by Amy Gallow
"You're going to ride for them?"
He touched his finger to her lips. “Please, no guesses. Not even to your family. I'll tell you everything as soon as I can."
Lexie had no choice but to nod. Glenn studied her face for a moment and then turned away. “I'll be less than a minute with Angela and then we can get this autograph session over."
Lexie's knees wobbled and she swayed, as if drawn into his wake. The half hour autograph session would be an eternity. She couldn't think with him around. Her body took charge.
His words made sense. He wouldn't be ringing Japan. That left only Salvatore. He'd be breaking the news as gently as he could. The Japanese would insist on a clean break. They may even have made the deal conditional on the race result. Which sounded like their way of doing business. She knew her guesses were no more than an excuse. A distraction from the unpalatable truth she'd not survive a season of watching Glenn risk his life on the track.
The first time she'd seen him ride, Raul had protected her by keeping her attention from the track. This morning's practice session had been different. Even on an empty track, the five qualifying laps became a nightmare. Tomorrow, she faced twenty-seven laps of racing with every corner made doubly hazardous by the competing riders. She'd never survive a year without begging him to stop and the distraction would increase his danger. He'd already admitted his fear, she mustn't add to it!
It meant ending their affair now, before it became impossible.
"Are you ready?” Glenn had returned from speaking to Angela.
She nodded and led the way towards the golf buggy used as transport to the Grand Prix Expo and the autograph session. Glenn followed, took his seat beside her and was silent as she drove, which suited Lexie.
At the session, she did everything expected of her, standing behind Glenn with spare pens, charming the fans out of overstaying their time, keeping the queue moving so the maximum number could meet the hero of the moment. It was a routine she'd followed a score of times at book signings.
Then it was over and she returned Glenn to Pit Six. “I'll return the buggy,” she said, and drove off before he replied; an essential cowardice. Acting normally at the autograph session had drained her.
She returned the buggy to the compound and dawdled back to Pit Six, hoping Glenn would be gone when she arrived. She couldn't face him again today without something happening.
"Hi,” Angela greeted her. “Glenn's gone back to the hotel and Raul's waiting for you in the hospitality tent. He's with your family."
Lexie nodded and climbed the stairs, spotting Raul at the table they'd made their own, now moved against another, with chairs enough to seat the whole Douglas clan. They waved her over.
"Where's our brave-hearted hero?” Raul asked. “Did he survive the autograph hunters?"
Lexie smiled. “He did very well,” she said. “Charmed most of them, particularly the young ones.” Raul's questioning look made her go on. “He's gone back to the hotel to make some phone calls."
"Yes. He'll want to talk to Salvatore in private.” Raul nodded. “It will be a difficult conversation. Did he say anything?"
Lexie shook her head. “No."
"Understandable.” Raul nodded approvingly. “They play their cards close."
Lexie turned and saw Sandra watching her. It wasn't going to be easy.
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Chapter 9
The drive back to the hotel seemed longer to Glenn, his mind jumping from thought to thought with none of its normal discipline.
The Japanese had identified several loopholes in the patent protection of the Bagnelli suspension and insisted on total confidentiality until they were plugged. The fantasy of a riding contract was their idea. He had no confidence the story would hide the truth and it was essential he protect Lexie from suspicion when it broke. He'd tried to limit the lie to not denying her guess at a racing contract, but knew he should have gone further. It wasn't just the Japanese, ruthless businessmen though they might be, he had his own reasons and was half ashamed of them. The level of interest betrayed by their investigations would survive his refusal to ride in the race, but he'd never know whether it was common sense or cowardice on his part if he didn't ride, plus there was a surprisingly powerful urge to prove to the world he was the equal of the best. He knew it was childish and hopelessly immature, but it was there.
Salvatore would be pleased at the deal, all his losses recouped and the factory operation insulated against failure by the royalties from the suspension system to bear his name—even if fitted to a Japanese bike.
