Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery (17 page)

I whistled. ‘Mike must have been getting on for fifty by the time he did find out – rather late to discover your parentage.'

‘Thank Ray for that. He said it was better for Mike if he never knew. Like hell. He didn't care two cheroots for Mike. It was
me
Ray wanted to get off his patch, even though he owed his job to me.'

‘He seems to have run Old Herne's well.'

‘Miranda did,' Arthur said grimly. ‘The moment she died, I told him he was off the books and Mike was automatically on under the trust agreement.'

I'd been right. Whole new scenarios were opening up, with this joker on the table. I wasn't pleased. ‘You should have told me he was your son, Arthur. This could have affected Mike's death.'

‘Why?' The tough billionaire emerged. ‘If my own kid doesn't know, why the heck should you? I only told Jason when he started Pryde of the Past five years back and that was the reason he fell out with Mike – blamed him for not telling him immediately he knew himself. Jason couldn't get over it because he'd been so close to Miranda, yet never knew the half of it. So he's poured all his energy since into Pryde of the Past.'

‘Which has opened up a new career for him.'

‘Sure. He had turned himself around, but still couldn't get over the fact that Mike had kept him in the dark. I reckon that was because Anna didn't want Jason thinking of himself as Mike's successor at Old Herne's, in case Jason booted Mike out of the place. If she'd known he was my son she'd have been even more forceful on the subject. Odd lad, Jason. He didn't mind my not telling him earlier, only Mike.'

I was still confused. ‘But now you have appointed Glenn, not Jason, to run Old Herne's. Is that because you don't see Jason as a good manager?'

‘He'd be a darn good manager if he chose, especially if Jessica stays on.'

‘So it's because he prefers to keep his own career?'

He didn't reply, and I saw he was beginning to tire. When he did speak, he still didn't answer my question. ‘Let's get out in the air, Jack. Down to the track and the Morgan. Tim's got the car down there ready, and then I'll tell you about Miranda Pryde and me. I told you some but you don't know the half of it yet.'

I could see he'd had enough for the moment. My questions would have to wait awhile, so I found him a wheelchair to save his energy and off we went, me with a sense of guilty pleasure at this diversion, he – well, I couldn't speak for him but he was clearly set on it.

And there, as we reached the track, was the Morgan. There was no sign of Tim, but the Morgan was enough. A sight for jaded spirits. A 1965 Morgan Series IV, with true quality shining out of every inch. I took a moment or two to admire it before we took off. And ‘took off' would be right for a Morgan, as Arthur pointed out.

‘You heard of the Aero, Jack?' he said. ‘Not that new one Morgans just brought out, the earlier one.'

‘Yes. Around 1920, wasn't it? And a Super Aero a few years later.'

‘Right. So called because of that flying ace of yours, Albert Ball, killed in 1917. He had an earlier specially bodied Grand Prix model, and said that to drive it was the nearest thing to flying without leaving the ground. That's what my Morgan does for me.'

And so we flew along the ground, Arthur and I. It seemed right for this track with its RAF provenance, and I could imagine myself in Ball's Sopwith Pup as the landscape whizzed by. It was an exhilarating experience, and when at last he'd had enough, he thanked me. Then we sat in the Morgan and he told me the story.
His
story, Miranda's story.

‘My Miranda,' he began. ‘You must have heard her recordings, Jack. Everyone has. What you can't know is what she was like. Take the phrase the love of my life. That was Miranda for me, and me for her. We were all set until Ray Nelson took a hand.

‘I first met him,' he went on, ‘after the Thunderbolt crash in 'forty-three, though I barely remember him then. Miranda put him in the shade, and I tend to forget that skunk was even then in the background. Miranda's partner he calls himself. He didn't play much part at all. He was OK as a crooner but he didn't have the X factor that Miranda did. She knew that, he knew that, so it was her show with back-up from him on occasion. The day of the crash in 'forty-three – well, I thought I was a goner as I came down. Got ready to meet my Maker. I told you Thunderbolts were sturdy beasts but the engine was failing. One strike too many. Then I blacked out as we hit the ground – don't know how long but I opened my eyes and there was this chap in overalls dragging me – and the heat was quite something. I had some idea it might have been St Peter so it seemed a good idea to go with the flow. The whole thing went up as he pulled me clear – he must have known it was about to blow but he came for me, and he saved my life. Just like my father, whose life was saved by that pal in World War I.

