Chapter Twenty One

The Thunderbus team arrived at their respective hotels in Purley the day before the final race of the season. Despite Poppy’s invitation, the pit crew preferred to stay at a separate location to minimise social awkwardness. Poppy was prepared for social awkwardness, given the revelation of Simeon’s friendships with the people who had been attacking her for the past year, yet neither Simeon nor Helena had raised the issue over the past week, leaving Poppy to assume they were drawing upon their breeding for the sake of harmony.

It was therefore a stilted party of four – Poppy, Amy, Simeon and Helena – who dined in the hotel’s restaurant that night. Poppy’s nerves were not helped by her discomfort in wearing another of Helena’s chosen gowns, though her irritation only expressed itself at seeing several “boilers”⁷⁴chugging away in the dining room. ‘Ridiculous things,’ she muttered, pulling a loose thread of lace from her sleeve.

‘I thought you liked anything mechanical?’ queried Helena, hoping for a non-controversial topic.

‘Not when they are a visible symbol of separation,’ replied Poppy. ‘The table boiler exists only to show the wealth of the people around it.’

‘But it serves a purpose in keeping the food warm,’ protested Simeon, eager to have his voice heard and to re-engage with Poppy.

‘Yes, but the waiters are present anyway to serve the food to the wealthy who, as always, get it handed to them on a plate,’ replied Poppy, somewhat tartly, undeterred by Amy’s mortified face at this critique of the class system.

‘It’s just a device’ mumbled Simeon.

‘Nothing is ever “just” a device; not if it is used as a visible barrier of separation between people.’

‘Perhaps we could just enjoy the meal without the social commentary?’ asked Simeon, testily.

‘Not when social exclusion is also present when dining.’

‘Oh, come on! How can dining be seen as an act of social exclusion?’

‘By the insistence of using the correct cutlery in the correct way; where does all this etiquette come from?’ asked Poppy, her voice mocking Simeon and his peers as she waved the pickle fork she’d been using to eat her fish. ‘What is the point? What purpose does it serve? Why does the upper class have to make such a meal out of eating dinner?’

‘Most amusing,’ muttered Simeon.

‘Surely,’ continued Poppy, ‘the true purpose of eating is to get the food into your mouth with the minimum of splashing? So, why this rigmarole about eating in the “correct” manner?’

‘There is more to a meal than simply eating the food,’ replied Helena, somewhat carefully. ‘There is conversation and wit, and the exchanging of news on mutual acquaintances.’

‘You mean politely listening to bores, laughing at their jokes and gossiping with friends?’

‘No,’ replied Simeon, trying to re-impose his authority. ‘We do indeed mean conversation and wit and exchanging news.’ Without asking for Poppy’s permission, he reached across the table and took the small four-tined pickle fork from her fingers and replaced it with the socially acceptable small four-tined fish fork.

‘It seems to me etiquette is simply showing you know the rules and therefore you belong in the club,’ replied Poppy, picking up the pickle fork and stabbing her fish with it again. ‘From food to clothes to accents to lifestyle, it all basically says “I’m up here and you’re down there.”’ Poppy glanced up and saw Helena’s strained expression; despite everything, she held her relationship with Helena close and so she moved to laugh away the uncomfortable atmosphere.

‘Oh, well; come the revolution, everyone will wear the same clothes of the same quality and we’ll all be equally miserable. And we’ll all eat directly from a gigantic trough to demonstrate our egalitarian society.’

‘An interesting peek into a possible future,’ replied Helena as Simeon let out a tentative laugh, though his face betrayed his irritation. Aware of her social duties in keeping the conversation flowing all around the table, she tried to bring Amy into the conversation. ‘What do you think, Amy?’

‘I don’t want to eat from a trough,’ she gasped. ‘Why would we be forced to do that?’

‘Indeed,’ smiled Helena, quickly covering the embarrassed silence that fell over the table. She adroitly changed the subject and put the focus back onto Poppy. ‘How are you finding the dress now? Any easier?’

‘Still too restrictive, I’m afraid, for total comfort,’ replied Poppy, her face red in frustration at Amy’s comment. ‘But I know fashion is a harsh mistress who puts appearance before function.’

