The Adorable Roadster

The Adorable Roadster

On a pleasant afternoon in early spring soon after the end of the War, a small yellow 1946 MG TC Roadster crept slowly down the long drive of a farm a few miles outside Tilling.  The Roadster was a secret.  The driver was Mr George Pillson, and in the passenger seat was Cadman, the chauffeur, who was teaching Mr Pillson to drive.  Georgie wanted to surprise his wife Lucia with his consummate driving skill when he appeared to her in the convertible he had purchased. 

Georgie had been chafing at his loss of freedom ever since he patriotically sacrificed his chauffeur-driven Armaud to the War Effort.  While the War was on, he could feel good about giving up his vehicle and occasionally remind his friends of his generous relinquishment.  But now the War was over, and being stuck in Tilling or limited to the parts of Sussex easily reached by bicycle grated, for Georgie wanted more mobility, more liberty, more independence.  Georgie found himself with a longing to literally explore the “broad horizons” that his wife so often spoke of. 

Whilst on the last day of a fortnight’s rest in Folkestone after a visit from his sisters, Georgie had seen two roadsters in a new automotive showroom just outside that town.  At first the red machine attracted his eye.  At the salesman’s insistence, Georgie climbed into the black leather seat.  But looking in the mirror, Georgie realized that the bright fire-engine red colour of the vehicle clashed “quite horribly” with his auburn hair.  Also, Georgie was wearing his old mustard-coloured suit.  “I look just like the inedible condiments the American airmen put on their ‘hot dogs’ during the War,” he thought with a shudder.  So he turned his attention to the pale yellow convertible and found that the creamy colour looked well with his auburn hair.

 As soon as he settled himself into the Regency red leather seat, he was in love—he knew life would not be bearable without this beautiful machine.  Georgie cautiously asked the price and found that ownership of this convertible beauty was certainly possible, and the salesman assured him that payment arrangements could be made for a gentleman such as himself.  Cadman looked over the Roadster and, with his automotive expertise, proclaimed it would be a good little car for “puttering around” and that he would have no problem keeping it in working order.  At the suggestion of the salesman, Cadman took Georgie on a short “spin” about the town.  The enamoured Georgie was absolutely thrilled to be riding in what he was already thinking of as “my adorable little Roadster.”  Cadman suggested that the Roadster was small enough to be garaged beneath the garden-room at Mallards House if the luggage cart, bicycles, golf clubs and clock golf game, croquet set, football and a cricket bat could be stored elsewhere.  

Georgie hastened to the Bank.  He had not paid much attention to his finances during the War, so long as his exiguous income was unimpaired.  When he inquired, he was quite surprised at how many pounds had accumulated in his account—more than enough to grant his heart’s desire.  He hurried back to the automotive lot, fearful that someone else had already claimed his prize, and was relieved that his Roadster was still there.  He paid for his purchase and arranged for the dealer to store the vehicle.   

Cadman found an estate near Tilling that would, for a small fee, garage the Roadster and allow Mr Pillson to use their long, paved, private roadway to learn how to drive.  Georgie easily mastered the footwork of the clutch, brake and accelerator, “Quite like using the pedals when playing piano,” he said with satisfaction.  The shifting, turning, and driving were more slowly mastered, but with surprisingly little grinding of gears or stalling—Georgie treated his Roadster with the pride and care of a woman with her first baby.  Cadman took his charge seriously and was an exacting teacher; he insisted that tutelage continue until Mr Pillson could “turn on a pin,” demonstrate that he knew all the “rules of the road,” and could drive and park the Roadster “like, begging your pardon, Sir, a proper chauffeur”.  He learned also how to raise and lower the top, since there would be no Cadman along to do it for him.  The estate manager was happy to provide, for another small fee, his time and the estate vehicles for Georgie to learn to park beside, and drive beside, and pass.  

