The More Deceived (32 page)

In the Paddock, Edward saw several people he knew, including Lord Weaver who introduced him to Sir Malcolm Campbell. Campbell was driving his V12 Sunbeam at the head of the parade and he urged Edward to join it in the Lagonda.

‘It’s a historic day. I am very proud of the new circuit, Lord Edward, and I want as much publicity for it as possible. Lord Weaver has promised us a “spread” in the
New Gazette
– I think that’s what you called it, Joe, “a spread”?’

Weaver was an old friend of Edward’s, and Verity’s employer. He offered to go and sit with her so she would not feel out of things.

‘You don’t have to worry on that score, Joe. She seems to be the centre of attention, or at least she was a moment ago. I am suddenly aware she is famous.’

‘She’s a great girl and I’m proud of her. Backing her was one of the best things I ever did and, I have to confess to you, it was done in part to annoy my editor. He’s a good man but he doesn’t like Verity and I had to put my foot down. What’s the point of owning a newspaper if you can’t print what you want? I have to remind him of that now and again.’

‘Actually, Joe, I’m surprised to see you here. Wasn’t it only yesterday I read an article in your august organ accusing women racing drivers of “flirting with death” and “dicing with their lives”?’

Weaver had the grace to look shifty. ‘I didn’t write that article. I like Brooklands – always have.’

‘Are you putting a bet on the first race?’ Edward inquired.

As at any horse-racing course, betting was permitted and there was already a crowd in the Paddock examining the odds for the first race.

‘No, I don’t think so. Why, are you?’

‘I think I will. A friend of mine, Miss Georgina Hay, is racing.’

‘I know her name.’

‘She’s a well-known driver but I met her because she is the sister-in-law of the Foreign Office man, Charles Westmacott, who was murdered.’

‘The Chelsea Bridge murder?’ Weaver said, looking at him with interest. ‘I might have known you would be involved. If you can give me a story . . .’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid, Joe, but maybe soon. For the moment, take my advice and keep an eye on Miss Hay. She’s a remarkable woman.’

‘I’ll do that. Thank you.’

Together, they left the throng and walked back to Verity who was still comfortably lodged in her armchair. Fenton stood at her elbow, prepared to take her down to the Ladies’ Lounge when she was tired, but for the moment she was breathing in the tributes of friends and admirers like pure oxygen and there was a colour in her cheeks which had not been there before. She greeted Lord Weaver warmly and Edward left her in his charge as a steward informed him that, if he wished to take part in the parade, he must return to the Lagonda and be marshalled into position. Verity and Weaver said they would wave at him. Verity had powerful Zeiss binoculars so she could see right across the circuit. Edward said he would return before the first race, in which Georgina was to take part. It would be a ladies’ Short Handicap and the first of two short races before the main event – a long-distance race over a hundred laps for the new Campbell Trophy.

Dame Ethel Locke King, widow of Brooklands’ founder, cut the tape and then drove forward in a 1903 Napier to begin the lap of honour. Behind her and Malcolm Campbell poured a host of cars, old and new – a veritable living history of the automobile. Edward modestly kept well back in the procession but he did feel proud to be there and proud of his Lagonda Rapier. Milk white and powered by a 4467 cc six cylinder Meadows engine, it was a magnificent machine. A similar model had won Le Mans in 1935. On this occasion, Edward was content to do a steady 5 mph but, even so, he was rather alarmed by the cloud of dust which enveloped him, thrown up by the cars in front. He slowed almost to a halt, not wishing to bump into the car in front – a black Armstrong Siddeley. Because of the dust he could not see the clubhouse and had no idea whether Verity could see him but, lifting the goggles he had put on for effect and which had no practical use, he thought he saw a face he knew. The young man was walking alongside the track with a crowd of enthusiasts.

It came to him that he knew exactly why the man was at Brooklands and he had to fight a desire to stop the Lagonda, vault over the barrier and collar him. A particularly heavy cloud of dust blinded him for a moment and, when he could see again, the man had disappeared. With a grim face, Edward completed the lap, fought his way off the course to park the Lagonda beside the clubhouse and leapt up the stairs to tell Verity what he had seen. He found her all alone except for Fenton, loyally standing at her elbow.

‘Miss Hay . . . do you think she is in any danger?’ Verity asked.

