“S ir, I need to come and see you, now.”
“What is it?”
“It’s important. I need to see you.”
“Very well, I’m at home for the evening.”
“I’ll see you in about 30 minutes.”
William Lyons replaced the handset into its cradle and looked at his wife. “Frank England is coming round. Says it’s important.”
Greta Lyons looked up from the book she was reading and glanced at her husband, “It must be, is everything all right at the factory?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. It will be something to do with the racing.”
She looked at him again with a sharp intensity, “John!” she said, putting her book down.
“Don’t worry, dear. John will be fine, he’s a big, clever strapping lad. Frank will be round in a short while.”
She got up. “I’ll go and put the kettle on.”
On hearing the bell, Lyons answered the front door and ushered England in. “Go straight through to the drawing room,” he said, “Greta is in there. Everything OK?”
England stopped and looked at his chairman, an agonised look crossed his eyes, “It’s about John, Sir. There’s been an accident.”
“What sort of accident,” Lyons said, looking intently at his race team manager. “He’s all right, isn’t he?”
Greta Lyons came into the hallway from the kitchen area. “Frank,” she nodded up at England, unsmiling. “What’s the matter, you look as white as a sheet.”
England put his hand across his mouth and looked at Lyons, a distraught expression in his eyes.
“It’s OK, Frank,” Lyons said, calmly. “We both need
