‘I’ll drive up on Thursday,’ Pips told Alice over the telephone, the weekend before Easter. ‘And Daisy and I will travel back on Good Friday. Then we’ll all come up the following weekend to bring her home. Will that be all right?’
‘Of course. But there’s just one thing . . .’ There was laughter in Alice’s tone. ‘You’ll have to take Daisy riding on the Friday morning before you set off. She’s been very good keeping her promise to you not to jump Samson when you’re not here.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘By the way, are you going to Belgium?’
‘Not this time. I thought we’d leave it until the summer holidays. We’ll be able to stay longer then.’
‘Then count me in, won’t you? I’d love to see William and his family again and I’m sure Robert won’t mind me going, unless, of course, we can persuade him to go too.’
Pips chuckled. ‘Then you’d better start working on him now.’
The sisters-in-law laughed together as they ended the call with loving messages. They had always been very fond of each other even when Alice had been Pips’s lady’s maid. They’d been friends even then rather than mistress and servant.
‘Would you go to Belgium with us in the summer?’ Pips asked George as they sat together over dinner.
‘If I can get leave, then yes.’
‘And will you come with us to Brooklands? I’m planning to take Daisy on Easter Monday.’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t dare let you go on your own. Not when Mitch Hammond is likely to be there.’
‘Oh George. Can’t you forget all that nonsense? He’s a friend, that’s all.’
‘On your side maybe, but you know very well that the guy’s in love with you. Has been, I suspect, ever since you rescued him from his crashed plane in no-man’s-land.’
They exchanged a glance that was full of shared memories, both happy and sad.
‘He’s a playboy, George. He has a string of girlfriends and doesn’t seem to want to settle down with any one of them.’
She was not about to tell George that Mitch had indeed once declared his love for her. That was one secret she could not share with anyone, not even with her husband. But it seemed that George was even more astute than she gave him credit for.
‘That, my darling girl,’ he said softly, ‘is because he can’t have you.’
‘Oh phooey,’ Pips muttered as she rose to clear away the dishes and serve the pudding.
‘I do wish Granddad Dawson had let Luke come to London with me. I’m sure he’d love flying as much as I do and he’d love to see the racing – cars or motorcycles,’ Daisy said as the three of them travelled from Waterloo to Weybridge Station, which was very close to the Brooklands track.
‘You’ll have to work on him,’ George said. ‘Your granddad, I mean. Luke’d be very welcome to come and stay with us.’
Daisy nodded. ‘I will, but I don’t think he’ll let him go to Belgium with us again in the summer.’
‘No. Sadly, I think you’re right there. Will your father come, d’you think?’
Daisy pulled a face. ‘Mummy and I are working on him. What about you, Uncle George? You’ll come with us, won’t you?’
‘I – think so.’ He smiled across at Pips. ‘As long as I have your aunty at my side, I can face it.’
There was a pause as they watched the passing countryside until Daisy said, ‘Will we see Aunty Milly today? I do like her. It was so nice of her to ask me to be her bridesmaid.’
Pips chuckled. ‘She thought you did such a great job as mine.’
‘Hasn’t she got anyone else? I mean, I know you’re her best friend, and all that, but I’d have thought . . .’ Daisy’s voice trailed away.
Pips shook her head. ‘Milly is an only child and she doesn’t seem to have any close family. I think she has a distant cousin living in Derbyshire, or is it Sheffield now? I forget. But the families don’t keep in touch. And besides, she’s very fond of you.’
‘She looked so pretty on her wedding day, but you were beautiful,’ Daisy added loyally.
Pips laughed. ‘Kind of you to say so, but, yes, Milly made a lovely bride. She’s got such big blue eyes and with her blond curls, she always looks just like a pretty china doll.’
‘She’s a bit scatty though, isn’t she? Granny says she was what they called a “flapper” in the twenties. Were you one too?’
‘For a while. It was Milly who introduced me to the wild parties and the merrymaking in London and, of course, it was she who took me to Brooklands.’
‘But she doesn’t race, does she?’
Pips shook her head. ‘No, but she’s an honorary “Brooklands Girl”, like I am now.’
The Brooklands Girls were a group of women racers, who for many years had not been allowed to race under the auspices of the Brooklands Automobile Racing Club, but several private clubs who raced at the track, one of them being owned and operated by Milly’s now-husband, Paul Whittaker, did allow women to race, either in all-women races or alongside men. Pips had raced with them during the 1920s.
As the train drew into the station, Pips chuckled. ‘I quite understand how Milly must appear to you, but never forget what she did in the war.’
Solemnly, Daisy nodded. ‘I won’t, Aunty Pips. That’s how you met, isn’t it, when she came out to the front to help nurse the wounded?’
Pips nodded. ‘She knew very little about nursing when she arrived, but if anyone could cheer up the injured, it was Milly Fortesque as she was then.’
‘And now we must call her “Mrs Whittaker”.’
‘Oh, I think she’ll be quite happy for you still to call her “Aunty Milly”.’
