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work there, but in the Glory Boot there is a feeling of, well, love. I have only to look at the posters, the models, the Giovanni paintings, and the loving scraps of old shop manuals to hop instantly back into my wondering childhood before I was daft enough to leave Kent for overseas and the oil business.
    So why wasn’t my mind racing round in top gear on Tuesday morning? Answer: I’d brought Louise home with me – only mentally, alas. In addition, I was aware that I couldn’t keep an open mind over this missing Auburn because it had fixed on the fourth option that at best it was no coincidence that a wave of ill-conceived pranks was hitting the studios, and at worst something far more sinister. ‘OK, son,’ my father was muttering from his photo at the wheel of his beloved MG, ‘so why the stop light?’
    What was stopping me was where my gut feeling took me. What, if I had been nutty enough to pinch an Auburn 1935 for spite, would I do with it in the short term? If I wasn’t a car lover, I would wreck it and return it so that everyone could see my handiwork – especially its proud owners. If I was a car lover, or at best someone who realized what a treasure this car was, I’d hide it somewhere unconnected with me to be found sooner or later – if it wasn’t by then destroyed by mindless vandals. I hoped that the thief was a real car lover, and would hide it away somewhere safely. Where would that be? If I were working at the studios but commuting from home, I could stick it in my own garage – but what would the neighbours say? Furthermore, that would mean my own car would still be in the studios’ car park sticking out like a Ferrari in a banger race.
    So where
was
the Auburn?
    Dad seemed to have stopped his advisory service, as nothing came to mind, save that if I was correct and it was pinched by someone working on the set, crew or cast, then it couldn’t be far away. Cast and crew could hardly take time off to drive it to John O’Groats. Which merely gave me the whole of Kent and maybe a bit of East Sussex to search.
    By Monday. Now six days away.
    Time to move. Louise’s mobile number was burning a hole in my pocket but pride wasn’t going to let me use it until I had some idea of where I was going with this commission. I’d rung one of my contacts who with luck would cover the grapevine of London and the home counties, but Harry Prince was, I had to admit, the unavoidable step I’d have to take next. He runs a big flashy garage near Ashford and several others too, including his newish acquisition, the Piper’s Green garage, though he doesn’t manage it in person. That’s in Jimmy’s loyal hands. He was the former owner’s henchman and has worked there ever since Herr Daimler first decided to build a car. Jimmy prides himself on achieving the impossible over combining reliability with speed of service. I sometimes hope this will rub off on Len, but not so far. He tends to be a bit sniffy where Jimmy is concerned.
    â€˜Cranked your starting handle a bit late this morning, didn’t you, Jack?’ Zoe greeted me disapprovingly. ‘Where have you been? Rob’s been waiting for you.’ There was a touch of reproach in her voice. Sometimes I think Zoe might have got the wrong end of the stick as to who owns this place. Certainly, Rob showed all the signs of possession. He strolled out from behind the Princess Vanden Plas that Zoe and Len were currently working on, and eyed me in what passes for a friendly manner for him. He is the clumsiest person around cars I’ve ever met and I eyed the Vanden Plas with trepidation as he placed his pudgy hand on the bumper to help him squeeze past. He’s not fat, exactly, he just has that well-oiled look that comes from the confidence of knowing where you stand in life, especially if it’s high up the pecking order and even if it’s not deserved. He’s