Queen Of Speed Further chapters of our fun serial

Part 2: Drew and Algie’s transatlantic rivalry hots up, on and off the track…

The row of red, blue and silver cigar-shaped racing cars looked like toys beside a track that might have been cut out of cardboard and laid out on a sunny lawn. The dazzling white storage barns, workshops and offices looked like models and the mechanics scurrying about in white overalls and red caps might have been ants from where Belinda “Bill” Constantine gazed down on them.

Everything started to grow rapidly as Drew Falcon banked the red one-prop biplane and began to swoop downwards.

The engine whined like a furious hornet. Faster, faster and faster, the model cars and barns grew into frighteningly solid life-size structures.

In the back of the two-seater, Belinda’s stomach leapt into her throat and she screamed with giddy pleasure, although the sound was lost on the hundred and fifty mile-an-hour wind. It was like riding the biggest rollercoaster in the world.

The mechanics beside the race cars looked up in alarm and ducked as the wheels of their boss’s plane whizzed overhead with a roar. Drew laughed, the sun flashing off his lustrously oiled chestnut hair, and took them up again into the brilliant blue sky.

Belinda glanced over her shoulder at the race track shrinking vertiginously beneath them; at the suburbs and city laid out in that uniquely American grid system; at the curve of the sparkling river and the fields and mountains beyond.

It looked as if they were leaving the world behind. If only life was that simple!

Belinda had arrived in America by Zeppelin. Looking down at an ocean of fluffy white cloud from the airship’s opulent cabin, where a jazz trio played and staff served champagne and caviar, she’d thought she was as close to heaven as she’d get without dying. Floating majestically above New York’s skyscrapers had been awe-inspiring.

But twisting, turning, swooping and soaring through the air with Drew was something else! It was like taking a racing car around a dozen hairpin bends, only in three dimensions not two – and she was itching to get out of the passenger seat.

As Drew levelled out, Belinda leaned forward, her chin on the shoulder of his leather flying jacket.

“I want to fly one of these!” she yelled above the engine and the battering wind. Drew turned his head. “I’ll teach you, no problem!” His baby-smooth cheek, whipped pink by the wind, was close enough to kiss, and as his shining brown eyes met hers through his flying goggles, she wondered if he was thinking the same thought.

The glint of gold and diamond on her hand held her back, but the guilty truth was that she’d been thinking about the American carmaker far more than she should have ever since he’d left England.

The anticipation of their reunion had preoccupied her as she flew over the Atlantic, then raced across America on an express train to his Michigan test ranch.

She hadn’t expected to be swept into the air with him as soon as she stepped out of the car he’d sent to collect them from the station.

“Wanna loop the loop?” He grinned. “Hold on to your headscarf. Here we go!”

“Wanna LOOP THE LOOP? Hold on to your HEADSCARF – here we go…”

The tyres bumped smokily on the Tarmac as the little plane touched down on the airstrip that cut diagonally across the infield of the oval race track. As Drew taxied to the hangar, Belinda sucked in draughts of calming air. She’d never had such a wild time.

Her fiancé Algie Thistle glove waited in his navy blazer and white slacks with the grey-overalled engineers, who came forward to check over the plane.

“That was some fancy flying,” the blond Englishman said in his dry uppercrust accent as Drew climbed out.

Drew tapped the plane nose proudly. “Designed her myself. Same engineering you’ll be up against in the Indy 500.”

“I hope the four-wheeled version’s working better than it was in England,” Algie said coldly.

Drew frowned, stung by the reminder of what he was certain had been sabotage.

“She’ll be just hotsy totsy,” he muttered, but Algie had already turned to where a mechanic had flipped open an inspection panel.

Drew put his grin back on as Belinda took off her headscarf and shook out her blonde curls. She climbed onto the wing in a pair of wide-bottomed white trousers that only a girl as modern as she would dare to wear, a hooped navy and white sweater and tan leather flying jacket. Drew jumped to the ground and took her hand to steady her as she hopped down.

“C’mon, I’ll show you where we make the cars. Tag along, Algie, you might learn something!”

The tour of the works ended in the sunshine where Drew’s red supercharged racing car stood gleaming beside the track.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather drive this in the Indy, Bill?” He lovingly caressed the long, curved nose.

“She beat it in my car last time,” Algie reminded him. “And this crate nearly killed her.”

“At least take a spin around the track,” Drew pressed. “I promise she won’t throw a piston this time.”

“I’d love to! Hold my coat, Algie.” Belinda handed her fiancé the leather jacket she’d taken off for their walk through a factory full of steam pumps, sparks and welding torches.

She swung her long legs over the side of the car and slid down into the snug leather seat, remembering how responsive the car had been the last time she’d driven it – until it had all gone wrong, anyway. The memory of smoke and flames didn’t faze her. After Drew’s aerial acrobatics her veins were pumped full of adrenalin and she needed to work off the tension the best way she knew – at a hundred miles an hour.

