Pole Position (16 page)

We were both quiet on our way back to the stables. I think we were each shaken by the intensity of the emotions we’d unleashed. And somehow, I had to figure out how to handle Danny, to take control and stop him from riling me.

The moment we entered the yard he appeared, as if from nowhere. Greeting us like long lost friends, he held the horses while we dismounted. He gave Anita’s still damp hair an affectionate ruffle.

“Clare was looking for you, love. I think she’s in the back paddock. You go find her, and Jon and I will put the horses away.”

He gave me a lazy grin that set my teeth on edge.

Anita hurried off, leaving Danny alone with me, standing outside the office. The rest of the yard bustled with late afternoon activity. Children arrived for lessons, and there were several familiar faces that I guessed were grooms.

Danny swiftly untacked the horses while I held them. “Anita looks happy.”

I kept my reply even. “I make her happy.”
Round one to me.

“Better keep it that way, Pretty Boy.” Standing inches away from me, he spoke in a pleasant conversational tone. He could have been discussing the weather. I glared, determined not to rise to the bait, but he hadn’t finished. “If you upset her, you answer to me.” He paused, and moved a fraction closer. He looked like a Viking raider. “I could break your arms and legs. You’d never drive your flashy cars again.”

I went cold with anger, my grip tightening on the bridles. I went on the attack. “You’re jealous. She’s sharing my bed and not yours.”

His face went purple with fury, and he froze.

“Watch your step, Pretty Boy. That’s my last warning.”

He swung away, saddle over his arm, and I slowly breathed out.
Round two was a draw
. He was a fucking psycho.

A girl materialized at my side to finish untacking the horses and take them to their stalls. By this time, Anita had returned to fuss over Sam. I waited, thinking about Danny. I’d hit a nerve when I accused him of being jealous—I’m sure that was the key to his behavior. Like it or not, Anita would be spending the next few days in close proximity to him.

She finished her jobs, and we walked slowly out to the car park. If I took her home with me tonight, as I desperately wanted to, I’d get no sleep. Since I was leaving on an early morning flight from Manchester, sleep was a necessity. We leaned against my car, wrapped up in each other, and said our goodbyes. We solemnly wished each other good luck for the coming weekend, and I made her promise to reply to my texts and to call me every day. One final, luxurious kiss and then it was time for me to leave. She waved until I lost her in my rearview mirror.

Like clouds rolling in after the sunshine, Danny had fallen into his filthy pit of despair again. He was already back from the stables when I came home from work. I asked if he knew whether Anita would be there for dinner and he snarled at me, before storming upstairs, and slamming his office door.

I threw a spicy chili con carne together and while that cooked, I took Danny a beer. I knew how to improve his mood. His office door was open, and the bathroom door was shut, so I went to sit in his computer chair and wait for him.

My eyes were drawn to his screen, and the gossip page open. It was an old story about Jon, linking him with some actress or other. Several other windows were open, and it looked as though they were all in the same vein. My heart sank. I
knew
he was faking his politeness to Jon.

I hesitated about clicking any of the links, and instead, waited for him to come back. He wasn’t long. His face like thunder, he stomped into the room, pausing when he saw me.

“What are you doing, Danny? And don’t say it’s your invoices ‘cause I bet Jon has nothing to do with them.” I stood up. “Are you looking for crap to worry Anita with? That’s out of order.”

Dragging his fingers through his hair, Danny advanced toward me. “Why does nobody believe me about that bastard?” He sounded in pain, rather than angry. “He’ll destroy her, and there’s only me gives a fuck.”

“That’s not true. She’s my friend too.”

“So help me, Colette. She needs to see what he’s really like.”

“I think she knows him better than you. And besides, it’s
her
business, not ours.” I didn’t want to argue with Danny. Right or wrong, he only wanted to protect her, and I couldn’t be mad at that. I held out the beer, and tried a little smile. “It’s nice to see her happy, and maybe you’re right. It might end in tears, but all the more reason for her to enjoy it while she can.”

Hurt flickered in his eyes. “You didn’t see him today at the yard. Smug prick. He was bragging about fucking her.”

“What? Are you sure you heard him right?”

Danny nodded, and finally took the bottle from my hand. “Thanks, babe. It fucking incenses me. You and Anita, you both think the sun shines out of his arse, but he’s ugly underneath.”

I didn’t know Jon well, but that didn’t sound like the way he’d behave. Maybe it was some pissing contest between him and Danny, but however it came about, Danny was upset. “What are you planning to do?” I spoke gently.

His face shuttered. “Whatever it takes.”

How did people manage before mobile phones and texting? How did I manage before? Every time my phone beeped, I knew there’d be a text from Jon. Always affectionate, often funny, and frequently sexy, he’d tap out messages to me numerous times during the day. If I was busy at work, or riding, I’d sometimes come back to find several new ones.

It sounded as though his trip was going well. He talked about the endless press and publicity sessions on Wednesday:

Here we go, another journo to schmooze.

What he called the
free practice
session on Thursday:

My 1st go on the infamous Spa circuit 2day, glad it’s dry so far!

I still found it awkward chatting on the phone, so texting became a lifeline for our communication, especially since I was so busy myself. Danny took his coaching role seriously, and we were at the yard until almost nine in the evening on Wednesday and Thursday. Jon’s clock was an hour ahead in Belgium, so we’d have a quick chat when I got home, followed by a shower, sandwich, and bed, in that order.

I booked Friday off work. We needed time to prepare the horses for travel, and to pack everything we needed. Colette was coming with us too, and she arrived just after lunch. Jon had said the qualifying sessions were scheduled for Friday, so I looked forward to talking to him in the evening, to see if all had gone well.

