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‘Her address is in my notebook,’ Jem said. ‘So either I’m wrong and he doesn’t know where she lives—or I’m right, and now he does.’
‘Yes,’ Ella said. ‘I see. Well.’ She sounded calm, but her hand was tense on the wooden desk. ‘Well, then. It’s about an hour in a motor car from here to Aylesbury, is that correct?’ she asked the concierge.
‘More like two, madam. The roads are rather winding, and of course it depends on the motor car and the driver.’
‘What’s MrMorley-Adams driving?’
‘One of the new Wolseley line, madam. A beautiful machine, if I may say so.’
‘Thank you,’ Ella said. ‘Just one more thing, then.’
‘Certainly, madam. How may I assist?’
She smiled at him. ‘A motor car, at once.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Jem had no experience with motoring, but he hoped it was normally more comfortable than this. He felt every jolt of the rough surface as they bowled along at what felt a terrifyingly unsafe speed. Ella had gone through the foggy Oxford streets too fast, but, once the visibility and countryside had opened out towards Headington, she really let rip, far exceeding the speed limit. Jem feared she was doing well over thirty miles an hour; he didn’t want to lean forward and look because he was too busy clinging white-knuckled to the passenger handle. Even with the hood up, the wind whipped their faces violently at this speed, and stones showered up from the roads. None of them had proper motoring clothes. Ella had wrapped a scarf around her face and borrowed a pair of goggles from the obviously motor-mad concierge; the rest of them were simply huddling. Nicky pulled Jem over, wrapping an arm over his shoulders, and they leaned into each other against the buffeting wind and the biting cold.
‘I’m walking home,’ Nicky shouted in his ear at one point, and Jem nodded as vigorously as he could.
Headington, Wheatley, Tiddington. Thame and Haddenham, then the long busier stretch to Aylesbury. Ella came off the London Road there, with Aaron in the front reading the map.
‘It’s market day in Aylesbury,’ she shouted over her shoulder as she whipped them along narrower lanes without any noticeable reduction in speed. ‘It might slow us down.’
‘That would be awful,’ Nicky muttered.
The roads twisted and turned horribly. Jem concentrated on trying not to be sick. Ella gave the Saturday traffic in Tring no quarter, blasting her horn and causing many astonished leaps out of the way. Then they were passing Tring station, on the road Jem had trudged not so many days ago, and Ella dropped the motor back to a sane speed, while Aaron twisted round to ask for directions.
‘Straight on up Toms Hill Road, I’ll warn you when we get there,’ Jem said. ‘How fast?—’
‘Thirty-three miles in an hour and eleven minutes.’ Aaron sounded stunned.
‘Well, the roads are very poor,’ Ella said. ‘I did my—’ The motor came to an abrupt halt, sending them all lurching forward.
‘God’s sake!’ Nicky snapped. ‘What was that?’
‘That motor over there is a new Wolseley,’ Ella said.
‘It’s right in front of her cottage.’ Jem’s lips felt numb.
The motor roared up the last few yards to the cottage. Nicky didn’t wait for it to come to a complete stop but vaulted over the side, and sprinted up the path. Aaron reached him within a couple of seconds, the pair of them shoulder to shoulder. Jem had to lower himself down carefully out of the motor; his legs were shaking. He and Ella caught up with the others at the cottage door, which was still firmly shut after Nicky’s third barrage of knocks.
Aaron thumped the heel of his hand against the door. ‘Come on, open up!’
Jem ducked to the side, and pressed his face against the little window, not caring that his foot sank into a bare and struggling shrub. He couldn’t see much through the net curtains, only shapes, but that was enough.
‘She’s inside and so’s he. I can see them.’ He slapped his hand on the window as he’d used to do at college. ‘Prue! It’s us!’
‘I vote we break the door down,’ Aaron said. ‘With me?’
‘Shoulders or feet?’ Nicky asked.
Aaron cast an assessing look at the low doorway, weighing up the distance, and delivered a kick to the door that seemed to rattle the house.
He stepped back again, ready to repeat the kick as the door swung open. Hugo stood there foursquare in the hall. He opened his mouth and Aaron strode right into him, planting a hand on his chest and sending him stumbling back. Jem ducked under his flailing arm and darted through to the parlour.
Prue was there, seated in a hard chair, back rigid, tear-streaks glistening on her too-pale face, eyes wide. She whispered, ‘Jem,’ and he came to her with arms out, gripping her hands hard. ‘Oh, God, Jem!’
