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“Well, we lived in Kent for a while before we moved back north, and it was local to us. Familiarity, eh?” With a smile, he goes on, “Compact, so it fits well into the space where we used to offer riding. If our guests want horses, there’s a good stable not too far away. We turned the barn into a garage, and the cars are all classic Mini Coopers.”
“Ah, so we can pretend we’re inThe Italian Job.” Ian’s delighted crow resounds around the foyer.
Six cars are parked at the start. “Who wants to drive besides the birthday boy?” Robertson asks.
Meggy raises her hand, then Ian, Frank, and Les. JL nods.
“I’d rather sit with Mum,” Diana declares, and Liz agrees.
“How about you, Cress? Put your new driving skills to good use.”
Her eyes glaze in horror at the idea. “Forget it Max. I don’t think my one driving lesson gives me the skill to go out on any kind of track.”
“We have enough drivers. You can ride shotgun.” I’d like her to say yes, but then again, the idea of her cheering me on from the sidelines is pretty good, too. The small grandstand will give the perfect view down the top straight.
“Perfect. Six of us and six cars.” This is one of the best presents ever. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mamoushka.” I give them each a hug.
“I’ll join you.” I whirl around at the familiar voice.
“Of course you will, Allan.” The man is like a yo-yo, homing in everywhere we go. “You can ride with JL.” They have identical disgruntled expressions. “Do you want to ride with someone, Dad?”
“Wish I could but I’m feeling every ache today. Too many travel days are taking their toll, and those small cars…” My heart breaks at his wistful expression. Then he straightens up as only a former military man can. “Maybe I can manage one turn around before we start.”
“Of course, Wing Commander,” Robertson says cheerfully. And there it is. Dad grins from ear to ear as Graeme Robertson, all-mine host affability, leads us out through the lounge and out the back of the hotel.
We gape at the track. Its design almost perfectly replicates the well-known 1960s venue, with its boomerang shape. A long top straight leads into a bend that becomes a steep rise before a hairpin turn. The bottom straight is more like a curve bracketed by two bends, while the loop takes the driver back to the top. With a length of about 4.25K, it looks to be a fun, somewhat challenging ride.
“You can do five warm-up runs and then twenty circuits if that suits,” Graeme tells us.
“Perfect. And lunch after?” Dad checks all the arrangements are in order.
“Yes, we’ve laid on a special meal for you all. Wait until you see the cake. My Lucy is a dab hand with cake.”
When Mrs. Robertson arrives with a pile of cushions, her husband rushes over and grabs them before they can topple to the muddy ground. “Sorry I was so long. Guests checking out.”
“Lucy, come meet the Grant family. You know Brian and Viktoria, but these are their children and grandchildren.”
“And a couple of interlopers,” JL interjects, exaggerating his French-Canadian accent.
She wipes her hands on her flowered pinny, face creasing into a wide smile. “Nice to meet you all. I’ll go back to supervising the lunch preparations now. Enjoy the driving.” She turns and walks back to the house, carefully avoiding the puddles from last night’s rain.
We make sure the spectators have enough seat cushions to be comfortable, then walk over to the choose our vehicles. They are not all original colors, but we don’t care. The cars on offer are dark blue, light blue, white, beige, red, and green. Ian immediately plumps for the red, edging out Meggy, who pouts.
“Not fair.” She shakes her fist at Ian.
“If it had been pink, I would have let you have it,” he taunts.
Meggy’s frown is her only response as she moves to the powder-blue car.
“Take the green one,” Cress calls out to me. I throw her a small smile and climb into the car painted her favorite color. Unexpectedly, Allan slips into the passenger seat.
“I told you to ride with JL,” I snarl.
“Too bad. I’m riding with you so we can talk.”
“Talk?” I can’t believe he thinks I can drive on the track and talk or even listen. “Not the time nor place,” I grunt. “Why don’t you go sit in the grandstand and we can talk later?”
He shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest, looking straight forward.
