The Widowmaker

by Amy Gallow

  "The best riders understand their bikes, know the limitations of tires, suspension geometry and gear trains. Glenn succeeded yesterday because he's gone beyond that. Salvatore paid for the basic design work, but Glenn has adapted it intuitively. His paperwork fascinated me because it showed his mind processes. He's a bit behind with some of the patent protection because he's made a couple of leaps forward in the last month. He'll need to catch up if he wants it protected."

  Lexie processed that and came up with a surprising conclusion. “Are you suggesting the Japanese want the suspension design rather than the rider?"

  "If they had to sacrifice one, I know which they'd choose. So does Glenn.” There was compassion in the older man's eyes. “Phyllis sends her love."

  "Thank her.” Lexie's reply was distracted, her mind leap-frogging forward, connections falling into place to create understanding. She knew what Glenn was doing ... and it appalled her. George Barton must have seen the realization in her eyes, for he made no move to delay her when she turned blindly away. She was grateful. She needed to be alone!

  The trill of her cell phone nagged for attention, breaking into her vacancy. It took a moment for the overseas number to register and longer for her to respond.

  "This is Salvatore,” the voice said and Lexie's heart stilled. The febricity of death's approach identified the speaker as much as the name.

  "Yes,” she said ... and listened as he spoke.

  The tears came afterwards.

  He'd blessed her, confirmed her worst fears by agreeing with her analysis of the situation and sought absolution for his weakness thrusting Glenn into mortal danger. Lexie had been kind, his condition allowed no other course, made promises circumstance might make impossible to keep, and cheered a dying man by laughing at his attempted humor.

  Now she sat, cell phone neglected in her hand, as her fear took charge. Her man was riding for Glenn Smallwood, no one else, and he could do no less. There was no escape.

  * * * *

  The parade seemed forever to Glenn, the chatter of his television host companion frivolous and shallow until she began probing his relationship with the Japanese. This was being broadcast live so he focused, parrying dangerous questions, side-tracking her with red herrings whenever she strayed too close to the truth. It was fortunate she was diverted by his nationality rather than the circumstances accompanying his sudden rise to prominence, for her researchers were good, her running sheet filled with details of his past.

  He responded to the cheers as each viewing stand passed, buying time from the interview, probably allowing the insertion of adverts in the studio, if the stopwatch on her clipboard was a guide.

  "Will you win?” Her question surprised him.

  "I'll try, but so will every other rider."

  She thrust his truth aside. “You've got the best bike and have the lap record. Surely this translates into winning."

  "I broke lap records on an empty track in perfect conditions, a race is different."

  This brought them to another ad break and she dropped the microphone. “Don't be too modest,” she advised. “Talk up your advantages. You've been allocated prime time. Use it."

  The microphone coming up signaled they were back to live feed.

  "If I win,” Glenn cut in before she could speak, “the credit will go to Salvatore Bagnelli. He commissioned the design and paid for the development work. I'm merely taking advantage of it."

  The change didn't please her, he could see it in her eyes, but she rode it. “I believe he's in the hospital. Are you dedicating the race to him?"

  "Yes."

  She went into a long monologue, encapsulating Salvatore's racing career, the recent death of his wife and the seriousness of his illness, taking them to the end of the parade and another ad break.

  Glenn escaped gratefully as soon as the car stopped in the pit lane, claiming a fictitious prior engagement and heading for Pit Six.

  "Have you seen Lexie?"

  Angela looked up from her clipboard. “No. She was changing into her grid uniform. I gave her a Bagnelli shirt and cap to wear."

  "Okay. You're probably right. If she returns, tell her I've gone to the pre-race function."

  "She's probably waiting for you there.” Angela refused to be distracted from her pre-race checks. “Tell her the truth. She deserves it."

  "It would make her feel worse."

  "Probably, but she still deserves it."

  Lexie wasn't in the main hospitality tent and Glenn endured the socializing, eyes continually straying to the entrance, searching for her. He lied to Toby Gerrard when the man appeared at his elbow, saying she was running an errand and kept the promotions manager at bay when he returned by talking to invited guests until he went away again.

  He was glad when it was over and he could escape, heading immediately for the pit top hospitality tent where his parents waited with the Douglas family.

  She wasn't there either ... and Glenn began to worry.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 12

  "George, have you seen Lexie?” Glenn caught the Chief Scrutineer's arm as he passed.

  "Not since the parade. I spoke to her in the pit lane at the start.” The older man's face reflected his concern. “Something I said upset her and she took off towards the amenities block opposite the tunnel."

  "What did you say?"

  George looked uncomfortable. “I suggested the Japanese might be more interested in the suspension than in you as a rider."

  Glenn swore, not at George, but at himself. He'd left it too long and Lexie had found out things he should have told her himself. George looked startled, so he apologized. “Sorry. I should have told her earlier, but they insisted. If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her."

  He turned back to Pit Six. He needed Angela to check the amenities block. She could go into the change rooms.

  "Angela, are you busy?"

  The blonde head came up, finger still on the checklist to make sure she didn't lose her place, and then she saw Glenn's expression. “No,” she said. “What do you want done?"