‘I did wonder why you’re wearing that Victorian-looking outfit rather than something lighter and more modern,’ said Simeon.

‘Helena’s advice,’ replied Poppy, somewhat shortly. ‘She pointed out something with long sleeves will deflect attention from my arm and is therefore a way to hide in plain sight, incredible though it sounds.’

‘Ah, I see,’ mused Simeon, putting on his most thoughtful expression. ‘People recognise the arm and make the connection to the owner, so if you hide the arm, people won’t recognise you.’

‘Exactly. Most people have seen me on advertising boards and in magazines wearing my driving clothes, rendering this traditional dress something of a disguise.’

‘I’m afraid it is difficult to disguise you completely,’ observed Helena. ‘We can cover the arm but we can’t hide your height, or your profile, or that wild forest of hair.’

‘Plus, Helena thinks Poppy is in danger of popping out if she has anything too low cut,’ blurted Amy, desperately trying to re-establish herself after her earlier remark had fallen so flat. Unfortunately, risqué music hall humour was not the way to go about it and the table was plunged into another stiff silence.

‘We should be meeting some of the other drivers later, in the parlour,’ announced Simeon. ‘Many like to get together and have a chin-wag before a race. So best behaviour, everyone.’ he added, with a sharp glance at Amy.

‘Oh, of course,’ said Poppy, casting a somewhat vindictive look at Simeon. ‘After all, we all know society expects us to smile sweetly and gaze admiringly whenever men speak.’

After dinner, Simeon felt in urgent need of a whiskey or three, so he swiftly ushered the group through to the hotel’s back parlour.

‘I hope you’re not going to have anything,’ whispered Amy in a snide tone to Poppy. ‘You know you’re not good with alcohol.’

While this was true, Poppy didn’t like being reminded of it; neither did she care for Amy’s manner when bringing it up. She allowed Simeon and Helena, arm in arm, to move stiffly ahead as they walked to the bar before asking in a low tone; ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You remember how you were after that bottle of wine at Christmas,’ sneered Amy, assuming a lofty expression.

‘I don’t mean that,’ snapped Poppy, feeling her face redden at the memory.⁷⁵ ‘I’m wondering at your attitude.’

‘I’m just pointing out you’re not superior in every way,’ hissed Amy, trying to walk ahead.

‘I suppose this is because you made a fool of yourself twice at the dinner table,’ growled Poppy, pulling Amy back by her arm. ‘That wasn’t my fault, so don’t try and make yourself feel better by dragging me down to your level.’

‘God, listen to you; you think you’re so special,’ scowled Amy, Poppy’s observation wounding her. ‘Just because you’re the most intelligent person around, you have to show off in front of everyone.’

‘Firstly, Helena and Simeon were able to follow the conversation perfectly well, and secondly, do you know how often I get to have an intelligent conversation? Hardly at all, that’s how often.’

‘Oh, so I’m too stupid, is that what you’re saying?’

Poppy looked at Amy’s beautiful face, distorted by rage and embarrassment. There were several replies she could have made but instead she walked away to find Simeon and Helena, leaving Amy behind.

‘Ah, there you are, Poppy,’ waved Simeon. He was sitting with a group of racing drivers while Helena was at the next table with the racing drivers’ wives and “friends”.⁷⁶ ‘I know you know some of the chaps here. These are our worthy adversaries for tomorrow’s race.’

Poppy nodded in greeting. ‘Good evening, everyone. Hello Jake, Drew, how are you?’ A chorus of greetings went round the large group, though a few of the men didn’t speak and two of them even stood up to leave.

‘I have business elsewhere,’ said one, refusing to look at Poppy.

‘Oh, do sit down, Freddy, and have another drink,’ exclaimed Jake Davenport, rolling his eyes to excuse his colleague.

‘No thank you, I have things to do for the race tomorrow,’ replied Frederick Nicholson before turning and walking quickly away. His rapid retreat left the second man standing all alone, causing him to go red with embarrassment.

‘Do you also have things to do for tomorrow?’ asked Poppy, her tone breathlessly sweet and light. She grinned as the man flushed an even deeper red before blundering away.

‘Forget them, they’re not worth it,’ said Simeon, offering a seat to Poppy, who instead took an empty chair a few spaces down.