Georgie considered clearing out the storage area beneath the garden-room at Mallards House immediately upon returning home from Folkestone, but that would spoil the surprise, so he told Lucia he was simply clearing out “a few things we never use any more” and left the luggage cart, the bicycles and the croquet set in his erstwhile garage. 

Keeping any secret from a spouse as perceptive as Lucia was nearly impossible.  Her gimlet eye pierced Georgie several times over the weeks whilst he was mastering his machine, but he let nothing slip.   Foljambe was in on the secret, for she and Cadman had unimpeachable discretion, and while Georgie could conceal this venture from his own wife for a time, he was far too ethical to ask Cadman to lie for him.  After purchasing his Roadster, Georgie did put much consideration into whether to tell Lucia.  But I really want to surprise her and show her what a good driver I am, he thought. Once I have my driving licence, then I shall tell her.  She’ll know something’s up—I can’t hide my excitement—but she shan’t know what! 

In fact, Georgie’s elation over his “secret Roadster” was so noticeable as to cause comment in the social circle.  After a successful and exciting morning of driving lessons, Georgie and Lucia went for tea and Bridge at Ye Olde Tea-House with their guests Major Benjy and Elizabeth Mapp-Flint.  Ye Olde Tea-House had been recently reopened by Diva Plaistow, with a limited menu in which small, thin sandwiches of potted-meat patè figured heavily.  The increased post-War prices caused Elizabeth Mapp-Flint to comment that Diva intended to “enrich herself and make paupers of us all.”  In fact, Diva was simply lonely and missed having people to talk to, and the prices were dictated by Diva’s Marchè Noir suppliers.  Elizabeth’s hurtful comment caused some coolness between them. 

Georgie was quite pleased at his driving success this day, for after a short practice, Cadman had announced that “Mr Pillson has mastered the management of the accelerator, brake and clutch” and was ready to move on to actual driving.  Georgie could not help smiling as he focused his attention on the closely-observed and closely-contested game of Bridge.  Even when his partner Elizabeth had to revoke, he kept smiling, although his usual response was a resigned sigh and a shake of his head.  And when he had to pay one-and-six to Major Mapp-Flint for their losses, he kept smiling, although his usual response was to adopt a sad but philosophical demeanor with an undercurrent of irritation at the gloating of the winners.  

~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you noticed Mr Georgie lately?” Diva Plaistow asked Elizabeth Mapp-Flint when they met during the morning shopping the next day.  Their coolness had abated over the tea, paid for by Lucia, the previous afternoon. 

“Indeed I have, dear one,” responded Elizabeth.  “He has the look of a man in love.”  

“Oh, really,” said Diva to cover an incipient snort of distain, for she knew Elizabeth liked to imply that before their marriage Major Benjy and his old, now deceased, friend Captain Puffin had fought a duel over her, conveniently forgetting that both combatants had fled to take the early-morning train to London rather than face each other with pistols on the sand dunes outside Tilling at dawn. 

Elizabeth smiled widely at Diva, showing her teeth, “Yes, Diva dear.  The Look of a Man in Love,” she repeated in her sweetest voice for emphasis. 

“Perhaps,” said Diva, “but with whom?  There’s no one in Tilling, and Olga Bracely is in France singing for the troops still deployed there.” 

“I’ll tell you this: every morning for the last three weeks, ever since he returned from Folkestone, I’ve seen Cadman driving Mr Georgie, in Lucia’s Rolls Royce, down Military Road, past the roadway that leads to Grebe,”  said Elizabeth.  Grebe was Elizabeth’s home now, for she had with considerable financial gain switched houses with Lucia some years earlier. 

“No!” said Diva. 

“Do you think he could have met some floozy in Folkestone and has been going to meet her secretly while She,” meaning Lucia, “practices piano in the garden-room?” conjectured Elizabeth in a voice heavily laden with false concern. 

