business. He'll want Leo to go into it with him later.'

      The infatuated George, though disappointed, recalled the intemperate criticisms his son had made of his future stepmother after their first meeting and agreed it might be unwise to force them to live together. He'd contented himself with the thought that he would at least have a daughter, and perhaps he and Dora might have more children. Thereafter, Leo had seen his father infrequently, and even less of Josie. She had heard talk that he'd inherited his uncle's jewellery business and the house in Handsworth, but knew little about his life.

      Leo turned to acknowledge Josie's apology for her mother's behaviour. 'I've broad shoulders,' he grinned, 'but no obligations to your mother. My father regularly put money for her in special accounts. Even though his investments went she ought to have ample, even if she has to sell this house. You don't need a place this size anyway.'

      'I don't think she has any money of her own,' Josie said doubtfully. 'Papa George always paid her bills.'

      'She must have plenty. Women don't understand business. But if all else fails I'll give you a job in my factory.' Leo smiled goodbye as he drove away, leaving Josie alone with a cloud of dust.

      Back at the house, Dora raged and wept and swore that she would never suffer the indignity of renting rooms in someone else's house. Eventually she was put to bed by her sister, Phoebe.

      'Good job I stayed to 'elp the maid clear up,' Aunt Phoebe said, when they eventually left Dora asleep.

      'But what can I do?' Josie asked. 'Where do I start to look for rooms? And how much should I pay?'

      Phoebe patted her hand. 'Don't worry. Tell you what, I could let you 'ave a pair of rooms; I've got a house far too big for just me and Freddy, Lizzie and Ann. It won't be for long, maybe. Aston's not what yer ma's used to and she'll throw a fit at her loose-living sister helpin' 'er with 'er wages of sin.'

      Josie grinned. 'Just because you and Lizzie's dad weren't married? But he loved you, and he gave you that house.'

      'Luckily fer me and Doris! Oops! Better not call her that, she thinks it's common. You could 'ave two of the rooms on the first floor, the big front one as a sitting room so's you're independent, and share the back bedroom. Dora could bring any furniture she wanted to keep.'

      Josie hugged her. 'Aunt Phoebe, you're a brick!'

      Phoebe laughed. 'A cushion more like, with my figure!' Josie grinned. Aunt Phoebe was blonde and buxom, with red cheeks and merry blue eyes. 'I'll find a man to move the furniture tomorrow, and we'll have Doris there before she thinks of too many objections.'

      *

      Josie sprawled on Lizzie's bed, resting her chin in her hands as she watched her cousin putting on her new matching frock and coat. Lizzie was humming the latest dance tune she'd heard when she and her new boyfriend had been at the Tower ballroom. Idly Josie wondered what it would be like to have a man kiss her. Lizzie had confided that although she'd only been out with Matthew Horobin a few times he'd kissed her already, but then Lizzie was small and dark and pretty.

      'What's Matthew like?'

      'He's terribly handsome,' Lizzie said dreamily. 'And tall, I only come up to his shoulder even in my highest heels. He's got dark curly hair, a deeper brown than mine, but it will never stay flat however much brilliantine he uses. His eyes are dark brown too, and his lips so soft!'

      Josie giggled. 'He sounds like Rudolph Valentino.'

      Lizzie blushed. 'He is,' she declared. 'But his chin's firmer, he's more rugged. He's fascinated by machinery.'

      'Yes, you said he preferred mending the ones in the factory to helping his father deal with customers. But why doesn't he want his father to know you're going out together? Is he ashamed of you? I wouldn't even speak to a man like that.'

      'Of course he's not. It could just be awkward for us.'

      'You mean the other girls would be jealous of you going out with the boss's son?'

      'They might not be so friendly. They'd be bound to think I'd tell him what they said, perhaps spy on them.'

      'That's ridiculous!'

      'I know we live in a good house in a nice road. But they could easily drag up the old scandal about Mom and Dad not being married. A couple of the girls could be really nasty, they've got their own eyes on him.'