‘Indeed. And last year I would have walked out and made a complete ass of myself,’ said the Honourable Philip West. ‘But you’ve made me think about women in sport and made me realise my attitudes were wrong.’

‘Very true, Westy,’ murmured Jake in appreciation. ‘We’ve all come a long way, Poppy, thanks to you.’ The group fell silent, the atmosphere unexpectedly serious before Jake grinned. ‘Mind you, Westy is still a bit of an ass!’

‘Damn impertinence,’ gurgled Westy as everyone shouted with laughter. ‘You can buy me another drink for that!’

‘Poppy, I think you know everyone by sight and many by name,’ said Simeon, trying to keep himself in Poppy’s view. ‘But do you know His Royal Highness of Siam, Prince

Chakrii, and his cousin Prince Bhan, who has abandoned his promising career as a sculptor to pursue an equally promising career as a racing driver?’

Poppy looked along the table and saw two familiar faces. ‘I do know you two gentlemen; you kindly supported me at Baggeridge when the handicap was sprung on us.’ The two men stood and made polite bows. Poppy was intrigued by their smooth movements and handsome features, and she felt crude and cumbersome next to their grace and beauty. She was also aware she would like to get very crude and cumbersome with the handsome, smiling Bhan, given the right encouragement.

‘We could do no more for what is right and proper,’ replied Chakrii, looking rather prim.

‘And indeed, we could do no less for such a charming lady,’ added Bhan. Their voices were low and musical, with only a hint of an accent.

‘Gosh, there aren’t many who confuse me with being charming, or a lady,’ replied Poppy.

‘I don’t know; you have your moments,’ chortled Simeon, sliding into Poppy’s eye line. ‘Not many, I know, but some.’

‘So, you two gentlemen are now part of the racing scene?’ asked Poppy. She saw Amy was hovering nearby but she ignored her as easily as she was ignoring Simeon, and eventually Amy went and sat with Helena and the other women at the separate table.

‘I have recently bought into a racing team, and my young cousin is going to drive for me,’ replied Chakrii, looking with fondness at Bhan. ‘We regrettably lost most of this season as we had to unexpectedly return home to Siam, but we are now back and eager to make up for lost time.’

‘And tomorrow will be our first race with our new ERC chassis,’ added Bhan with an eager and pleasant smile. He was clearly looking forward to the experience.

‘Ah, you know Victor Foulis,’ replied Poppy.

Bhan ducked his head in acknowledgement. ‘Indeed, a very friendly and helpful gentleman. He has given us much advice on racing and car preparation.’

‘Not too helpful, I hope,’ said Andrew ‘Drew’ Windborne. ‘We can’t afford too much competition, you know!’

‘As a paying customer, I should expect him to give us his every assistance,’ exclaimed Chakrii, his face serious.

‘But we are still raw beginners and unlikely to be causing any trouble for a while yet,’ laughed Bhan, calming his cousin down.

‘So too is Poppy, yet see what she has achieved,’ interjected Jake, holding his glass up in salute.

‘I do have the advantage of a petrol engine,’ protested Poppy, laughing with the group. ‘It was my secret weapon, but now the secret is out.’

‘You still gave Count Sellini a damn good run for his money in his Albizzi,’ said Drew. ‘Despite being a virtual novice.’

Poppy blushed; praise from this group of experienced racing drivers was praise indeed. ‘Speaking of whom, where is Lorenzo?’ she murmured, quickly moving the subject away from herself.

‘He’s hard at work getting his new rear-axle fitted,’ explained Drew.

‘Really?’ queried Simeon. ‘After all this time?’

‘Yes; apparently he had to wait quite a while for the part to be manufactured and shipped, and then there was some cock-up with customs, so he’s only just taken delivery’

‘That doesn’t give him much time to prepare,’ observed Poppy.

‘No, and the cynical amongst us think Hepplewhite will be quite pleased if Lorenzo can’t make it,’ replied Drew. ‘He’s been stating his newly designed Kineton is unbeatable, but you can’t make that boast without backing it up. And that will be difficult against both the Albizzi and your very own Thunderbus.’