‘War's a strange time, Jack. It stays with you, the few good times, the countless bad. The horror and the personal heroism you come across. That's why we remember it, all of it, and not only on Armistice Day. As I told you, next evening I met Miranda at the Twitch club. Just her, not Ray, who reckoned he was too high and mighty to sing to such small audiences.'

‘Did they have a personal relationship at that time?'

‘According to him yes, according to Miranda no. Strictly business. By the time I left West Malling a few days later I was hooked on her. I guess those fellows that first set their eyes on your Florence Nightingale at Scutari must have been the same way. The Lady with the Lamp you call her. Well, Miranda Pryde shed a light into my life that hasn't been extinguished since.'

‘Was it instantaneous for both of you?'

‘No. To her I was just some dumb Yankee pilot at first, but she was interested enough to come to Debden, where I was stationed. She could tell I was homesick for Ohio. She'd been to the States so we talked about that and about her growing up in Kent. After Debden she was due to do a tour of East Anglian bases with Ray, and by then she and I were well on our way. Ray could see that. He was – and is – a sly piece of work. No English gentleman, that guy.

‘For the next year,' he continued, ‘we saw each other when we could, which wasn't often. She had a 'thirties Morgan then, and because of her job she could fix the petrol situation OK. Petrol rationing would have put paid to it otherwise. Then came D-Day and the summer of 1944. West Malling base made an arrangement with the USAF that they could use the Malling base as an advance landing for refuelling and as an emergency landing ground, so they were well used to Yankee pilots. Same went for Old Herne's. We were mostly flying Mustangs by then. That was the time when the VI doodlebugs were getting active, and the USAF needed a liaison officer at West Malling – I put myself forward and I was all set. Miranda lived locally and for those six weeks it was hell by day in the air and heaven at night. We knew this was the real thing and had plans to marry just as soon as possible. Mike was conceived – and then Ray found out. Somehow he got through to my CO and my request for speedy marriage was turned down flat. I don't know what tale he concocted, but then my squadron got posted, so there was no chance of seeing Miranda for a while. I was in Europe, she was in the north of England.'

Arthur cleared his throat before continuing, ‘When we met again in the sixties that jerk Nelson proudly told us he'd intercepted my letters and informed her I'd been posted back to the States. In those days she was a famous lady, she thought I didn't want her and there she was with a kid on the way. So she married Ray late in 1944. I thought that our love affair was over as she'd never replied to my letters and I'd no idea she was pregnant. So I got stuck into business life and making my millions. Got married, sired Glenn and tried to forget her. You have to get on with life.

‘Then in 1965 I had to fly to London on business and heard that Miranda and Ray were retiring from their singing career, and that their son Mike was a racing driver. I did a bit of investigation and went down to Kent to find them. So I met Miranda again. Twenty years is a long time, but we took one look at each other and knew we felt the same. Nothing to be done about it; you didn't leave your marriage post so easily in those days.'

‘And she told you about Mike?'

‘Yes. One look at him and I knew he was mine, for all he took after Miranda. I couldn't tell him that though. We agreed that with Ray. So I bought Mike the Porsche and the Morgan for Miranda and Ray hated me for it. Can't say I blame him, but I never told Mike the truth. Ray was glad enough to take the job at Old Herne's with Miranda, for all he can't stand me.'

‘And now?'

‘That flame's still burning, Jack. Miranda has gone but I see her in Jason every time I look at him. And, dear God, his voice. And that's why I can't let Old Herne's die, Jack. I thought I could, but I can't.'