Despite the rush-hour traffic, we made good time to Charrington and arrived just before six. Our first priority was to settle the horses into their temporary stabling and to confirm our registrations and bookings, but at last, I was free to call Jon.

As I dug in my pockets I realized I hadn’t heard my phone beeping for ages, surely I hadn’t let the battery go flat? It was worse than that. I couldn’t find my phone at all.
Damn
! The others were having a cup of tea in the caravan while I stood outside, trying to remember when I last had it. I last saw it when we stopped at the services on the way down. I’d had a new text from Jon that I’d replied to, but I hadn’t seen it since. After searching fruitlessly for a while, I asked the others to help me.

Colette had the bright idea of ringing it, to see if we could locate it from the ringtone, only she couldn’t find her phone either.

Clare was busy somewhere with Mark and Bev, so that left Danny. He dialed my number and we all stood still, listening.
Nothing
. He dialed Colette’s number and we listened again.
Nothing
. Weird they’d both go missing at the same time.

It was a mystery, but since everyone was ravenous, it would have to wait. We headed for the chip shop, and while we waited in the queue, Danny suggested I use his mobile to ring Jon. Jon’s phone was switched off, so I left a quick message explaining I’d lost my phone and giving him Danny’s number if he needed to call me. Otherwise, I’d call him back again tomorrow.

My first taste of the Spa-Francorchamps circuit was as intoxicating as I’d hoped. The weather forecast was perfect, dry all over the track with a light breeze. My car had a special, race-tuned engine designed by my dad’s company, and it was excellent for this type of race. The grip of the tires felt astounding. With each successive lap, I was confident I could go even faster, but Tom impressed the need to take the first practice laps slowly, to get a feel for the layout of the track. Anita had left me a good luck text and voice message. With her support, I could win this and make the circuit my own.

Eventually it was my turn for qualifying.

The rumbling of the engine reverberated through my back and invaded the overheated cockpit. I engaged first gear, and the car eased forward. The slight acceleration already showed there was power to spare in the heart of the engine, and that power was just asking to be let out. Not only did I need a good showing for my chances, but also to display the potential of Dad’s engine. The future of his current business was dependent on a good season.

I cruised down the pit lane slowly, observing the speed limit. And then, onto the track. I booted the accelerator without hesitation, and an invisible hand instantly glued me against the seat. My speed increased at a pace that made me want to laugh with sheer delight at being there.

From its starting point, the first corner was the infamous Eau Rouge-Raidillon combination. Drivers raced down a straight to the point where the track crossed the Eau Rouge stream for the first time, before being launched steeply uphill into a sweeping left-right-left collection of corners with a blind summit. The drama of this in real life left the video footage as a pale comparison. I’d taken the practice laps slowly, and now I had to do it for real.

I flew into the corner downhill, negotiated the sudden change of direction at the bottom, and then climbed the very steep uphill. From the cockpit, I couldn’t see the exit—when I came over the crest, I wouldn’t know where I’d land. It was a crucial corner for my timed lap, and also in the race. There was a long uphill straight afterward where crucial seconds would weigh down my time if I made a mistake. I felt the compression in my body as I jinked through the turns.

Next, I accelerated through the straight section to the Les Combes corner. Slow, slow again, on to Pouhon—a quick downhill left-hander and notorious for finding the right line—more bends and corners, then on toward the awesome Blanchimont, one of the most fearsome turns in motor racing. This high-speed left-hand turn had caused some of the most serious accidents in the circuit and was the final sweeping section of track before the final chicane and the pit straights—and the La Source hairpin bend back at the start.

All my senses were on alert. My ears were filled with the sound of the engine roaring behind the seat, my body felt the slightest jolts of the track, the car shied away on a curb for a fraction of a second, before finding the adhesion I needed. My eyes constantly scanned the track ahead, my hands were sure on the wheel, my feet smooth on the pedals.

Everything went very fast. And at the same time everything seemed to take place slowly.

I roared back to the pit lane and checked my time. Two minutes, 15.74 seconds.

Yes
!

Tom grinned, his craggy face lighting up. That was a hot time.
Scorching!

I fleetingly wished Anita could have been watching, but then was pulled back to my world again.

After the excitement and adrenaline of qualifying, came the slow activities. Checking the weather forecast for Saturday, monitoring the other qualifying times—another surge when I was given sixth position on the grid—and then the quiet of the evening and the nail biting anticipation of the race the next day. God, I loved this sport.

****

The voicemail from Anita unsettled me. She’d lost her phone. Hell, how could she lose it? Now the only method I had of contacting her was via Danny’s mobile. I sighed. I’d have to try it. My longing to speak to her outweighed my reluctance to get entangled with him again. I dialed the number back.

After a couple of rings, I heard his lazy voice. “Yep?”

“It’s Jon. I need to speak to Anita.”

There was a long pause, I could imagine him sitting there grinning at me. “Sorry mate, you’ve got the wrong number.” He hung up.

Bastard
. I bet he was behind her phone going missing. This meant he could control her incoming calls and filter them so I couldn’t get through.

I shook with anger. He blocked me at every turn. The only release I had for all my pent-up energy would be to work out in the gym, and I did that until every muscle ached and I could barely lift my head from exhaustion.

Apart from the fiasco with Anita’s phone, things looked good for Saturday. She’d be busy too, and I could try to phone her at home on Sunday night when our weekends were over. I reminded myself that I was inching closer to my first F3 Championship win, and the distant goal of F1 Grand Prix was becoming more possible. I went to bed tired, but confident on Friday night.

My hopes were pinned on a good Saturday. I wouldn’t let myself dwell on any other outcome.