‘I’d forgotten about the new Kineton,’ said Poppy. ‘Does anyone know if it’s any good?’ A negative murmur went round the group. ‘What about the new Purley track? I’ve heard it’s been remodified quite extensively; has anyone seen it yet?’

‘That’s a sore point,’ exclaimed Jake, to much agreement. ‘No-one has been allowed near it – except for Oswald, of course, who has been practicing on it for at least a week. We will get just one or two practice laps tomorrow morning before the race.’

‘What? That’s completely unfair!’ exclaimed Poppy, to many nods of agreement.

‘It’s also unfair that Oswald will be starting at the front,’ said another driver. ‘We only received the starting grid just after lunch. The Kineton, being new, gets to be on the first row.’

‘Let me guess; I’m at the back again?’ said Poppy in irritation.

‘Afraid so, and although we all start together, we’re being spaced several feet apart so in effect you’ll have a six second delay while Lorenzo, after his victory at Baggeridge, is on a four second delay.’

‘How is anyone expected to win under that sort of handicap?’ exclaimed Poppy, to a chorus of agreement. The talk became technical, with advice and friendly debate filling out most of the evening. Poppy remained quiet for the most part, simply absorbing all the information being handed out. She noticed Prince Bhan was as eager as herself to learn, and he too was adept at listening without speaking.

‘Enjoy yourself, go fast, but don’t take silly chances,’ said Jake as the reams of advice finally wound down.

‘Too many drivers become reckless and have to win at all costs,’ agreed Westy.

‘Yes; there will always be another race. Best advice I was ever given,’ nodded Drew.

‘Last orders,’ shouted the barman.

‘What, already?’ replied Jake in amazement, looking at his watch. ‘Good god, he’s right; it is ten o’clock. How time flies! Shame to cut the evening short; I was enjoying that.’ A mumble of drunken agreement went round.

‘Then let us continue in our suite,’ said Bhan, rising gracefully. ‘I have an amusing little idea which will see the evening out splendidly.’

The set of rooms the two Siamese princes were staying in were the biggest and best in the hotel, which was lucky given that Bhan’s “little idea” took up quite a large amount of floor space.

‘Gentlemen – and lady,’ he said, for although Helena, Amy and the other women had discreetly retired, Poppy had accompanied the men to the suite in her capacity of fellow race competitor. ‘I have for many years been a car fanatic. It has, sadly, reached the level where even toy cars give me a great deal of pleasure, and whenever I visit a new country I always make a point of buying a toy car from there. This came from a visit to Germany in the summer.’ He opened a box and pulled out a metal car.

‘That looks like a Neumann,’ observed someone from the crowd.

‘It is indeed based on that car,’ nodded Bhan. ‘Now, as you can see, this model moves by electrostatic charge and requires a good hand to control it.’ He put the car on the floor, revealing it was attached by a very long wire to a small black box which Bhan held in his hand. He flicked a switch and the car twitched as power surged through. He then pushed the central toggle and the car sprang forward at a remarkable speed, the tiny wheels spinning slightly on the carpet. Bhan strode alongside the car as he guided it around the room in a large loop, to much interest from the group. ‘Now, gentlemen and lady; what say we make a miniature course and see who can set the fastest time?’

The suggestion was greeted enthusiastically by the group. Books, furniture and ornaments were hastily laid out to form an impromptu track, all helped along by the contents from the room’s well-stocked bar, with many good tempered arguments being thrown around as the track took shape.

‘No, no, old lad, we need a generous curve after the long straight so we can keep the speed going.’

‘Yes, but we must have an S bend somewhere; what track today doesn’t have a variation on an S bend? It’s a good test of skill, an S bend.’

‘Well, let’s put the S bend by the vase.’

‘The green one? There’s no room, there.’

‘No, no, the blue vase, over there.’

‘But the hair pin turn is going there, isn’t it?’

Finally, the track was done. Chakrii acted as official timekeeper and a succession of increasingly inebriated drivers took it in turns to guide the little car around the track, helped by roars of laughter and derision at every mishap.

‘I take it you’ve lived in England for some years?’ asked Poppy as she made her way over to Bhan, aware and uncaring of Simeon’s eyes following her every move.