The race tomorrow would be his last. A year working for the Japanese in developing the suspension, passing on all he'd learnt so far, would give him a nest egg to find a new career. He'd probably choose something that used his economics degree. He'd made valuable contacts over the years. He'd find something.
The odd behavior of Kieran Douglas’ friends might even mean something...
He turned into the hotel car park and stood for a time looking northward across Westernport Bay. George Bass had named it as the most westerly harbor on the known coast in 1798, not realizing Port Phillip Bay was just a little further on. Lexie had all the dates at her fingertips. He'd overheard her explaining it to Raul.
He smiled at how he was avoiding the issue.
Lexie was upset by his trickery to get around the rider's ban. When she knew the full story she'd be even less happy. Yet, once he'd realized he couldn't give Salvatore what he wanted, he'd had no choice but to protect Raul's factory by making the Bagnelli suspension system valuable. Improving the record three laps out of five on an empty track had no significance to twenty-seven laps on a crowded one. He'd proved the potential of the suspension, nothing more. He'd be lucky to finish within sight of the top three, but he must try, both to satisfy the Japanese and to quash his self-doubts.
He put aside the uncomfortable thought he'd be lucky to finish at all. One mistake would be enough.
He went inside the hotel and up to his room, making a cup of coffee before settling down with the phone. Salvatore would demand detailed explanations.
An hour later, he hung up and sat staring into space. Salvatore was declining faster now, his voice dying to a whisper until Maria took over and ended the call. Without the goal holding him to life, he'd not survive much longer. This was likely to be their last conversation. Glenn felt lost, unable to focus and, suddenly, very tired.
The queen-sized bed beckoned and he gave in, removing only his shoes before slipping under the light coverlet. There hadn't been much sleep last night...
The dream began normally, the faces in the pit familiar: Salvatore, Raul, Angela and the rest. Giovanni was a surprise, but he couldn't remember why Angela's husband shouldn't be there. They talked tactics for the race, taking the lessons of his five qualifying laps and applying them to the competition.
The Widow-Maker's superior acceleration would carry him clear if he made a good start and five perfect laps would open up a buffer. He could use it when he started to lap the rear riders, giving him space on the corners. It sounded simple.
Then he was on the starting grid, Lexie holding an umbrella to shade him from the afternoon sun. Her beauty caught at his throat and the touch of her hand on his shoulder felt like fire.
"Clear the grid!"
Lexie was gone and the amber light turned green, the flag fall a flicker in the corner of his eye.
The Widow-Maker responded perfectly, the gear changes flowing like silk as Turn One approached. A glance at the rear vision showed the others tucking in behind him, acknowledging his line. Another gear change and they were flying down the slope to the southern loop, the space behind him increasing. The first marker passed and he was braking, everything coordinated, hands, feet, and mind working in unison. The gap behind him narrowed dramatically, one front wheel creeping into his peripheral vision and then disappearing as the Widow-Maker accelerated out of the turn.
Giovanni had tak
en over the comms, his voice giving a running commentary on the field. “Push harder at the next turn. You need more space for Turn Four."
Glenn clicked the transmit button in answer and swept around the gentle left-hander of Turn Three, still under maximum acceleration. The gap behind him increased.
"That's it!” Giovanni was exultant. “Brake late and you've got them!"
The Widow-Maker was an extension of his mind, no longer just a machine, but a living part of him. He felt what it felt, responded as it responded. Turn Four was a triumph of that marriage, critically timed braking, razor sharp reactions and acceleration hovering on the edge of control. The other riders were gone, left far behind.
"That was great! You must feel like a god.” There was awe in Giovanni's voice.
His bond to the Widow-Maker strengthened and he felt the machine's exultation echo Giovanni's. It was fulfilling its purpose, urging him onwards. They would succeed together.