Diva considered.  The first time the prima donna Olga Bracely came to stay at Mallards House, she was thought to be staying alone with Mr Georgie.  Lucia had let it be known she was visiting a Duchess at Sheffield Castle at the time, but actually had her visit cut short and returned to Tilling.  Until it was revealed that Lucia had been home after all, Tilling seethed with the idea that Mr Georgie had an un-chaperoned theatrical female staying with him.  Diva remembered how shocked she was at herself for admiring Mr Georgie’s aplomb at being alone with the opera star and her disappointment upon learning that Lucia had been there after all.  Also, Mr Georgie was the popular jejune premier of Tilling, going to more tea parties and dinners, playing more Bridge, and dressing better than any other male in their social circle.  Even for the few weeks that Lucia had refused to play Bridge for the usual stakes, trying to take a moral stance that robbed the game of its emotional bread-and-butter, Mr Georgie was always invited when Lucia was not.  Diva was often his Bridge partner during this time, and she intuitively recognized in Mr Georgie a well-controlled but passionate artistic under-current that only Olga Bracely brought to the surface. 

Diva had considered too long.  Elizabeth continued, “Perhaps I should have my Benjy-boy follow the car on his bicycle, like he followed tigers when hunting in India.  He’d soon make short work of this mystery.” 

“I wouldn’t,” responded Diva, “Mr Georgie would make a poor hearth rug.”  

“Rug, indeed!” exclaimed Elizabeth.  And with mystery unsolved, the two ladies parted. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Georgie Pillson was aware that he was getting on in years and had, in an unusual fit of harshness, stood in front of his three-panel dressing mirror and appraised himself.  He was as tall as ever, his small, elegant feet were still well-shod (for well-made and well-kept men’s shoes and boots of waxed calf leather last for years), his smile was still bright (although a few molars had been replaced with false teeth), his kindly wit retained its sharpness and was sullied by neither rancor nor cruelty.  He had to wear glasses for reading and sewing, but so did many people younger than he.  He had some slight loss of hearing but had no fear that he would ever be as deaf as Mrs Antrobus, his former neighbor in Riseholme who used devices and ear trumpets but ultimately had to learn the deaf-and-dumb alphabet to converse.  

So Georgie appraised and decided, tentatively, pending consultation with Mr Oscar, his barber in Queens Road, Hastings, to allow his temples to begin showing a few grey hairs.  He had read of a way to comb the auburn dye through his hair so that not all strands were coated.  This touch of grey would be his acknowledgement before Lucia, before Olga Bracely, before the world of Tilling, that he was a man of mature years, a boy no longer.  Perhaps, over the next ten or fifteen years he could gradually let the amount of grey increase, but only if Mr Oscar was able to work his tonsorial magic with the dye bottle and comb.  Georgie had a second reason to visit Mr Oscar in Queens Road:  he was in need of a new toupee. 

Three weeks after his return from Folkestone Georgie had further sad, but good, news.  A letter informed him that his tailor (also in Queens Road, Hastings), the elder Mr Kerridge of Kerridge and Sons, had died.  Kerridge fils had written to say he had discovered in his father’s house a forgotten room full of pre-war cloth and notions suitable for casual suits, waistcoats and ties, and also various bespoke, but never claimed, suits.  Because Mr Pillson had been such a good customer, young Kerridge wondered if Mr Pillson would like to have “first look.”  The thought of feeling new fabrics, matching new colors and patterns, deciding on style, as well as the relief of no longer having to mend, instead of replace, clothing filled Georgie with hope.  His wardrobe had suffered the degradation of rationing and needed replacement.   He realized that, if rationing did not end soon, he would be as shabby as Elizabeth Mapp-Flint, a leading proponent of patriotic “mend and make due.”  At least he had better sense than to trim his clothing with strips of worn-out skin from the tiger that used to be a hearth rug.  He was so eager, he made a trunk call to Mr Kerridge fils to arrange a day to see the proffered fabrics, lest another “good customer” take precedence.  