‘I was sent here as a child for the schooling and education, as was Chakrii,’ replied Bhan, his eyes sparkling from the racing fun. As he looked at Poppy, the sparkle took on a different character. ‘Can you tell?’

‘You speak like someone who has been to both prep school and university.’

‘I had no idea we could be so easily spotted.’

‘If you keep your eyes open, it’s amazing what you can see,’ replied Poppy.

‘I hope I will see a great deal more,’ replied Bhan, immediately blushing and spoiling his urbane demeanour.

‘Your go, Poppy!’ roared several of the drivers as the last competitor finished his circuit.

‘Duty calls,’ whispered Poppy, reluctantly leaving Bhan.⁷⁷ ‘What’s the time to beat?’ she asked as she carefully steered the car to the starting line, as represented by an old wooden ruler laid down on the floor. Heaven knew where that had been scrounged from.

‘Fifty eight seconds, set by Mr Osborn,’ replied Chakrii. ‘Are you ready? Then let’s have a nice clean lap, in the best interests of sportsmanship.’

‘But I’m no man,’ protested Poppy as she blatantly nudged the car forward with her foot. A roar of laughter and cries of “disgrace!” and “stewards enquiry!” erupted round the room.

‘I ought to give you a penalty for that, Miss Orpington,’ smiled Chakrii in mock severity.

‘Please, guv, it’s my first offence and it was only youthful exuberance, not calculated chicanery,’ said Poppy, looking contrite as she delicately nudged the car back behind the ruler, accompanied by the drunken and exuberant hooting of her fellow drivers.

‘I am happy to take a lenient approach in view of the defendant’s youth and penitential pleas for mercy,’ called out Bhan from the side of the room.

‘Then the case is dismissed; are you ready, Miss Orpington?’ asked Chakrii.

‘I am.’

‘Then on my count – three, two, one,’ began Chakrii, his voice drowned out as the rest of the room joined in the countdown. ‘Go!’ they all shouted.

It was immediately clear Poppy was hampered by her wide, unwieldy dress which necessitated her leaning over the track, her arms stretched to the limit as she guided the little car around the corners, all the while cheered and jeered by the other drivers. Her finish time, while not brilliant, was at least respectable and got a warm round of applause.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ she cried, bowing left and right as she played to the crowd, despising herself as a fraud as she did so. ‘And I challenge any man to do better while wearing a dress.’ Another roar of laughter went round the room as Poppy handed the control box to Chakrii and looked round for Bhan, but it was his turn on the course and he was already at the starting line, his face smiling but showing also a determination to do well.

Poppy leaned against the wall and watched the handsome young man as he skilfully piloted the model car around the track, encouraged by the cries of the merry group, but the real world faded as a vision rose in her mind; a toy race track, complete with two electrically-powered cars, sold as a game for all the family to enjoy. A scale model of Purley, the best known racing stadium in Britain, sold as The Poppy Orpington Racing Experience, with her image on the box. Not only could it prove a good business venture, but it would surely also annoy the bejesus out of Lord Hepplewhite to see ‘his’ track used in such a way without his permission. Was there any trademark on a racing circuit? She would have to look into it.⁷⁸

She returned to reality to applaud Bhan’s winning lap and the party broke up, with Chakrii and Bhan shaking hands and smiling at everyone as they left the suite. She would have liked to chat some more with the handsome Bhan but she knew there would be better opportunities in the future, so she instead wished everyone goodnight and slipped from the room while Simeon was trapped by Chakrii’s formal farewells.

The warm glow Poppy took with her from Bhan’s suite cooled rapidly as she discreetly entered Amy’s room to be met by a series of rhetorical questions. ‘Where have you been? Do you know what time it is? Do you know how long I have been waiting up for you?’

‘You know exactly where I’ve been; yes, and yes,’ replied Poppy, rather coolly.

Amy looked at her blankly before realising Poppy was answering her questions. ‘Oh, very funny,’ she snapped. ‘I’m surprised you decided to come back at all.’

‘Isn’t that what your mother says to your father when he’s back late from the pub?’ asked Poppy, narrowing her eyes. ‘I remember you mentioning it. Frequently.’

‘So what?’ demanded Amy, looking away in embarrassment.