A
rthur Howell, much as I liked and respected him, was one big powerhouse, I reflected as I drove him back to Friars Leas. Nevertheless, so far as Old Herne's and the trust were concerned he was focused on Miranda Pryde and through her on Mike and Jason. Miranda was ‘back story' and yet seemed to control Old Herne's future. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, however. A great many charities and other projects draw their inspiration from personal emotions, whether of grief, pleasure or conviction, and which of us is not affected by back story in one form or another? In Arthur's case, it had already had repercussions, though, in the form of the current financial straits of Old Herne's.

I didn't want to take that further and consider how that might have taken on a much darker perspective and led to Mike's death, but I knew I would have to before we parted, and it wasn't going to be easy. All I could do was tackle it head on.

‘Arthur, I have to decide whether what you've told me affects the job I'm doing for you too much to continue.'

‘Go on.' His voice was very clipped.

‘Your reprieve for Old Herne's opens up the possibility that his killer didn't want the club to continue.'

‘Why would that be?' Even more clipped.

Here goes, I thought. ‘Either because Mike would still be at the helm which would mean the end of the club or because his death could open up opportunities. Mike being your son complicates either motive.'

I waited for the storm to break and by the look on Arthur's face it was imminent. But it passed to my relief.

‘When we talked this job over, Jack, I told you there were no holds barred and I meant it, however close to home.'

I risked a step further. ‘Now Mike is dead, there are already changes afoot—'

‘Off limits, Jack.'

It was a mild reproof but technically he was right, or near enough for me not to fight it. ‘So might this be, then. If the end of Old Herne's was the plan behind his death the threat to you also increases. We talked about that earlier. Does that conversation still hold good?'

‘It does – or would if I were at risk. But I'm not. So that being settled, are you going on or not?'

I wrestled with this. The mortgage hovered above my head, my conscience pushed it away. Back it came, and this time I gave it a good kick. ‘I will,' I told him, ‘but you don't pay me. I'll do it for Mike's sake. That way I'm on a level playing field.'

A short laugh. ‘You English. Always “Play up, play up and play the game” with you. OK, I'll go with that.'

‘No game,' I said soberly. And then I braced myself. ‘The Porsche,' I began. ‘If I'm going on, I have to cover
every
possibility, so is it conceivable that Mike would have arranged for the Porsche to be stolen in order to get the compensation?'

That did it. He exploded. ‘
Are you crazy?
'

‘I have to rule it out, Arthur. You paid the insurance premiums but Mike would have got the insurance if the car wasn't found. It could be one explanation for his death.'

‘How does that go?' he whipped back at me.

‘Suppose somebody – Anna, for instance – pushed him into it?'

This time the explosion was different. It was a laugh – of relief? ‘Nothing, certainly not Anna, could have pushed Mike into parting with that car.'

‘Not even if he desperately needed cash to put into Old Herne's as he offered to do? He couldn't have sold the car because it was Old Herne's icon – and yours.'

Arthur stopped laughing and weighed this up. Then he came back at me with a decisive: ‘He wouldn't do it. Period. Full stop. Never.' With that, he courteously thanked me for the afternoon and went straight into Nightmare Abbey without a backward look.

Families. Was it the truth or only the truth as seen through a mental block because Mike was his son? Maybe family relationships have always controlled history right from Adam and Eve down through the ages. Look at Queen Victoria's offspring, spreading their influence all over Europe and beyond. Look at the Bushes, the Kennedys … Why should the Howells be different?

My perspective on Arthur was changing. With age, his emotions towards his family and his business instincts might have fused to a point where he could not see that putting Glenn in charge was dangerous – especially with Mike's death unsolved.

As far as Old Herne's was concerned, the reasons for the murder had now expanded from the impersonal business angle to the personal. The family trust and the rest of the family fortune could, from Glenn and Fenella's viewpoint, be at risk. And then there was Ray Nelson, who had clearly loathed Mike, not to mention the sleeping dog, Peter, who, whether he knew about Mike's parentage or not, could be sitting pretty for the biggest bone of his life if Old Herne's continued and Glenn returned to the States. He could be planning to cut Jessica out by teeming up with Fenella. The various angles spun around in my head, but in their midst sat Arthur.