When laying out his plan to Lucia at breakfast the next morning, Georgie explained about the “found money” from his account at the Bank, and the “found fabric” at the tailors.  Since his mustard-coloured suit was old—after all, he wore it for going away after he and Lucia were married—he decided to visit his tailor and his barber.  “Two new suits, possibly three, if they have good material,” he said when he told Lucia he intended to spend two days in Hastings. 

“Oh, Georgie!  What a wonderful stroke of luck! ‘Oo let Lucia buy one of your suities as a present—a celebration that the War is over.  Have Kerridge send me the bill,” said Lucia.  “Take Cadman and Foljambe, let them have a little holiday, too.”  Foljambe was Georgie’s pretty parlor maid and valet as well as Cadman’s wife. Knowing that Georgie liked to be quite alone whilst visiting his barber, Lucia did not ask to accompany her spouse.  

“Yes, I shall.  And if they have any cloth suitable for ladies’ clothing, shall I claim it for you?” asked Georgie.  Lucia answered affirmative.  

I shall have a new suit and a new Roadster!  And my Roadster will offset the grey hair.  That will be grand!  I’m glad the War’s over; it was too, too tarsome! I’m certainly glad I always paid my tailor’s bills promptly and never haggled over prices! thought the ebullient Georgie. 

During his sartorial safari to Hastings, Georgie also planned to go to the Driver and Vehicle Licencing Agency and take his tests to obtain his driving licence.  He thought sadly that he had just missed the time when, during the War, driving licence tests were not required.  The estate manager who had facilitated Georgie’s learning to drive had a young nephew, recently returned from military service in France, who was now working at the Driver and Vehicle Licencing Agency.  As this happy coincidence ensured that Georgie was expected and would receive a sympathetic review at the Agency, Georgie’s nervousness eased considerably, although he had to take several aspirins the night before leaving to calm himself.  He did so look forward to driving up to Mallards House in his adorable Roadster, and gaily honking the horn under the garden-room window.  I must see the look on Lucia’s face when she realizes it’s me who’s driving! thought Georgie. 

All arrangements had been made and Georgie, accompanied by Cadman and their shared Foljambe, departed Tilling in the morning.  They first stopped at the farm to retrieve the adorable Roadster.  The estate manager was sorry to see them go but was pleased with the money he had so easily made and with the gratuity from Mr Pillson.  Cadman drove the Roadster with Georgie riding beside him.  Foljambe, who had been taught to drive by her husband, followed behind driving Lucia’s Rolls Royce. 

After much deliberation, Georgie had settled on going first to the tailor, then to the barber, and leaving the morning following for his visit to the Driver and Vehicle Licencing Agency.   If he failed his tests and did not procure his licence, he would still have the arrival of the new clothing and a new toupee to assuage his disappointment. 

In planning his visit to the tailor, Georgie had purchased several magazines containing men’s fashions, including his favorite, His Style.  He studied the photographs and drawings carefully.  He noticed that the jackets were roomier, unstructured, and read that there was no interlining in the jackets.  He knew he needed a new classic English double-breasted jacket with his tailor’s signature oxblood red lining.  Summer was approaching and new cream-coloured linen or flannel worsted trews or a full suit would be pleasant to have; he had heard such suits referred to as “ice cream suits,” which amused him.  A couple of new waistcoats would go well under the old jackets.  And he simply must have new trousers made with heavier fabric than the last ration-card pair he had gotten; the light fabric did not drape properly.  

He remembered some years before the War when he, daringly, had been the wearer of Oxford trousers; how he would love to have the fine fabric culled from the voluminous “bags” to use now.  Although the War had brought out talents in him that he never dreamed that he possessed, it had also spoiled and destroyed so many other things for him.  Georgie sighed philosophically and returned to his sartorial and tonsorial daydreaming. 