      'Well, his father does own a big jewellery firm.'

      'That's not why I like him. But it would be nice if they saw me in his new car,' Lizzie added wistfully. 'He might put that money from his uncle in a business to do with motor cars. I'm so glad you said you'd come to the rally today and try out the new car he's thinking of buying.'

      Josie pushed herself up. 'If I'm going to make a foursome with the car's owner I'd better go and say goodbye to Mother.'

      *

      As Lizzie went downstairs, Freddy intercepted her on the landing. 'Goin' out with Matthew?' he asked.

      'Yes. Why?' she demanded suspiciously.

      'I've 'eard of a real good thing, and I thought yer might mention it to 'im. After all, what's the use of a sister courtin' one of the nobs if she can't do a chap a favour?' he went on ingratiatingly.

      'Oh yes? Not making enough as a bookie's runner?' Lizzie asked scornfully. 'I'm not asking Matthew to put money into one of your mad schemes.'

      'It's not a mad scheme. It's a cert. Me pal, Sid, 'im as works at the stadium, 'e's got the chance of a pup that's the best thing 'e's ever seen. Nothin' else will be able to catch this little beggar once 'e's full grown and trained. 'E'll be even better than Mick the Miller.'

      'A pup? A greyhound, you mean? Have you gone mad?'

      'Come on, Sis, a good dog's worth 'undreds a year. But the owner wants a fancy price. Then there's all the expenses of trainin' before yer gets anything back.'

      'If you ever get anything! Freddy, get a proper job.'

      'Workin' for nothin' when there's money to be made out of mugs? Catch me! All I need's a start, a backer. If Matthew's willin' to invest a couple hundred quid –'

      'You must be crazy. You can buy a greyhound for a few pounds. Two hundred pounds just for a dog?'

      'There's food an' trainin' and so on. And it's a very special dog, Lizzie. It'll make 'im lots more'n that.'

      'With prize money? Don't be daft!'

      Freddy winked broadly at her. 'Not just prizes, Sis. You're too innocent. There's more ways of skinnin' a cat – or dog, as the case may be.'

      'I won't ask him.' Lizzie's tone was uncompromising, her blue eyes icy.

      'A hundred? Fifty then,' Freddy tried to persuade her.

      'No. And don't you dare speak to Matthew about it either, or I'll – I'll report you to the police!'

      Freddy glared. She wouldn't give away his minor infringements of the law, he knew, so he wasn't worried. He had hoped to persuade Matthew to lend him some cash. He needed spares for his motorcycle, too. Even his ingenuity couldn't always keep it going. He sighed. He hadn't been able to touch Aunt Dora, either. In the year she and Josie had lived with them he'd had nothing but a tie for Christmas and some handkerchiefs for his birthday. Much good it was having rich relations! Lizzie was his best hope, but it might be better to wait until she had actually landed a wealthy husband. Then an impecunious brother-in-law might reasonably expect sympathy. Either that or he'd have to think of a scheme more acceptable to Miss High and Mighty Elizabeth Preece. He left the house, racking his brains for a foolproof scheme for making money, but admitted with a rueful grin that strict legality and making a fast fortune didn't often go hand in hand, not in this world anyway. But Freddy had unbounded confidence. He'd find a plan, eventually.

      Outside he encountered Wilf Edwards lounging on a garden wall opposite. Freddy joined him, and resisted the suggestion that they went to Wilf's house for a drink.

      'Me sister's posh man friend's comin',' he explained. 'I want ter spy out the land.'

      'What for?'

      'Money fer the dog, of course.'

      'Yow do' even know the feller; yow car' goo up an' ask 'im fer a couple 'undred quid!'

      'Not yet, I can't, but when they're spliced 'e'll cough up. 'Sides, 'oo knows wot we might see?' he added, nudging Wilf in the ribs and winking heavily at him.