“Crank her up!” Drew called to his

workers. “Get the lady some goggles!”

The engine caught and Belinda rolled the waist-high wheels onto the track.

“You don’t mind your biggest rival checking out your car?” Algie said with a sardonic chuckle as the vehicle accelerated away.

Drew took out a silver cigar case, stuck one of Cuba’s finest between his lips and offered the case to Algie, who took one too. He lit them both with a solid gold lighter and gazed through a puff of smoke as Belinda hammered in a red flash around the far side of the loop.

“Let me level with ya, Algie. There are twenty million automobiles in America today. By the end of the decade, that figure’s going to double. The market in Britain and Europe is still in its infancy. You and me could clean up as partners. With my car and Bill at the wheel, we’ve an unbeatable advert we can take to Italy, France, every race track in the world.” “Partners, eh?” Algie blew out smoke. “Too many small firms,” Drew pressed. “The industry needs to consolidate. You and I could own the world.”

“Let me be straight with you, too, old bean,” Algie said with steely assurance. “Bill and I appreciate your hospitality, inviting us to stay, but we’re here to win the Indy for Britain – and Bill’s going to do it my car. There won’t be any deals.” Vroooooom! Belinda flashed by in a streak of heat so fast it was almost impossible to see.

“Look at her, Algie.” Drew stared wistfully as the red bullet became a dot. “That car was made for her.”

“She’s testing its limits,” Algie stated calmly. “When Bill comes off that track she’ll know your every strength and weakness – and she’ll use it against you, to win in my car.” He tapped ash from his cigar. “Stick to your aeroplanes, Drew. I’ve got the car, and I’ve got the girl. We don’t need you.”

Wow, that dress is the cat’s pyjamas!” It wasn’t the salmon-pink Pocahontas-style dress with fringed hem and neckline that took Drew’s breath away, though. Nor was it the waist-length string of pearls, white stockings and buckled shoes. It was the glow of Belinda’s bare arms and shoulders, her graceful neck, flawless smile, shining eyes and halo of curls set off by a peacock’s feather fascinator in a jewelled headband.

Bathed, rested and perfumed after her heart-pumping exertions on the track, she lit up the long dining room of Drew’s extensive ranch house.

Drew barely noticed Belinda had one silk gloved hand tucked into the crook of Algie’s arm until the tuxedoed Englishman said, “Specially designed by Coco Chanel in Paris. Only the best is good enough for Bill.”

“Well said, Algie. Hey, we’ve a few minutes before chow. Let me show you the garage.”

He led them though French doors past a shimmering swimming pool to a timber framed building. He flicked on row after row of lights that lit up an Aladdin’s cave of polished coachwork, buttoned leather and gleaming spoked wheels that dated back to the dawn of automobiles.

“Holy moly, Algie, look at this!” Belinda barely knew where to look. Even Algie was impressed. “A Benz Motorwagen!” He admired the three-wheeled horseless carriage.

“A Flocken Elektrowagen from 1888.” Drew chuckled as he walked down the line. “They thought electric cars were the way to go back then!

“And here we have Dad’s Model T Ford.” Drew put a fond hand on the gleaming black mudguard. “Eight hundred bucks in 1909. I was just a kid, but when Dad brought this home I knew farming was the past; cars are the future.” “Did your father set you up in business?” Algie probed.

“I inherited a little dough,” Drew said defensively. “Nothing like your family pile in England. But it’s not what you’re born with – it’s what you do with it, right, Algie?”

“You lost your father?” Belinda asked.

“He died when I was fifteen,” Drew sighed. “Farmer’s Lung.” “I’m sorry.” “Makes you grow up.” Drew shrugged.

“I know,” Belinda agreed, quietly. “I wish Daddy had lived to see me race.”

“He’d be proud of you,” Drew said warmly. “I’ve still got the farm, just in case Dad’s looking down on me. But it’s fully mechanised now. We’ve a canning plant, too.” He turned back to Algie. “Shipping corned beef all over the world.”

“Where did you learn about engines?” the Englishman asked.

“Flying fighter planes during the war.” Drew stuck his arms out. “They wanted madmen. They got me!”

“Now this is the cat’s meow!” Belinda caressed a sleek machine. “The first car to hit a hundred miles an hour!”

“Ormond Beach, Florida, 1905,” Drew confirmed. “With a Brit driving, too!” “May I?” Belinda hoisted her fringed dress up her thighs to climb into the car. She slid into the low-slung driver’s seat and quickly remembered to adjust her hem, but not before Drew caught a glimpse of stocking tops and white satin that would keep him awake for a week.

“Looks like you have the whole of automotive history in here.” Algie snapped him out of his wide-eyed trance.