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After checking in at the Royal Victoria Hotel, Georgie left Foljambe to unpack and had Cadman drive him to Queens Road.  He was met at the door of Kerridge and Sons by Kerridge fils, who rode in the front seat with Cadman to the small home of Kerridge pere, where the bolts of fabric were hidden.  Georgie sighed with pleasure, for here was flannel and silk, Tattersall plaid in a variety of colours, wool in several shades including Donegal tweed and herringbone, as well as several other fabrics. The man and his tailor discussed styling, Georgie repeating what he had read about jackets in the magazines and requesting that the trousers be rather loose and high-waisted in the latest style.  Trying unsuccessfully not to be greedy, Georgie quickly told Kerridge what he needed.  

For summer: 

one “ice-cream” suit of ten-ounce flannel;

one eau de nil silk double-breasted jacket;

one pair of trousers in light-weight wool with dark green and brown plaid on an

off-white background;

one silk suit in a luminous pearl grey colour.

For autumn:

one pair of doe-skin brown trousers in a wonderfully soft brushed flannel;

one jacket of twelve-ounce Donegal tweed in shades of rust and brown.

For winter:

one pair of medium blue trousers in standard flannel;

one suit of twelve-ounce Donegal herringbone in shades of blue;

three Tattersall waistcoats, one in cream with rust, blue and mustard stripes, one in fawn with dark brown and yellow stripes, one in dark blue with bright blue and white stripes.

Kerridge explained that the bespoke casual suits were all of winter-weight wool.  A fawn-coloured suit and a charcoal-grey suit were chosen.  And one bespoke black silk dinner suit was ordered as well.  Kerridge suggested a mustard-coloured fabric, but Georgie shuddered and said, “I’ve been wearing the mustard suit your father made for me since before the War.  No mustard, please!” 

Kerridge had omitted to mention that there was a large supply of factory-made, pre-war Arrow shirts—Heaven knows where his father obtained such American shirts, although one understood why Father hid them.  Regardless, Georgie quickly and joyously selected a dozen in various colours, including light pink, lavender and lilac, the lightest brown, caffe-au-lait and several shades of blue.  He was surprised that they fit him rather well.  

In a large box, tossed in as if an after-thought, were packages of buttons:  buttons of machined pewter, buttons of faceted stones, buttons of cabochons set in silver, buttons of hand-carved semi-precious stone packaged in Chinese brocade, buttons of cultured pearl and mother of pearl and abalone and shell.  Georgie matched these to his suits and ordered some extra be used to “brighten up” the bespoke suits.    

Kerridge knew he was well ahead of the game financially at this point, and he promised to make a half-dozen ties to go with the shirts as an “extra” at no cost. 

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His greed satisfied, Georgie noticed in the corner two racks.  One contained ladies’ suits and he inquired about them.  Kerridge said that his mother, who was a skilled dressmaker, had used the more feminine fabrics to create suits in the latest style.  These were based upon an American fashion called a Zoot Suit and featured padded shoulders and straight skirts.  Georgie purchased three of these suits for Lucia, on approval.  Mrs Kerridge promised to create blouses in white and cream silk to go with the suits.

 The second rack Georgie recognized as maids’ uniform dresses.  Kerridge informed him that, just after the War began, a local hotel (not the Royal Victoria) had ordered the uniforms but, when time came for payment, had gone bankrupt.  Georgie considered; if he bought new uniforms for Foljambe, it would undoubtedly upset Grosvenor, Lucia’s maid.  And then there were the scullery maid and cook to think of.  But Grosvenor, Daisy the scullery maid, and Cook were in Lucia’s employ.  Mrs Kerridge, seeing Mr Pillson’s hesitation, spoke up and said she was “tired of looking at them” and it would be a “blessing” if he took them off her hands.  Cadman was sent back to the hotel to retrieve Foljambe for consultation. 

Georgie was, at this point, rather concerned about the cost, but knowing that Foljambe had been several years without a good-quality uniform dress, Georgie would sacrifice the one of his suits and a waistcoat in order to make Foljambe happy.  When Georgie explained this to Mrs Kerridge, that kind lady wiped away a genuine tear and said, in the accents of her native Essex, that he could have the dresses “at cost.”  Georgie was not certain what “at cost” meant, but he was genuinely grateful and said so. 