Edward rubbed his forehead vigorously. ‘Of course, V, the chrysanthemum in her car. I must go and warn her.’

‘I don’t think she’ll take any notice but go anyway. I wish I could come with you.’

‘I wish you could too.’ He leant over and kissed her on the lips.

‘Stop that. You’ll cause a scandal, Edward!’ She clutched at him. ’Be careful. Now I’ve started having premonitions. I’ll watch you through my binoculars.’

‘Fenton, don’t let her out of your sight.’

‘I will not, my lord.’

He found Georgina – dressed entirely in black – talking to Kay Petre and Sir Malcolm Campbell. She always wore black, hating to appear after the race smeared in oil, but she must have been aware how good her yellow hair looked against it, at least until she put on her leather helmet. The car on the other hand – a supercharged Austin – was painted green, racing green, as it was called – to signify that it was English. Sir Vida Chandra was also there discussing technical details with Barney. He gave Edward a chilly nod and continued his conversation.

It suddenly seemed quite absurd to warn Georgina in front of Sir Malcolm that, because a dead chrysanthemum had been left in her car and he had glimpsed someone in the crowd whom he suspected of being a murderer, she ought to pull out of the race. If someone came to him with such a story, he would pooh-pooh it so why should he expect Georgina to do anything else? He compromised by breaking into Sir Vida’s conversation to ask Barney if the car was ready for the race – a stupid question, he realized as soon as he had asked it. Sir Vida sniffed derisively but Barney, pipe between his teeth as usual, was polite.

‘Tickety-boo, my lord. She’s going like a dream.’ He patted the gleaming metal as though it were a favourite dog.

A flurry of small boys whom the stewards had been unable to keep out of the pits clustered around Georgina and Sir Malcolm, seeking autographs.

‘It doesn’t look very substantial,’ Edward said doubtfully, resting his hand on the car.

‘It’s strong enough,’ Barney responded, ‘but the main thing is that it’s very light.’

Edward looked round and, to his amazement, found Verity standing beside him. She had got bored perched on the roof and had insisted on Fenton taking her downstairs. Fenton looked at Edward apologetically. ‘Miss Browne insisted, my lord.’

‘That’s all right, Fenton, I know what it is when Miss Browne insists on something.’ He introduced her to everyone.

‘Miss Browne,’ Georgina said, ‘would you like to try it for size?’ She indicated the car.

‘Oh, may I?’ Verity said, a huge smile lighting up her face.

‘Of course – as long as you can climb in without opening up any of your stitches.’

‘Here, let me help you,’ said Kay Petre, who had walked over from her car.

Edward noticed that both women knew exactly who she was and how she had received her wounds and treated her with the same respect which she showed them. Sitting in the car, Verity looked very much at home though, to Edward’s certain knowledge, she was an erratic, if dashing, driver. She had owned a Morgan when he met her first and, with her customary impatience, had not even discovered how to get into reverse gear before driving it for the first time. She had had no car for the last couple of years and, when she had insisted on riding a motorcycle the year before, Edward had found out she had no driving licence and had not passed a driving test.

He wished he had a Kodak with him to take her picture now. As if in answer to his wish, he turned to find André Kavan complete with camera.

‘Good heavens! What are you doing here, Kavan? I thought you were in Spain.’

‘No,’ he said in his odd mongrel accent, ’I have had enough of Spain.’

Edward thought he understood why. Gerda’s death at Guernica was reason enough not to want to return to that war-ravaged country.

‘I saw your photographs – yours and Gerda’s – in
Life
magazine,’ he said awkwardly. ‘They were extraordinary. Can anyone have ever recorded the horror and pity of war so vividly?’

‘Thank you, Lord Edward,’ Kavan responded gravely. ‘Your praise means something to me as you were there. You have a right to judge my work. I have two or three of Gerda’s photographs you might like to have. I know it was important to her that you liked her work.’

Edward remembered the way Kavan had taken her camera from him when she lay dead. There had been jealousy, even hatred, in his eyes then. He took these words – if not as an apology – at least as a gesture of reconciliation.

‘I’d like that very much.’ They shook hands solemnly and, in doing so, buried more than the antipathy they had felt for one another when they first met. They also put to rest their unspoken rivalry over Gerda. No doubt André still thought Edward had been to bed with her and it made little difference that he had not done so. He had wanted Gerda intensely and, talking to André, he felt the pain in his gut that he had never held her naked in bed and would never do so.