Milly was there on the platform and, as George helped Pips and Daisy from the train, she ran forward, her arms outstretched. ‘Dahlings!’
She hugged them in turn and then linked her arm through Pips’s. ‘There’s such a lot of excitement today. They’ve finished some repairs to the track just in time for today’s meeting and – guess what? Sir Malcolm Campbell has brought his famous Bluebird, the car he drove to get the new World Land Speed Record at Daytona in February. He’s going to demonstrate it on the outer circle but he won’t race – or even go very fast – because of the track surface. But isn’t it exciting just to see his car?’
‘Is Uncle Paul racing?’ Daisy asked.
‘Yes. He’s in two races, but doesn’t expect to win. There’s someone here with a Maserati that’s just a little bit too good. Anyway, let’s go to the clubhouse. The girls are all there. Muriel’s racing later too. And Pattie.’
All Pips’s friends greeted Daisy warmly and Paul hugged her hard.
‘How’s my favourite bridesmaid?’
Daisy laughed. ‘Uncle Paul, I was your only bridesmaid.’
Milly’s husband was a good-looking, fair-haired man with a firm jawline, an honest face and blue eyes that twinkled down at her. ‘That doesn’t stop you being my favourite.’
‘Where’s Uncle Mitch?’ Daisy asked, looking round. ‘I want to ask him if he’ll take me flying whilst I’m here.’
‘He’ll arrange a flight for you, darling, I’m sure,’ Milly said. ‘He won’t take you himself, as you well know, because he doesn’t believe in flying – or teaching – family or close friends. But I’m sure Jeff will take you up.’
Jeff Pointer worked for Mitch as a pilot and instructor for The Hammond Flying School based at Brooklands and had taught Pips to fly.
Milly put her arm around Daisy’s shoulders. ‘Come on, darling, let’s go and find him. He’s around here somewhere.’
They found Jeff talking earnestly to Mitch at the far end of the room. Standing with them was a boy with the same dark brown eyes and black hair as Mitch, listening intently to their conversation.
‘Johnny!’ Daisy cried as they neared them. ‘I wondered if you’d be here.’
The boy – or rather young man now, for he was two years older than Daisy – turned and his eyes lit up at the sight of her. He came towards her at once and his uncle Mitch and Jeff turned to look towards her too, though Daisy had eyes for no one but Johnny Hammond.
‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lovely Daisy Maitland.’ Mitch Hammond came over to her and kissed her on both cheeks, whilst Jeff – a little more sedately – shook her hand in a very grown-up manner. Mitch smiled at her. ‘And what brings you here, Daisy, as if I didn’t know? Are you going to start racing, now that your aunt seems to have given up?’
Daisy smiled up at him. ‘No, but I am going to fly one of your aeroplanes one day.’
Mitch’s eyes widened, but he threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘Are you now? Well, if you’re anything like your Aunty Pips, I’ve no doubt you will. Jeff will take you up. He’s taking Johnny up during the school holidays. How long are you here for?’
‘Just till next weekend.’
‘Right, Jeff and I will sort something out and I’ll give you a ring. We should be able to get in a couple of flights for you if your aunt will bring you down.’
Daisy’s eyes shone. ‘Thank you, Uncle Mitch,’ she said politely.
‘Now, it’s time we were going out onto Members’ Hill. The racing’s about to start.’
‘Come and say “hello” to Aunty Pips and Uncle George.’
Mitch squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll see them later, Daisy. I must get to the track now. I’m racing in the second race.’
As she watched him walk away, followed by Johnny and Jeff, Daisy whispered to Milly, ‘Why doesn’t he want to see Aunty Pips and Uncle George?’
Milly flapped her hand. ‘Oh, I’ll tell you sometime, but come along. We ought to be finding our places.’
Daisy was not to be put off quite so easily. ‘But she saved his life, didn’t she? She pulled him out of his crashed aircraft in the war and saved the photographs he’d been taking of enemy lines too. Daddy told me. So why—?’
‘It’s rather complicated, darling. Grown-up stuff.’
‘But I’m grown up, Aunty Milly.’ She grinned. ‘Well, nearly, but there’s something – well – funny because every time his name’s mentioned, Uncle George gets very tight lipped and—’ Suddenly, Daisy’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a round ‘o’. ‘You – you don’t mean that Mitch is in love with Aunty Pips?’
‘Well – um – yes,’ Milly said uncomfortably. ‘I think he very well might be.’
‘Ah, that would explain it, then.’ Daisy sighed heavily. ‘He is very nice, of course, but I do love Uncle George.’
Milly squeezed her arm. ‘And so does your aunty, darling. Now, let’s go and find somewhere to watch the racing. And mind, not a word about this to Pips and certainly not to George.’
‘I promise. I can keep a secret, you know.’
Milly giggled deliciously. ‘Better than I can, I hope. And you’re just a little too sharp for your own good at times, Daisy Maitland. Just like your Aunty Pips.’