Foljambe arrived and chose two dresses each for herself, Grosvenor, Daisy and Cook, which left only four dresses on the rack.  Georgie thought of his new Roadster; he thought of his new outfits; he thought of his new toupee—and he told Mrs Kerridge that he would take all twelve uniform dresses off her hands.  Mrs Kerridge, happy to get hard cash for long-unsold wares, reduced the price a further ten percent.  With this concession, Georgie was relieved to learn that he had to sacrifice only one waistcoat, so he cancelled his order of the cream Tattersall:  its mustard-coloured stripes were its death knell. 

Cadman stated that his old uniforms were still good, since he had worn a different uniform throughout the War, and he refused the offer of new clothing, saying the new dresses for Foljambe were more than generous.  Cadman was thinking that Mr Pillson had insisted upon paying him for driving lessons although he did not have to.  But Georgie pressed him, so he accepted two of the Arrow shirts.  Thus ended the orgy of generosity, and everyone was happy.  “Now we shall all be Hitum and Titum, but not Scrub!” said Georgie buoyantly.   At the puzzled look on the faces of Mrs Kerridge and her son, he explained Hitum as evening dress, Titum was a nice suit, and Scrub was exactly what it sounded like; mother and son laughed happily at the joke. 

The choosing and fitting took most of the day, with a short break for a “picnic lunch” prepared by the widow.  In a state of blissful fashion satiation, Georgie insisted upon paying the widow “for that most delicious luncheon” which consisted of bread and cheese.  It was late afternoon when he bid adieu to mother and son, who promised that the clothing would be delivered with the utmost discretion within the week.  Foljambe took away Cadman’s shirts and all the uniform dresses, for she and Grosvenor could do all the alterations needed on those items. 

Cadman then drove Georgie back to Queens Road to Mr Oscar, who was happy to supply another toupee and showed Georgie how to use the small comb and brush, like those used by ladies for eyelash blacking, only larger, to leave a touch of grey at his temples.  Georgie had his hair dyed and cut, was steamed and lathered and shaved and manicured and pedicured, and had his face and scalp and hands and feet massaged with emollient oils.  Cadman drove Foljambe back to the hotel whilst Georgie was “being seen to.”  Looking and feeling ten years younger, Georgie returned to the Royal Victoria wreathed in smiles and with a spring in his step, as befitted Tilling’s jejune premier .

Focused on the pleasures of the day, Georgie had laid aside his concern over his impending driving test.  Anxiety tickled the back of his mind but he was determined not to let it become his foremost thought until morning.  While his bath was filling, he surveyed the stunning sea view from his window.  He was happy.  Foljambe was happy with her new uniforms; she praised their quality and sang, badly, as she laid out his newest old, soon to be replaced, dinner suit. 

  

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As Georgie walked down the Royal Victoria’s marble staircase, he glanced at himself in the 20-foot mirror, thanked God and Kerridge that he would soon have new clothing, and entered the dining room.  He surveyed the menu, which was severely limited by continuing food shortages, and saw that they were serving Woolton Pie with bacon and parsnips.  Georgie ordered and waited to see if the Royal Victoria’s Chef made a better Woolton Pie than he did. 

“Perhaps,” he mused, “the Chef has stolen my recipe.”  This thought reminded him of his wife’s signature dish of Lobster à la Riseholme, the recipe of which was stolen by Elizabeth Mapp who, after failing to guess the ingredients and failing to bribe Lucia’s cook, copied the recipe in Lucia’s kitchen when the servants were away at a charitable whist drive at the Tilling Institute. 

The Woolton Pie arrived, and tasting it, Georgie realized with surprise that the Chef had, indeed, used Georgie’s recipe; he had created the recipe for the Ministry of Food which had caused it to be printed in pamphlets distributed all over the county, and Georgie had prepared it in his cooking programme on BBC radio during the dark days of the War.  He tasted the parsnips.  They, too, tasted just like those he had prepared on his BBC radio programme. 

