Mornings in London by Janice Law

Author:Janice Law
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2017-07-28T14:34:49+00:00

Chapter 9

The next morning, just after seven, a bright red saloon with a black top pulled up outside Avant Design. I hopped in. The leather interior smelled like a tack room and the dashboard and fittings were burl maple. The ride was as smooth as a sofa, and when we left the city, Lizzie pushed the speed up over 50 mph. “Impressive,” I said.

“A Morris 8 saloon with lots of custom touches. George’s baby. I had to promise him the earth to get a loan.”

“George is your older brother?”

“That’s right. Next in line for the firm. But when Daddy retires, I’ll have to take over the business end. George can do anything with math so long as it doesn’t involve money.”

“What does the company do?” I asked, just to keep the conversation going.

“Armitage, Ltd., makes electrical equipment, switches, relays, transformers.”

“Very forward looking.”

“Absolutely,” Lizzie said, “and George is in the forefront.”

“Really?”

“He’s a genius engineer but otherwise a dolt. Did you know he introduced Pops to Freddie? The fatal man, gorgeous but toxic—not that George would have noticed. The only things he notices under the hood, so to speak, are motors.”

You can bet that gave me something to think about: a genius electrical engineer who knew Freddie! Did George know about mysterious waves and magnetrons? Had I worried about all the wrong people? These were unpleasant thoughts under the circumstances, and I think the trip would have become awkward if Lizzie hadn’t clearly enjoyed driving. Rolling along, she told me amusing stories about her schooldays with Poppy. I equate school with penal servitude, but she recalled their establishment as a jolly place where they played rough games on the hockey pitch and toasted bread and sausages in their rooms and made eyes at suitable boys. “Or girls,” Lizzie added and winked.

“Would Poppy have stuck to girls! Or at least not picked such a rascal.”

“Damn handsome just the same,” Lizzie said, and I wondered how much she knew about the late Freddie. But though I tried several times to steer the conversation back to him, Lizzie offered nothing more. Something to think about there, too.

We turned onto the Grand Parade in Hastings at midmorning. The summer holiday makers had departed, but a good number of truants, lovers, convalescents, and ancients were out on the seafront enjoying the mild weather, the clouded sun, those supposedly healthy sea breezes. I’m not fond of the sea. Although sandy resorts are a big step up from country living, they’re still a big step down from London and civilized life.

“We used to go to the pier when I was a child,” Lizzie said, nodding toward the cluster of bulbous pleasure domes perched at the end of a long pier. “We’ll go, if we have time.”

The joys of dancing and other recreations while perched over many feet of salt water escape me completely, but I said, “If we can find Poppy, I’ll be happy to go.”

She gave me a glance as if she’d read my mind. “You’re very fond of Pops, aren’t you?”

“My favorite relative, hands down.

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