The swoop down to Siberia through Turn Five was perfection, the Widow-Maker in charge, dictating his actions by feel. He'd never ridden as well as this. Turn Six showed him how far the field was behind him, most of them in sight as he accelerated up the slope and passed the viewing mound. He surrendered to the moment, giving himself entirely to the machine.
His mind detached itself, moving outside the symbiosis of man and machine, watching them sweep though Turns Seven, Eight and Nine, passing the final viewing mound on their way down into Turn Ten. A frisson of fear disturbed it. The braking was late, the entry speed too high. This was dangerous.
He was back on the Widow-Maker, Giovanni's laughter in his headphones, Turn Ten upon him. The bike had turned leaden, unresponsive and he fought for control, wrenching it into an achievable line.
They were going to make it!
Then the throttle twisted in his hand and a surge of acceleration shattered the fragile balance, flipping the bike outwards, catapulting him high in the air, somersaulting, the ground rushing to meet him...
Glenn woke, stifling a scream of terror.
He lay there, muscles tensed, heart thudding as he fought to calm himself. It was his first nightmare since he gave up riding. He wasn't surprised. It was the price paid for controlling his fear on the track ... and he was often afraid.
He was afraid now. He should call the Japanese and renegotiate. His hand reached towards the phone and paused—if he didn't ride, he would always wonder. Was his love strong enough to bear that load?
* * * *
Lexie was finding it more difficult than she'd imagined. She kept turning, as if to say something to Glenn, expecting him to be there. She counted the hours since Woolamai Beach. There were less than a hundred. He'd insinuated himself so far into her life in four days. It was too incredible to be believed. She was no teenager, to be swept off her feet by the crush of the moment. The sex was great. Better than anything before, but she suspected it was secondary. He'd made her care!
Angela had warned her membership of the Glenn Smallwood Protection Society came at a price, but she hadn't mentioned how difficult it was to resign. Common sense said it was time to flee, even when every fiber of her being cried, “Stay!"
It was a war of attrition, every small concession leading to a larger one.
She'd surfed with him, because she admired his judgment and this had led to the picnic lunch, which had led in turn to dinner at the Bistro. Glenn had rescued her from the impossible situation created by Toby Gerrard, clearing the air in Pit Six, and this led to dinner at her home. The next morning had been the same, a rescue from her foolishness. Her family had taken charge at the party and she'd not argued. She'd accepted Salvatore's need to see the Widow-Maker ridden one last time and her mother had supported Glenn's opportunity to ride one last time in a race. Then the Japanese had turned it into a comeback...
It was too much to ask.
It wasn't just the races. There were practices, trials of new suspension settings, every one a risk. She'd come close to being physically sick during the five-lap practice. A continual stress their love would never survive. There would be dozens of silly arguments, hundreds of bitter remarks without direct context, nothing directly connected to the real cause, but it would destroy them just as surely. She'd seen it happen to another agency girl in London, who'd become involved with a client's racing driver, and had sworn it would never be that way with her.
She must make the break now!
Her family assumed Glenn's move into her bedroom was permanent. They'd expect him at dinner tonight and he'd not said he wouldn't. Afterwards, they'd go for a walk and then he could slip away, leaving her to make any explanations she chose in the morning. She had no doubt he would cooperate. He might argue his case, but he would understand hers. It was intrinsic to his character.
It was the worse part of falling in love with a man of character. Someone inherently admirable who'd make their situation impossible for the best possible reasons. Loyalty to Salvatore Bagnelli drove him now and he'd give the Japanese a hundred and ten percent because he could do no less. Her thoughts circled the problem, returning again and again to its incontrovertible essence. She couldn't stay with him!
"We're heading home.” It was Sandra. “Can you come?"
Lexie shook her head. “I'll follow later. The yard 4WD is still in the car park."
"Good, Kieran was going to get the keys from you and drive it home."
Lexie was close to tears. Sandra's tone told her they'd guessed something was amiss, but were waiting for her to reveal it, Kieran willing to take a back seat to his wife, depending on her advice. If falling in love with Glenn had done nothing else, it had opened her eyes to her family, making her see them differently.