Verity, too, seemed delighted to see André again and let him take several photographs of her in the car, Georgina and Kay standing behind her.

‘I am doing a spread for
Life
,’ he explained, ‘on the phenomenon of the lady racing driver. I am off to Italy and then Germany next week. Lord Edward, I believe you know Sir Vida Chandra. Would it be possible for me to meet him? I understand he plays a big part in the sport over here.’

‘Of course, but here’s the lady who should do that for you since he makes it possible for her to race. Georgina, may I introduce you to the celebrated photographer André Kavan? André, may I present Miss Georgina Hay who is shortly to race on this new track? By the way, where is Sir Vida? He was here a moment ago.’

‘I have no idea,’ Georgina said brusquely. ‘I’m afraid we must go now. We are being ordered to prepare for the start.’

Edward was surprised at her sudden
froideur
. He wondered if he had made a faux pas. Perhaps she was embarrassed to have her sponsorship by the millionaire made public. Fortunately, at that moment Mrs Westmacott arrived with Alice, the Hassels and Miss Hawkins.

‘Sorry we’re so late,’ Adrian said. ‘We got caught up in the traffic and then the parade.’

‘Well, you’re here now,’ Georgina said, kissing Alice. ‘I’ll see you all after the race.’

Verity was looking tired and Edward was glad when she was seated once again in her comfortable wicker armchair.

‘Did you manage to warn Miss Hay?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t have the chance, somehow. I don’t know, when it came to say something, it all seemed so vague, I thought she would laugh in my face if I told her to pull out of the race. I can’t make up my mind whether I’m in the grip of some sort of fantasy or . . .’

‘Oh well, it’s too late now. Look, they are on the starting line.’ She passed him her binoculars and he scanned the crowd, looking for the man he had seen earlier.

‘That was Sir Vida Chandra, wasn’t it? I wanted to meet him but he went away just as Fenton and I arrived. He is a friend of Mr Churchill’s, you said?’

‘Yes, he was there when I went to have dinner at Churchill’s flat. He’s got a finger in many pies. I don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes I think of him as a patriot doing his best to help Churchill prepare for war and sometimes I wonder if there isn’t something sinister about him.’

He continued to scan the circuit through the binoculars and his gaze came to rest on the Vickers Armstrong factory. It seemed so odd that the motor racing should take place in the same square mile as Vickers was developing its new aero-engines. He lowered the glasses and said to Verity, ‘Am I imagining things or is this meeting a wonderful opportunity for a bit of industrial espionage?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Crowds of people – anyone could walk into the Vickers factory and look about them. Then, what about the German connection? Didn’t Mrs Petre tell me the drivers often went to Germany to race on the autobahns? Quite legitimate but what an opportunity for – what shall we say? – pursuing other interests.’

‘Oh, that’s nonsense, Edward. Are you thinking she or any of the other drivers could be spies?’

‘No, of course not,’ but he sounded doubtful. ‘There was something Fred Cavens said to me . . . about fencing don’t y’know. Now, what was it? I remember: “Himmler likes to penetrate British society through sport.” Think of the propaganda triumph the Olympics turned out to be for Nazi Germany.’

‘It’s true . . .’ Verity began, then she hesitated. ‘Georgina was saying a moment ago that the bane of motor-racing was that it was becoming increasingly national – not one driver against another but one country against another country. If Kay wins a race, it becomes a Canadian victory. If Prince von Leiningen does, then it’s a German victory.‘

Edward lowered the glasses again and clicked his fingers. ‘Hey, wait a minute: why racing cars? Why shouldn’t one of the flyers carry secrets out of the country? They’re popping over the Channel all the time.’

‘I don’t know, Edward. This is all wild guesswork. You’ve got no evidence of anything.’

‘I know I haven’t but I intend to get some,’ he said grimly. ‘I see there’s a delay at the start. I’ll do some scouting around while everyone is watching it being sorted out. Are you all right here for a few minutes, V?’

‘Go,’ Verity said dramatically, ‘if it makes you happy. You won’t find anything but go if you must. Still, why not wait until Georgina has raced?’

‘I’ll watch it as I stroll round the circuit. Sure you’ll be all right?’