How tarsome! Georgie thought.  I could have cooked the same thing myself at home!  Oh, well, at least this half-bottle of champagne is drinkable, and there’s a good oyster savoury, and a little cheese to finish.  

With his amateur chef’s palate, he soon figured out the ingredients of the oyster savoury and determined to try this recipe the next time the Wyses came to dinner, for Susan Wyse was very fond of an oyster savoury.  And Lucia’s cook, a wiry Scot called Mrs Urquhardt, did not mind Georgie working in the kitchen on Sunday and on Tuesday afternoons when she was off work. Though at first disappointed in the hotel’s food, with his usual good nature Georgie soon chose to view it as a compliment to his own culinary skill:  it was rather exciting, really, that a Chef in a four star hotel had used his recipes.  

In spite of the half-bottle of champagne, Georgie was becoming increasingly anxious over the impending driving test.  Once again he took several aspirins before retiring, and dreamt that the brake, clutch, and accelerator pedals kept switching places during his test drive on streets clogged with speeding, oversized lorries.  He awakened too early, was unable to go back to sleep, and was found pacing his room by Foljambe, who immediately called Cadman to reassure Georgie of his skill.  Somewhat calmed, Georgie drank his morning tea but could not eat. 

After an eternity, it was time to go.  Cadman drove Georgie in his MG Roadster to the Driver and Vehicle Licencing Office.  Young Mr Pottinger, the estate manager’s nephew, was in and would see Mr Pillson immediately.  Pottinger explained that the written test was first, and if passed, would be followed by the driving test.  So Georgie took the proffered pencil and paper and began answering questions, thanking Providence that the questions were multiple-choice.  He had problems with only three questions, and the choices given helped him narrow down the answers.  To his surprise, he scored 100 percent correct, for Georgie had been certain that he missed two questions.  

Young Pottinger was pleased, “When my first client of the day scores 100 percent, I know it’s going to be a good day,” he told Georgie.  And if Mr Pillson would step outside, they could begin the driving portion of the test.  Nervously, Georgie looked at his adorable Roadster as if it had suddenly become the chariot pulled by the man-eating mares of Diomedes.  “What happens if I fail the driving portion of the test?” he asked Pottinger. 

“Then you come back tomorrow and do the driving test again,” said Pottinger heartily.  “But my uncle said you’d have no trouble.” 

Reassured, Georgie climbed behind the wheel.  He started the vehicle, checked his mirrors, looked all around, signaled his intention to pull away from the kerb, and the test had begun.  Pottinger had him drive through Hastings, making several turns.  Georgie negotiated this easily and began to relax.  At young Pottinger’s direction, Georgie drove to Alexandra Park, beside which he demonstrated his parking skills to his reviewer’s satisfaction.  Pottinger indicated that it was time to return to the Agency, and Georgie pulled back into traffic.  As he slowed at a corner to check for oncoming vehicles, a delivery boy on a motor-bicycle rode toward the Roadster at top speed; terrified that the boy might dent the Roadster, Georgie gunned the engine and pulled forward, avoiding the collision by inches.  

Pottinger gasped, then exclaimed, “Oh, well done, Sir!  I thought he would hit us for sure!  Most new drivers would have frozen up, but you handled it perfectly.  Drive on, Sir, back to the Agency.”  When safely back at the Agency, Pottinger praised Mr Pillson’s driving to the clerk and the other reviewer, telling them that a motorcyclist almost rode straight into them, but Mr Pillson “expertly dodged and avoided the collision.”  Georgie was given his red licence card and congratulated on his success.  

Upon leaving, by habit Georgie started to go around to the passenger side of the Roadster so that Cadman could drive them back to the Royal Victoria. 

“Begging your pardon, Sir,” said Cadman, “seeing as how you are now a licenced driver, you could drive back to the hotel.  I can get a taxi and meet you there.” 