"I'll need it for a while longer,” she said. “Thank Dad for me.” Kieran was on the far side of the tent and Raul Bagnelli was heading toward Pit Six. “I've got to go."
"We'll see you later."
Lexie nodded and followed Raul.
"Our brave-hearted friend has spoken to my father,” Raul greeted her. “Sent him to sleep with a smile on his face. Maria has gone home for the first time in three days."
"It must be very hard for you.” Lexie welcomed the distraction. “Being so far away."
"We said our goodbyes before I left and Glenn may have bought me time to make it home. If not, I am fulfilling my father's wishes."
Lexie tried to put herself in Raul's shoes, but found it impossible. Raul's grief was selfless, something she couldn't emulate. It made her feel worse about deserting Glenn. He would ride better, be safer, with her to care for him, but the price was beyond her.
She'd never felt this low before.
"Don't be sad, Lexie. My father regrets nothing. Probably welcomes the chance to join my mother. They were inseparable though his years of racing. It's been hard for him without her."
It was the final straw. Tears leaked from Lexie's eyes. Raul noticed and called Angela, who took over. “Come,” she said. “There's a private space at the back. We'll slip in there until you've recovered. This game is harder on the ones who can only watch.” Taking Lexie's hand, she led the way to the rear of the pit and sat her on a convenient wooden case.
"Take your time. Everything's ready for tomorrow. The others are knocking off and we'll soon be alone.” She took Lexie's hands and squatted in front of her. “It's a pity this is the last time. We've built a top class pit crew this last year."
It caught Lexie's attention. “The last time?"
"Glenn said the team would wind up after tomorrow. He'll be gone and Raul has no interest in racing. In a fortnight, we'll all be out of a job."
"What will you do?” Lexie's tears had ceased.
"Go back to the UK and pick up the pieces of my life. It would be different if we'd had children, but there was no time.” Angela shrugged. “I can't follow the bikes all my life and Giovanni was a one-off. In ten years time, I'll probably be working in a bank and this will seem like a dream."
Guilt made Lexie squirm
. Angela, Raul, the other riders and the pit crew had treated her sympathetically, but she'd thought of no one but herself. “What about the others?"
"They'll go home too. Some will be picked up by other teams and Raul's offered jobs to the rest."
"What are you doing tonight?” Lexie was thinking of inviting Angela home.
"Baby-sitting my crew. Keeping them focused on tomorrow. After it's over, I'll get drunk with them.” Angela had read her mind.
Lexie bit her lip. Her ego was being bruised from every direction. “Thank you,” she said, thinking to acknowledge Angela's kindness and escape. She made to rise from the packing case.
"Don't go yet.” Angela squeezed her hands. “I really do understand. You feel like you've stepped through the looking glass.” She shifted so she sat alongside Lexie. “Raul calls Glenn brave-hearted, and it's true. He challenges us to walk with him, not understanding he's different. Giovanni died and the others closed around me in protection. Glenn didn't. He expressed his sympathy and then gave me a job to do. When I finished it, he gave me another and, before I realized it, I was taking over as pit boss. He cut me no slack and there were times when I hated him, but he carried me through the worst of my grief and made me understand I couldn't blame others for Giovanni's death. I will always miss my husband, but I will never regret meeting him.” She gave Lexie a hug. “If you decide to walk away, Glenn will understand. He'd never blame you."
Lexie managed a smile. “Are you trying to make me feel better?"
"I suspect that's impossible. You know what you're walking away from, just as I know why you must. I stayed with Giovanni, but I had many bad moments.” Angela gave her shoulders another squeeze. “Repair your make-up while I check the area and you can drive me back to Cowes. I can hear the others leaving."
A rattle of Italian marked her return to the pit, followed by a chorus of “Ciaos” as the others left, and then Angela returned. “You ready?"
Lexie nodded and they left.
* * * *