  "Check the amenities block. Lexie's gone missing."

  Angela's lips thinned and he was thankful for her silence. He didn't want to hear “I told you so” at this point.

  "Where have you looked?” she asked. “Carlo can help. He's getting under my feet."

  Glenn listed the possibilities he explored and she nodded.

  "Go up to the hospitality tent. Raul's there with the others. I'll check the amenities block. Have you rung her cell phone?"

  Glenn nodded. “There's no answer. It's switched on, but she's not answering."

  "Could be in a dead area. There's a couple on the track, more now with all the television gear on line. Carlo can check them.” Angela was all business. “Join the others. I'll be there shortly.” She put aside the clipboard and rose to her feet. “Don't worry. We'll find her."

  Glenn knew how much he was asking by interrupting Angela at this point of her race preparation but it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered beyond Lexie. He'd been slow arriving at this realization, but the strength of it brooked no denial. “Thanks."

  "I'm glad you're being sensible at last. The others will be too.” She left the pit area.

  Glenn turned away and climbed the stairs to the hospitality tent. It was crowded. He found Raul and the others at the far side, clustered around the table they used the previous day. His mother saw him first and beckoned, but reaching them took time and he said, “Excuse me,” so many times he sounded like a broken record. The other guests seemed deafened by the noise.

  "Where's Lexie?” Judy looked beyond him, searching.

  "I'm looking for her.” His admission drew everyone's attention.

  "Have you tried her cell phone?” Raul asked. “My father spoke to her."

  "What did she say?"

  "He said she was more gracious than he deserved."

  "He told her everything?"

 
Raul nodded.

  Explanations all around satisfied the others, secrecy now pointless.

  "Do we assume she doesn't want to be found?” his father asked. “It complicates things."

  "I need to talk to her."

  "Then we'd better find her,” Kieran said. “Tommy, find your brothers. Tell them to check the public areas. Rope in anyone we know. We'll check inside the track.” He turned to Glenn. “How about an appeal over the PA? Jack could arrange it."

  Glenn nodded. “Ask her to ring Pit Six. She has the number."

  Angela appeared at the tent entrance and shook her head.

  "Sandra and I will stay here. Lexie knows we're at this table.” Judy was being practical.

  "I need to get ready for the race.” Glenn kept his voice steady. “She'll know to find me in Pit Six if she comes looking."

  * * * *

  Lexie found refuge in the station wagon, hunched down in the front seat, hidden from the world. Too much had happened too quickly. Her mind had called time out. She must stay hidden until it was ready to re-engage.

  One final race had sounded great until she'd realized Glenn could allow no safety margin if he was to prove himself. He would let nothing stand in his way. Not his injuries, his fear ... or his love.

  He was Glenn and could do no less!

  She should be at his side, but was too afraid. Not only of what might happen on the racetrack, but of weakening his resolve by begging he turn aside from what he believed he must do. To survive, he must concentrate for every second of the race. She must stay away, or her weakness would put him in greater danger.

  Her grid uniform lay beside her on the passenger seat. Covered by a clear plastic dust jacket, its bright colors mocked her.

  The preliminary races, finals of the lesser powered bikes, were in progress, the high pitched snarls of their engines circling the track around her as she tried to close her ears, aware they marked the passing time, precious minutes of Glenn's life ticking away. She was ashamed of her cowardice, too afraid to move lest her reputation as a jinx become reality.

  Her cell phone trilled again. The fifth call in as many minutes. They were looking for her again. She'd heard the PA appeal for her to ring Pit Six.

  She picked it up.

  * * * *

  Glenn felt terribly alone, sitting in full racing gear except his helmet, isolated from the bustle around him as the pit crew ran the final checks of both bikes. This was the time when he should be emptying his mind of everything but the race, but he couldn't. His eyes kept drifting to the doorway, hoping against reason that Lexie would appear.

  The familiar bulk of his father filling the space caught him by surprise.

  "How goes it, Mate?” He'd always been “Mate” to his father, an acknowledgement of equality both earned and deserved.

  "The clock's ticking too fast."

  Lionel smiled. “Doesn't it always."

  "A bit faster than usual today."

  His father went still, an odd knack of his, the ability to stop and reconsider when others would rush on.

  "You don't think she'll come?” Those grey eyes bored into Glenn's.

  He shook his head.

  "You laid too much on her.” It wasn't an accusation, more a judgment. “I've been listening around.” The familiar phrase made Glenn smile against his will. “She led, not only because she was pretty, but because she was the gamest, the maddest, of them all. The others tried to keep up with her and the inevitable happened. They got hurt. A couple even died.” Lionel had moved closer, making this moment between father and son so obviously private no one but a fool would interrupt. “Another died in Europe, the first time she worked a Formula One meeting. I don't know whether she took on the guilt, or someone laid it on her, I suspect the latter, but she's afraid you'll die because she's with you."

  Glenn was silent, not in disagreement, but because a hundred small things were falling into place. He'd been too wrapped up in his own plans to understand ... he'd failed her.

  "Now that's said and you know what to do. Put it behind you.” Lionel had taken him by the shoulders, forcing Glenn to face him. “Wipe your mind of everything but this race. Go out and prove to yourself what we already know. Then come back and make her understand. You can do both."