“Nonsense!” said Georgie, smiling, “you shall be my passenger this time, Cadman!” 

Cadman smiled back, nodded, and without hesitation climbed into the passenger side of the Roadster saying, “Just one last time, Sir, for you shan’t be in need of my help anymore.” 

Upon arrival at the Hotel, they found Foljambe was waiting with the bags.  Georgie’s glowing smile told her all had gone well.  “Tell me, Foljambe, would you accept a ride back to Tilling with me driving?”  Georgie teased. 

To his surprise, Foljambe (who had been reassured by her husband’s praise of Mr Pillson’s driving skill) accepted, “Just this once, Sir, I’d like very much to ride with you.  You could drop me just outside Tilling by Military Road, then you could continue on into town, Sir.” 

“I will, indeed, Foljambe,” said Georgie, opening the passenger door of the Roadster for her. 

Foljambe paused before climbing in.  “And I want to thank you so much for the new uniforms; I was so tired of mending the old ones.”  She smiled, her pretty face quite happy, and she seemed not to notice the grey hair at her employer’s temples. 

“I’m quite glad that you like them, I’m sure,” responded Georgie, blushing a little.  And leaving Cadman to manage the luggage and the Rolls Royce, Georgie and Foljambe drove off. 

After dropping Foljambe by the side of the road just outside Tilling, as she insisted, Georgie continued on.  Coming toward him, making their long march back to Grebe from town, were Major Benjy and Elizabeth Mapp-Flint.  They stopped short and stared as Georgie drove past them with a happy wave of his hand and a toot of the horn.  In the mirror he could see Major Benjy staring after him, mouth agape, and Elizabeth looking pinched.  They’re probably thinking of something horrid to say, thought Georgie, but I don’t care!  And he did not care at all. 

He drove carefully through the narrow streets of Tilling, but with the shopping hour over, he saw none of his friends about.  The Roadster, so much smaller than the Rolls, moved deftly over Tilling’s cobbled streets and effortlessly turned the sharp corners.  Georgie pulled up under the garden-room window.  He honked the horn of the Roadster and saw the curtains twitch, then saw them pulled wide by Lucia.  He tooted the horn again, waved gaily, and motioned for Lucia to come down.  She was unable to keep the look of surprise off her face.  She went back through the house and came out the front door. 

“Georgie!  What does this mean!  Have you—?” exclaimed Lucia. 

“Yes, Lucia, I’ve bought my Roadster and I have my driving licence!” confirmed Georgie.  “Grab your hat and hop in!  I’ll take you for a spin ‘round by your almond trees, and then out by the sea.  Do hurry!” 

Lucia needed no urging.  She grabbed her hat, called to Grosvener that she was “going for a ride with Mr Pillson,” and, indeed, “hopped” into the adorable Roadster. 

“Delightful, Georgie!” cried Lucia as they drove through town.  Georgie stopped and let the engine idle by the almond trees that Lucia had donated, whose pink and white flowers decorated the formerly barren hillside below the church.  As they gazed, the Padre and Mrs Bartlett, followed by a group of Girl Guides, rode by on their bicycles.  Once again, mouths dropped open, and Georgie and Lucia waved and started off.  Looking in the mirror, Georgie saw the Padre, looking backward after the Roadster and riding forward, go off the roadway and collided with one of Lucia’s almond trees.  Lucia did not notice. 

“How fast will it go?” Lucia asked. 

With one hand on the wheel, Georgie used the other hand to pull his hat down more securely over his toupee.  “Let us find out!” he cried. 

Laughing, Mr and Mrs Pillson of Mallards House, Tilling, drove off towards the sea.

THE END

Note:  On the men’s fashion advertisments, the artist is Laurence Fellows. All photos and pictures were taken from Google image search, and I apologize if I unknowingly infringed upon anyone's copyright.

  

Text copyright 2011 Kathleen Bradford