Corduroy Mansions

61. A Suitable Car

Lennie Marchbanks, patient garagiste to Terence Moongrove and the proprietor of Marchbanks Motors, drove round in his truck and parked before the stranded Morris Traveller. Terence, who had seen the truck coming up the drive, went out to meet him, while Berthea watched discreetly from an upstairs window.

‘So what’s the trouble now, Mr Moongrove?’ asked Lennie. ‘Old Morris not starting? I put petrol in for you, remember? Should go now.’

‘I’ve decided to sell it,’ said Terence. ‘That’s why I asked you to come out, Mr Marchbanks. I want to get rid of it and get a new car.’

Lennie stared at him in frank disbelief. ‘You want to sell the Morris? Did I hear you correctly, Mr Moongrove?’

‘You heard perfectly correctly, Mr Marchbanks. I think the time has come.’

Lennie whistled. ‘Well, I’ve been saying that for a good long while, you know. But you always said you were fond of the old bus and didn’t see the need. Remember, Mr Moongrove?’

‘That’s as may be, Mr Marchbanks. But things move on. I’ve moved on now and need a new car, I think.’

Lennie moved round to the front of the car. ‘Bonnet’s open, I see,’ he said. ‘You been fiddling around with the engine, Mr Moongrove?’

Terence looked shifty. ‘The battery wasn’t working properly. I decided to charge it.’

Lennie peered into the engine compartment. ‘Oh yes?’ He reached in and touched something, and then wiped his hand on his overalls. ‘Battery looks as if it’s been a little bit stressed, Mr Moongrove. Your charger all right? Can I take a look at it?’

Terence cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t exactly use a charger,’ he said. ‘Perhaps . . .’

Lennie stared at him. ‘You didn’t use a charger? You . . .’ He glanced around the garage and saw the cable lying coiled on the floor where Berthea had placed it. ‘You connected it directly to the mains, Mr Moongrove? Is that right?’

‘Possibly,’ said Terence.

Lennie’s mouth opened as if he was about to say something; then it closed again.

‘So I wondered whether you would like to buy the car off me,’ Terence went on. ‘What do you think it’s worth?’

Lennie had now regained his composure. ‘What’s it worth? Well, that’s a difficult question, Mr Moongrove. There are people who like these old cars and do them up. We might find somebody like that. But, you see, if you connected the battery to the mains, then the whole electric system will have been live, I suppose, and these wires . . . you know? Well, maybe you don’t know. But a car’s wires are like its nerves, you see, and if your nerves get a big jolt like that, then . . .’

Terence frowned impatiently. Mr Marchbanks had a tendency to become rather too technical, he felt. ‘Well, perhaps you could tow it away, Mr Marchbanks. And then we can talk about a new one. Get what you can for the Morris. A hundred pounds, maybe. I really don’t mind very much.’

Lennie nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘And what sort of car would you like in its place, Mr Moongrove?’

‘I thought something greyish-green,’ said Terence. ‘The same colour as this.’

Lennie stared at him. ‘A greyish-green car, you say?’

Terence confirmed this. ‘And not very big, please. I don’t want a large car. Two seats would be quite sufficient, I think.’

Lennie inclined his head. He was thinking. ‘A two-seater? That sounds rather . . . How should I put it, Mr Moongrove? A bit sporty, perhaps?’

Terence laughed. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind something sporty, Mr Marchbanks. I’m not exactly Toad of Toad Hall, you know. But a nice little sports car would be fine.’ He paused. ‘What would the AA think?’

Lennie answered quickly. ‘I think they’d be very happy to hear that you’d bought a new car.’

Terence patted the bodywork of the Morris. ‘This has been a very fine car, Mr Marchbanks. It represents British engineering at its finest, don’t you think?’

Lennie also gave the Morris a pat. ‘Some may say that. Of course things have come on a bit since then, but they were grand little cars - no doubt about that.’

Terence looked thoughtful. ‘Have you seen the car that Alfie Bismarck’s son drives? You know, the son who runs their racehorses? Have you seen his car?’

‘Monty Bismarck’s car? You talking about Monty Bismarck?’

‘Yes. I must say that I thought it was rather nice. Nice and small.’ Terence paused. ‘Do you think you could get me one of those, Mr Marchbanks?’

Lennie moved away from the Morris and stared into Terence’s eyes. ‘That’s a Porsche, Mr Moongrove. Alfie Bismarck’s son drives a Porsche.’

‘Is that what it’s called? Well, I thought it was very nice. I like small cars, you see.’

‘Nice?’ echoed Lennie. ‘Oh, it’s nice all right, Mr Moongrove. A Porsche is a very nice car altogether. But it’s very fast, you know.’

‘I wouldn’t have to drive it fast though, would I?’

Lennie made a face. ‘No, you wouldn’t have to. But you’d have to be very careful, you know. If you put your foot down hard, you’d take off.’

‘But I’d never put my foot down hard,’ said Terence. ‘You know me. I don’t drive very fast.’

‘That’s true.’

‘So can you get me one, Mr Marchbanks? It doesn’t matter if it’s a little bit expensive - I’ve got plenty of money, you know.’

‘I’m not sure I’d recommend it, Mr Moongrove. Perhaps you should talk to your sister about it?’

It was the wrong tactic, and Terence pursed his lips in determination. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I shall not talk to my sister about it. Cars are things for men, Mr Marchbanks. We men can make up our own minds about these things without bossy women coming and poking their long noses into our cars. My car is not a matter for my sister at all.’

Lennie shrugged. He was very reluctant to acquire a Porsche for Terence, but could he stop him? And if he did not do this for him, then somebody else - some unscrupulous person - would sell him some dreadful Porsche that had been driven to death and would just prove a headache for everybody: for him, for Terence and for the AA.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a Porsche, Mr Moongrove. But only if you promise to drive it very, very carefully.’

‘Thank you,’ said Terence. ‘And you must promise not to tell my sister until the new car is safely in the garage. She can be very bossy, you know.’

Lennie nodded. He knew.