“And the future’s out there on the track.” Drew coughed to regain his composure. “Which is why Bill should be driving it. The best driver in the best car.” He walked around the vintage racer to gaze over Belinda’s spaghetti-strapped

“Stick to your AEROPLANES, Drew. I’ve got THE CAR, and I’ve got THE GIRL”

shoulder as she gripped the wheel. “You said yourself, Algie, only the best is good enough for Bill.”

Algie locked eyes with him. “My car is the best. With my new supercharger…” “Copied from mine, no doubt!” “…it’s even faster than the last time we beat you. Isn’t that so, Bill?”

“She’s a hot biscuit, Drew,” Belinda confirmed. She tossed her blonde curls over the back of the seat and gave him a teasing upside-down smile. Drew was glad his arms were braced against the car, because his knees were weak. “Hotter than mine?” he spluttered. “We’ll find out on the track,” Algie cut in. “But I’ll cut a deal with you. If you can beat Bill, you can have her.” “Say what?” Drew and Belinda gulped. “For the Italian Grand Prix,” Algie clarified with a smile. “If your car beats mine in Indianapolis you get Bill to drive it in Italy. I may even consider that partnership. So, how about it? Fastest car wins – with Bill as the prize.”

“You’re on!” Drew reached for the Englishman’s hand. “I mean, that’s if you’re agreeable, Bill?”

“I’ll be all yours,” Belinda smiled up at him. “If you think you can catch me!”

At the pre-race test runs, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was buzzing with the engines of thirty-three racing cars and the adrenalin of drivers wanting the $50,000 prize that the five-hundred-mile, two-hundred-lap race

He knew the SECRET to winning was not the KNOW-HOW but the NEED-TO

offered. As other cars roared by, getting used to the curves, Drew’s red machine rolled to a halt in the pitstop.

Pete Rawlings, the driver, pulled off his face-scarf and goggles, his face red. He’d never known the boss work him so hard.

“Average speed a hundred and sixteen mph!” Drew stomped over. “Not good enough, Pete. We need faster!”

Rawlings slammed his palm on the bonnet. “If you can get more out of this crate, why don’t you do it yourself?” “I might just do that!” Drew snapped. He knew every nut and bolt of that car better than anyone. What’s more, he’d learned at the drawing board and in the boardroom that the secret to winning wasn’t the know-how, it was the need-to, and right now he needed to win that race a lot more than Pete did.

He needed Bill to see that his was the car she should be driving.

“Fill her up!” he called to his mechanic. “I’m taking her for a walk in the park!”

Drew looked across the busy pit to where Belinda stood in tight-waisted golden overalls, talking to Algie, in his tweed sports coat, next to his dark green car.

“Hey, Algie, what are you averaging?”

Belinda turned with a ready smile, the sun dancing in her curls. Drew fought to swallow the desire that kept him awake nights and the jealousy that consumed him every time he saw her with his rival.

“A hundred and twenty-four mph… so far!” Algie called, smugly.

“You’re gonna need more than that!” Drew grinned, trying to feel as confident as he sounded. At least there was some satisfaction in seeing Algie frown.

Belinda grinned at Drew with a cute wrinkling of her nose. Algie said something sharp. Belinda turned back to her fiancé in a chastened way that Drew didn’t like to see.

How did Algie ever get that hand cuff on her finger? he wondered, bitterly.

On the morning of the race, Drew rose early in his penthouse suite at the Speedway Hotel and took the elevator to the courtyard swimming pool. Leaving his robe on a lounger he stood in his trunks at the edge of the pool he’d hired for the after-race party.

As he gazed at the shimmering water, he thought of his farm in Iowa, his test facility in Michigan and the Detroit factory where he was mass-producing family cars. He’d come a long way since his dad had died and since he’d come home from the war. He’d built an empire, and it had been a long, lonely struggle.

He didn’t hear the bare feet padding across the concrete behind him. He just felt the shove that put him in the drink. “What the – ?” Splashing to the surface, he saw Belinda giggling in the most hotsy-totsy canary-yellow swimsuit and matching bathing hat that he’d ever clapped eyes on. She jumped in feet first.

“Race you to the far end!” She leapt like a porpoise.

It was an Olympic pool. Drew was fast, but Belinda moved like an eel. He came in a body length’s behind her.

“How will I ever beat you on the track?” he joked.

“You won’t – and I don’t want you to try. It’s too dangerous.” “Not too dangerous for you, though?” “I’ve been racing all my life. How long is it since you did a hundred and twenty for five hours?” “It’s been a while,” he conceded. She put her hands on his shoulders. He thought the touch would electrocute him.

“You have the better car, Drew,” she breathed. “I won’t have you kill yourself trying to prove it.”

“Then drive for me.” He held her in the water. “We’re the perfect team.”

“Is this a private petting party?” a English voice cut in with an edge of steel. “Or can anyone join in?”

With Belinda in his arms, Drew looked up to see Algie, tall and muscular, in black trunks on the poolside. His fists were clenched and his face thunderous as he snapped, “Get out, Bill!”