  Glenn felt himself nod. His father was right.

  They shook hands just as Angela approached. “It's time,” she said.

  He could see in her face there was no word from Lexie. “This isn't a funeral,” he reminded her.

  Her struggle to become cheerful made him smile. “It's all right, Angie.” She hated the shortening of her name. “I understand. I'll be as careful as I can."

  "Damn you! I don't have enough friends to afford losing one.” Her arms went round his shoulders and she held him close. “Do what you have to do, but make sure you come back on the bike, not on a stretcher.” She stepped back. “Your steed is ready, Sir Knight.” Her smile was fractured. “The dragon awaits."

  He mounted the Widow-Maker, put on his helmet, tested the comms and was ready when the horn sounded for the opening of the pit lane for a final sighting lap before the race began. The engine started first time, the machine quivering with eagerness between his thighs, and a final thumbs-up from Angela sent him on his way. The green light at the pit lane exit confirmed the green flag in the Pit marshal's hands. The board still read “5 Minutes” so he had plenty of time for an easy lap. The others would meet him at the starting grid.

  The bike had never felt better, every adjustment perfect, gear changes flowing like silk as he matched revs to speed. He wasn't pushing it, mentally checking the track against his lap plan, feeling the strength of the cross breeze along Bass Strait, noting tire marks that might interfere with his lines. He was ready!

  Honda Corner came and went, then the dip down into Siberia and the long swift sweep up to Lukey Heights. Down through the gears and Turn Ten was behind him too. The final sweep into Gardiner Straight revealed the crowd either side of the starting grid. It would be chaos soon and he slowed to enjoy the final seconds of privacy.

  Angela stood trackside opposite his starting position, right hand side of the front row and he braked to stop precisely on his mark. The mechanic rocked the bike up onto the portable stand and then stood clear. Glenn waited until the comms were disconnected and removed his helmet.

  "The bike's great. Never felt better.” Angela needed reassurance.

  A shadow fell across him as someone stepped close and held an umbrella to shade him. Glenn turned automatically and she was there!

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 13

  It was a tableau. One of those dioramas you see in museums with life-like figures posed to capture a moment in time, every face turned towards her in shock. “Sorry I'm a bit late.” Lexie's voice sounded odd, even to her. “I had to take a bit of a detour getting here.” She concentrated on Glenn's face, willing him to understand.

  "You're here. That's the main thing."

  The distance between them disappeared and she was in his arms, her lips on his, the world banished. Glenn held her, his arms, his lips her only reality. She'd been a fool to believe there was any other way.

  The others created a private space around them, moving purposely to complete the race preparations, checking obsessively ... and then checking again. As if preparation alone was the only thing that mattered. All too soon they would be sidelined, watching helplessly from the sidelines as the drama played itself out on the track. They understood how vital Lexie's presence was to Glenn and were grateful. It was the first thing Lexie felt when she came back to the world.

  "I tried so hard to stay away.” She owed him the truth. “I was afraid I'd beg you to stop and fail you when you needed me most."

  The familiar touch of his finger on her lips stilled her words and a slight shake of his head reinforced it, telling her these were things for another time.

  She nodded. He was right.

  "The team shirt su
its you.” Glenn's words made no sense. Her mind was too far away. “Green's the color Salvatore raced in."

  Lexie looked down at the brilliant green silk, with its sponsor's logos and the gold Bagnelli name across the front. “He told me. Sang your praises and explained everything. Said you'd earned his loyalty more than he'd ever deserved yours.” She watched his face.

  He was smiling; a fond remembrance of a friend. “Sounds like him.” He looked into her eyes. “Am I forgiven?"

  "Only if it's mutual."

  They kissed.

  "One last thing to do."

  Lexie knew what Glenn meant, but his choice of words sent a chill wave of fear down her spine. She fought down a shudder. He didn't need her fears distracting him. “Then, let's get it done.” She tried to smile naturally, afraid it would come out as a grimace.

  "You're right."

  The starting grid was chaotic with people, and nowhere more so than the first few rows, where the major team riders grouped, every bike surrounded by a dozen attendants. Raised umbrellas marked the riders and Lexie was about to follow suit when the touch of Glenn's hand stayed her movement.

  "Wait until I'm on the bike,” he said. “Your arm will get tired enough then.” He'd moved them onto the verge of the track, clear of Angela and the others.

  She sensed him consciously drawing strength. From her, from his surrounding and from the deep wellsprings of his soul, he was accumulating courage for the moment the race began. Earlier, she'd viewed the process from outside; now she was part of a moment crazy enough to be just a little glorious!

  Her terror was still there, scrabbling at the walls she'd built to keep it out, but she accepted it as the price of loving Glenn. He couldn't step away now and she couldn't abandon him.

  The three Japanese walked across from their team rider, ostentatiously to shake Glenn's hand before the race, and she glared at them. It was their paranoia over patents that led him into this situation and their formal politeness fed her fury.

  Glenn's hand fell on her arm, turning her to him, and he shook his head. “Bastards,” she muttered, and turned away until they bowed one last time and left.