“You’re right. One of my few clients broke down and
called me out. There was a garage within five minutes of him, but he thinks so much of me, he had to drag me from a hot supper and give me a sixteen mile drive. Nice fella.”
“You didn’t have to turn out, did you?”
“The way business is now, I had to go all right.”
“I thought all garage owners were rolling in money.”
“So did I: that’s why I went into the racket. I’ve found out
otherwise.”
“Isn’t there any money in it?”
“Yes, I suppose there is, but I picked the wrong locality.”
“I should have thought Oxford Circus was a pretty good
district.”
“So did I until I settled there. Don’t tell me you know
where Eagle Street is.”
“It’s a turning off Oxford Street, near Peter Robinson’s.”
I looked at her and then back to the dark ribbon of the
road that kept coming at me out of the light of my headlamps.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever met who knows where it
is. They’ve made it a one-way street and have smothered it
with No Waiting signs.
Customers are scared even to stop for petrol. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It can’t interest you.”
“Did I say I was bored?”
We drove in silence for a minute or so, then she said, “I’ll bring my car to you for service. I’ll tell my friends about you.”
“That’s fine. Thanks a lot.”
“You don’t believe I’ll do it, do you?”
“You probably will if you remember. Maybe you don’t live
anywhere near Eagle Street. By tomorrow you’ll have
forgotten there’s a garage in Eagle Street and you’ll continue to go to your local man. People do, you know.”
“I live in New Bond Street. That’s close enough, isn’t it?”
I thought she was pulling my leg.
“What kind of a car do you run?”
“I’ve gat one of the new Jaguars. It’s a peach of a car.”
I was sure now she was pulling my leg.
“That won’t need much servicing.”
“Someone’s got to keep it clean. Could I garage it at your place? At the moment I keep it in Shepherd Market —much too far from my flat.”
“I’ve got the room, but it wouldn’t be a lock-up.”
I still thought she was shooting a line.
“I’m pretty late some nights.”
“I live over the garage. I’m late myself.”
“What would you charge?”
“Thirty bob a week: five bob for washing and polishing.”
“But that’s what I pay for a lock-up.”
I shook my head.
“I bet you don’t.”
She laughed.
“Well, I’ll think about it. Make it a pound and I’m on.”
“Thirty bob’s cheap, and you know it. Can’t do it for less.”
“Oh well, I’ll think about it.”
I was pretty sure I wouldn’t hear any more about the
Jaguar. I was pretty sure, too, I wouldn’t see her again after I had dropped her at Bond Street.
I decided I’d let her know she wasn’t getting away with all
this grand talk.
“What’s the matter with your car that you were using the
Buick tonight?”
She leaned forward to drop ash between her feet.
“My friend’s sister was catching the night plane to Paris.
He had something else to do so he asked me to take her to
Northolt. Ever been to Paris?”
“When I was in the Army. I was only there three or four
days.”
“Like it?”
“Seemed all right. It was expensive then, but I hear it’s
blue murder now.”
“It’s like everything else: if you know the ropes you’re all
right. I know a cheap place to stay at, and I have friends there.
I get along all right. It doesn’t cost me much.”
“Sounds as if you go there a lot”
“About once a month.”
“In business?”
“That’s right. I design and make lingerie.”
That surprised me.
“Is that a good racket to be in?”
“Pretty good. I’m not grumbling. I have some good
connections in Paris.”
“Coals to Newcastle I should have thought.”
“There’s a limited market, but I’ve got what there is.”
“You’re pretty young to be an owner of a business, aren’t
you?”
She laughed.
“You’re pretty young yourself to be an owner of a
business.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m thirty-two.”
“Married?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Me? What should I want to get married for? I’ve a career
to think of.”
I swung the truck into Wood Lane and headed towards
Shepherd’s Bush.
I began to wonder if she wasn’t telling the truth after all.
Maybe she did have a flat in Bond Street, a lingerie business and a Jaguar car. Maybe she did go trips to Paris. I realized with a sudden feeling of irritation that I had been living so long
on the border line of bankruptcy that I had ceased to believe there was anyone left who made money.
Where I had gone wrong was to sink all my money into the garage. If I had left myself some working capital I could
have pulled myself out of the mess I was now in. I could have
bought machine tools, a lathe and stuff like that. There were
plenty of contract jobs going if you had the right equipment to handle them. Instead of splashing out all my money on
elaborate equipment for car cleaning, pressure greasing and
the like, which I used once in a blue moon, I should have kept
something in hand in case I hit a dud streak, but at that time I had been so optimistic I didn’t believe it possible to hit a dud streak.
This girl, sitting at my side, could afford to go to Paris,
run a Jaguar car and own a flat in Bond Street. Three things
that were completely beyond my reach, and I resented it. I had
studied, worked and trained for my job, and I was getting
nothing out of it except a headache of worries. So far as I could see all she had was a natural talent for making pretty things, and she seemed to be sitting on top of the world.
“Is that clock right?” she asked suddenly. “Is it as late as that?”
“It’s a little fast. The right time’s twenty to twelve.”
“Oh well, I don’t have to get up early in the morning. I
hate getting up in the morning, don’t you?”
“Whether I hate it or not, I have to get up.” My irritation
sounded in my voice. “I open the garage at half-past six.
That’s about the only time I sell petrol. There are four or five vans near me, and they fill up before starting their rounds. If I don’t get up early I’d miss their trade.”
“You do sound in a bad way.”
“I usually sound off like this when I’m tired, but things are
pretty duff.”
“Maybe you don’t know the ropes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know a fellow who owns a garage. He’s making a lot of
money.”
“I’ve told you: I picked the wrong locality.”
“He buys and sells used cars. There’s money in that
racket.”
“Not now there isn’t. Haven’t you heard there’s a slump
on?”
“I don’t believe in slumps. A slump is an excuse for lack
of enterprise. If you can’t make money one way, you can make it another. Ever thought of that?”
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