still convinced there must be a flaw in Harold’s theory and longing to see the car in motion. ‘We’ve kept the car’s appearance today a secret, but if Mr Bailey managed to see anything before we stopped him just now, it’s possible—’
‘Thomas Bailey
here
?’ Harold interrupted. ‘Are you sure?’ He went very pale.
‘Yes,’ Tatiana said blithely. ‘I recognised him at once. Isn’t he rumoured to be working on a new car too?’
Harold clutched his brow feverishly, ignoring Tatiana’s question. ‘Take her back into the motor house,’ he unwisely ordered Dolly’s driver in a strangled voice.
‘Nonsense,’ Hester retorted.
‘
Take it back!
’ Harold was so agitated he appeared to be about to pull Hester Hart down bodily. She cast them a look, jumped down from the car and marched inside the motor house, beckoning meaningfully to Harold and banging the doors shut after them.
With bated breath, they waited while the sound of raised voices came from within.
‘I back Hester,’ Tatiana said with glee.
‘So do I.’
‘I don’t.’ Judith glared at them. Her faith was justified, for five minutes later they both reappeared. Harold had won, for he climbed on to the driving seat of the Dolly Dobbs and reversed her into the motor house. Hester Hart, without another word but with lips angrily compressed, walked over to where Roderick Smythe had drawn up in the yard.
Seeing her face, he leapt from the car and ushered herdevotedly to the driving seat of his new Crossley.
‘What do you make of
that
?’ Tatiana asked as they drove away without a backward glance. ‘I never thought I’d see Harold Dobbs get the better of Agatha
and
Hester.’
‘Yet he does not seem happy with his victory,’ Auguste observed. Far from it; he looked extremely nervous. Why had the mention of Bailey so alarmed him? And what had the Duchess in mind? Remembering her unusual behaviour, he was convinced she had a plan for revenge. Next Thursday promised to be even more interesting than he had hoped.
‘Pierre, have you packed the
sauce remoularde
for the
mousse de crabe
?’
‘
Naturellement
, Monsieur Didier,’ Pierre answered him patiently. And the horseradish sauce for the quails, and the
sauce chocolat
for the bavarois, and the apricot syrup for the chestnut soufflé pudding, and the hundred and one other details that a luncheon buffet and tea in the grounds of a country house at Richmond would require.
After the hill trials on Petersham Hill in Richmond Park, in which the ladies would compete for the best times between two points, the Dysart Arms in Petersham Road, and the Star and Garter Hotel’s main entrance on the hilltop, the best twenty would compete again on ‘Test Hill’ in Richmond Park, between what Tatiana had referred to as the ‘usual oak trees’.
Auguste was not entirely happy. The Dolly Dobbs episode did not bode well for convivial club gatherings today. Moreover, Pierre’s patisserie inclined to the oversweet. As well as cream, his
millefeuilles
positively oozed honey. Delightful, but unusual. He watched the staff in the last throes of hectic preparation. Once he would have been a bustling part of it, this final onslaught, but now his role was supervisory only.
Today’s banquet was Pierre’s responsibility, next Thursday’s would be his. Yet Pierre did not seem overjoyed at his privilege.
‘Something is troubling you, Pierre?’ he asked eventually. ‘The cold duck, perhaps?’
‘That dog.’
‘Dog?’ Auguste was unable to recall any recipe requiring such ingredients.
‘Working with Luigi Peroni is no pleasure, maître.’
‘Any trouble today is more likely to stem from Miss Hart, I fear.’ Auguste had spoken unguardedly. Gone were the days when his life belonged solely to this side of the green baize door.
‘Mr Smythe has returned to Miss Lockwood?’ Pierre asked with interest.
‘No, but the debut of the Dolly Dobbs has been postponed until next Thursday.’
‘She
‘Thomas Bailey
here
?’ Harold interrupted. ‘Are you sure?’ He went very pale.
‘Yes,’ Tatiana said blithely. ‘I recognised him at once. Isn’t he rumoured to be working on a new car too?’
Harold clutched his brow feverishly, ignoring Tatiana’s question. ‘Take her back into the motor house,’ he unwisely ordered Dolly’s driver in a strangled voice.
‘Nonsense,’ Hester retorted.
‘
Take it back!
’ Harold was so agitated he appeared to be about to pull Hester Hart down bodily. She cast them a look, jumped down from the car and marched inside the motor house, beckoning meaningfully to Harold and banging the doors shut after them.
With bated breath, they waited while the sound of raised voices came from within.
‘I back Hester,’ Tatiana said with glee.
‘So do I.’
‘I don’t.’ Judith glared at them. Her faith was justified, for five minutes later they both reappeared. Harold had won, for he climbed on to the driving seat of the Dolly Dobbs and reversed her into the motor house. Hester Hart, without another word but with lips angrily compressed, walked over to where Roderick Smythe had drawn up in the yard.
Seeing her face, he leapt from the car and ushered herdevotedly to the driving seat of his new Crossley.
‘What do you make of
that
?’ Tatiana asked as they drove away without a backward glance. ‘I never thought I’d see Harold Dobbs get the better of Agatha
and
Hester.’
‘Yet he does not seem happy with his victory,’ Auguste observed. Far from it; he looked extremely nervous. Why had the mention of Bailey so alarmed him? And what had the Duchess in mind? Remembering her unusual behaviour, he was convinced she had a plan for revenge. Next Thursday promised to be even more interesting than he had hoped.
‘Pierre, have you packed the
sauce remoularde
for the
mousse de crabe
?’
‘
Naturellement
, Monsieur Didier,’ Pierre answered him patiently. And the horseradish sauce for the quails, and the
sauce chocolat
for the bavarois, and the apricot syrup for the chestnut soufflé pudding, and the hundred and one other details that a luncheon buffet and tea in the grounds of a country house at Richmond would require.
After the hill trials on Petersham Hill in Richmond Park, in which the ladies would compete for the best times between two points, the Dysart Arms in Petersham Road, and the Star and Garter Hotel’s main entrance on the hilltop, the best twenty would compete again on ‘Test Hill’ in Richmond Park, between what Tatiana had referred to as the ‘usual oak trees’.
Auguste was not entirely happy. The Dolly Dobbs episode did not bode well for convivial club gatherings today. Moreover, Pierre’s patisserie inclined to the oversweet. As well as cream, his
millefeuilles
positively oozed honey. Delightful, but unusual. He watched the staff in the last throes of hectic preparation. Once he would have been a bustling part of it, this final onslaught, but now his role was supervisory only.
Today’s banquet was Pierre’s responsibility, next Thursday’s would be his. Yet Pierre did not seem overjoyed at his privilege.
‘Something is troubling you, Pierre?’ he asked eventually. ‘The cold duck, perhaps?’
‘That dog.’
‘Dog?’ Auguste was unable to recall any recipe requiring such ingredients.
‘Working with Luigi Peroni is no pleasure, maître.’
‘Any trouble today is more likely to stem from Miss Hart, I fear.’ Auguste had spoken unguardedly. Gone were the days when his life belonged solely to this side of the green baize door.
‘Mr Smythe has returned to Miss Lockwood?’ Pierre asked with interest.
‘No, but the debut of the Dolly Dobbs has been postponed until next Thursday.’
‘She
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