‘Do you really want us to be like a typical suburban couple, arguing over the lateness of the hour?’ demanded Poppy, now certain Amy had learnt how a relationship worked from her parents. Was this to be the template for their entire future together?

‘I suppose you’ve been having a nice time of it tonight?’

‘Yes, I have.’ Poppy made no attempt to ask how Amy’s evening had been; she suspected she was about to be told anyway.

‘I haven’t,’ carped Amy. ‘I’ve been stuck here with nothing to do for hours.’

‘There are books and newspapers in the lobby for the use of the guests,’ pointed out Poppy, leaning against the wall.

‘I didn’t want to read.’

‘You could have stayed talking with Helena and the ladies.’

‘I don’t think so,’ hooted Amy, though she didn’t explain why this suggestion was so uncongenial to her.

‘So, you sat here alone and made no attempt to talk to anyone, or read, or indeed do anything?’

‘There was nothing else to do,’ hissed Amy, keeping her voice low for fear of waking the wealthy guests next door.

‘There is a games room downstairs,’ began Poppy, before being interrupted.

‘You know women aren’t allowed to enter a game room without... accompaniment.’⁷⁹

‘We have been into several places by ourselves.’

‘Because you can get in anywhere, that’s why,’ shouted Amy before hurriedly lowering her voice. ‘You’re famous and that arm of yours gives you a free pass. I suppose that’s why you were acting so superior when I made a joke about you falling out of your dress earlier?’ she added, jumping to another grievance. ‘You laugh at my jokes in private, but I suppose I’m not good enough in public, is that it?’

‘There is a time and a place for that sort of humour. Dinner with Helena and Simeon is not one of them.’

‘God, you are such a hypocrite, pretending you’re the honest Poppy Orpington, the same in public as in private!’

‘And when have I ever claimed that?’ demanded Poppy, launching herself from her tired slump against the wall, her irritation rising. ‘Come on; give me one example of that!’

Amy flapped her mouth but couldn’t think of any specific example. ‘You’re disgusting,’ she snapped, changing tack. ‘You flirt with everyone and always right in front of my face. I bet you’ve been flirting with that prince, haven’t you? I saw you looking at him!’

Poppy looked at Amy’s sullen face and wondered again how the relationship had gone so wrong. They had grown up together through good and bad, unconditionally offering love and support, but as they got older this was no longer enough for Poppy; she needed mental stimulation also, something Amy could not provide. ‘It’s late and I need to rest before the race tomorrow,’ said Poppy as she opened the door.

‘Aren’t you staying here tonight?’ demanded Amy, petulantly.

‘I need to sleep,’ replied Poppy, closing the door behind her without looking back, ignoring the tears stinging her eyes.

⁷⁴ The “boiler” was a standard item in exclusive hotels back then; it was a table with several hot pipes underneath fed by a small, expensive and inefficient steam pump, designed to show the prestige of the establishment as much as to keep the food warm. From this, incidentally, came the generic derogatory term “the boilers” to describe kitchen staff – and eventually all who toil in poorly paid manual work.

⁷⁵ Whatever happened, Poppy did not record it in her diary. Indeed, the entire Christmas period has only a few incoherent entries scrawled in it.

⁷⁶ Once again we see the hypocrisy of society in allowing the wealthy to flout the moral code – although Poppy fully intended to take advantage of the same hypocrisy later in the evening with Amy.

⁷⁷ It is undeniable Bhan and Poppy had a relationship; what is not so certain is when and how long it lasted. Certainly it must have been over when Bhan married his first wife, Isabella Prentis, who detested Poppy and would not suffer even a mention of her name. This was put down to patriotism during the Great War, but her prohibition is on record from before then, so jealousy seems to have been the real motive. It was certainly well-founded; when Bhan died in 1971 and his studio opened for probate, dozens of busts and statues of Poppy were found, some clearly made over a great many years, though the full length nude, Poppy Reclining, must have been posed for, given the level of detail involved.

⁷⁸ A rare, complete example of The Poppy Orpington Racing Experience was sold in excellent condition at auction in 2012 for £6,525.

⁷⁹ Society held a woman could only venture into certain public places with a male chaperone; most pubs wouldn’t serve a single woman at the bar, though they would condescend to sell them a bottle through the hatch to take home.