      Wilf frowned uncomprehending and Freddy sighed. Wilf was strong and fearless, good with his fists, always ready to join in any fight without asking what it was about, but he had nothing between the ears. Freddy sometimes wished he had a pal who would appreciate his brilliant schemes, might even contribute to them. It was wearing having to think of every detail himself as well as imagining what calamities there might be if his henchman got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Since Wilf was prone to do this, Freddy spent a lot of time trying to avoid unnecessary catastrophes.

      They waited, not speaking except for commenting loudly on the charms of every girl they saw. Most ignored them; some gave them furious glances which only made the two young men laugh; only one damsel, for Freer Road was a respectable neighbourhood, stopped to bandy insults. Wilf was all for following up this promising introduction but Freddy grabbed his arm as he slid from the wall.

      'Not now! Look, this is probably 'im.'

      'Bloody 'ell!'

      Even Wilf was impressed with the vehicle which swept round from Hampton Road and drew up with a flourish. The bodywork in two shades of blue sparkled, two spare wheels perched at the back, and the black leather upholstery shone as did all the metal components, the wire wheels, headlamps and radiator grille. Two young men in dark blue blazers and caps got out, the driver, who was slightly shorter than his passenger, gesticulating. The passenger nodded eagerly, then went to knock on Phoebe's door while the other man opened the bonnet and began to adjust something.

      Lizzie opened the door. Freddy could see his mother hovering in the hall and the net curtains at one window of Dora's sitting room twitched. Freddy wondered how Josie had deterred her mother from insisting on meeting the young men.

      Matthew introduced the girls to his friend, they were assisted into the small back seat, and then Matthew took the wheel. As he drove away Freddy felt a wave of furious envy shake him. He wanted a car like that. He'd wanted one ever since he'd been to Brooklands, and knew that, given the chance, he could race with the best of them, though he rarely had an opportunity to drive. He couldn't even afford to repair his motorcycle. Moodily Freddy ignored Wilf's salacious speculations about Lizzie and rich young men. He wanted an even better car, but there was no job he could think of that would earn him enough money before he was too old to enjoy it.

      *

      It was the first time Josie had been in a car since George's funeral, and she revelled in it, though she was a little disappointed to discover the rally wasn't a race as such, just a series of timed stages. They drove north through Tamworth and Lichfield, finishing at Beacon Hill for a late picnic lunch before the speed climbing competition began. The girls unpacked the hamper Matthew had brought, and they sat on bright tartan rugs on the side of the steep hill, gazing across the vast untidy sprawl of the Black Country as they ate the picnic food. Josie tried not to think of the last time she'd been sitting on the side of a hill, watching George die. At least there was no hill opposite today.

      'On weekdays the smoke is so thick you can't see the few miles to Walsall, let alone beyond Wolverhampton,' Matthew said. 'If they still used these hilltops to light beacon fires it might be difficult to see them.'

      'No need, now we've got radio and the telephone,' William Scott replied. He was a chunky, solid sort, his grey eyes always seemingly focused on some distant prospect, and he became animated only when he was talking about cars or other scientific marvels. 'Soon we'll be able to transmit pictures too so we can see what enemy is attacking us,' he explained.

      Lizzie shivered. 'Surely there won't be another war? Wasn't it supposed to be the war that ended all wars?'

      'There have been plenty of little ones since, in Turkey and the Middle East for instance,' Matthew pointed out.

      'I meant in Europe.'

      'We stopped occupying Germany last year,' Josie said.

      'But the Germans are still aggrieved over the huge reparations they simply can't afford to pay. Their whole economy is in a mess, and over a hundred National Socialists were elected to the Reichstag last year. There will be more trouble,' William predicted.

      'Can't we refuse to trade with them?' Josie asked. 'Papa George said we could put pressure on difficult governments that way.'

      William shrugged. 'We trade where we must, even when we don't approve of someone.' Josie saw him glance at Matthew and narrow his eyes. Was he making a comment, or was it an accidental glance, she wondered.

      She regard him curiously. When he'd been introduced she'd realised he was Papa George Bradley's former partner. George had provided most of the money, William the expertise. Together they were going to adapt motor cars to include

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