‘Think of your challenge, yes? You said you wanted this tick in your book. It will be a big one. And it will be over in ten minutes.’
She gave a strangled laugh, although she could just as easily have cried. ‘Is that what you say to all the girls?’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’re right.’ Think of the challenge. Be brave, Lib. Be brave. But her stomach was churning like a washing-machine, and her legs felt weak and shaky.
He looked at his watch. ‘Do you want to have breakfast, or shall we go now?’
‘Let’s go now,’ she said. She couldn’t face eating, and she might as well get this ordeal over and done with. It was just ten minutes of her life, she repeated silently to herself.
He waited while she went upstairs and put the leathers on, then packed a bag with a change of clothes for work. Outside, he helped her with her headset and helmet, then put on his own.
‘Can you hear me?’ he asked. His voice sounded surprisingly clear over the mic. There was something very intimate about it. She realised he could hear her just as well, too.
‘Yeah.’ The helmet felt huge and heavy, and her limbs liquid. What if she didn’t hold on tight enough? What if she fell off? What if she leaned the wrong way and made him lose balance?
He climbed smoothly onto the bike and patted the seat behind him.
‘Promise you won’t lean the bike too much?’ she said, breathless with nerves. ‘Promise you’ll keep it vertical. I’ve seen pictures of people racing with their knee almost touching the ground as they go through a bend.’
His laughter came through deep and throaty on the headset. ‘We only do that on the racetrack. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. Now remember what I said about following what I do, and try to relax.’
She nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. Could he hear the thumping of her heart?
‘Put your foot here, hold on to me, and jump on.’
Feeling pale, she climbed on behind him. The bike was enormous. The slope of the seat meant she was higher than him, and her feet didn’t even come close to touching the ground. She placed them on the footrests. Her legs were bent, her knees next to his hips, and she wondered if you could fall off a bike before it had even started moving.
‘Hold on to me,’ he told her. ‘That’s it.’
She gripped his chest and was surprised by how solid he felt. A ripple of heat flashed through her. She looked back at the cottage. Tonight when she was sitting in front of the fire, quilting, she’d be able to laugh about this and make jokes about what a bag of nerves she’d been.
He snapped his visor down and gunned the engine. ‘Ready to go?’ he asked.
No. She wanted to run back inside the cottage and hide under the stairs. ‘Yes,’ she said tightly.
‘Alors on y va.’
Liberty squeezed her eyes shut, but they flew open again when the bike sprang forwards. It felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. She gripped Alex’s chest hard, and her legs clenched the seat as he steered them carefully along the forest lane to the main road. The familiar route felt very different today. Even through the helmet and protective clothing she could feel the wind sliding past and smell the peaty fresh forest air. The trees seemed to lean in and watch curiously as the bike went by.
When they reached the main road, it was busy with rush-hour traffic. To reach Willowbrook village they had to cross the main road, but once they’d done that it would be a quiet route into the village.
‘I don’t fancy trying to speed across this road,’ Alex told her, ‘so I’m going to turn left and drive to the next roundabout, then come back.’
‘Good idea.’ She didn’t tell him that she always did the same in her car too.
She watched as he waited for a lengthy gap in the traffic before turning onto the road. The acceleration caught her by surprise again, but he kept his speed steady all the way, and manoeuvred carefully around the roundabout, glancing left and right the whole time, presumably keeping tabs on the traffic. She didn’t loosen her grip on his chest.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, as they headed back towards the Willowbrook turning.
‘Okay,’ she said, and realised a wide grin had crept across her face. White-knuckle fear had been replaced with a soaring sensation, and her blood was fizzing through her veins. ‘It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I quite like it, actually.’ She sounded as shocked as she felt by this revelation. Who’d have thought?
She heard the smile in his voice as he asked, ‘Want to go faster?’
‘A tiny bit.’ She clung to him.
His right hand twisted a little and the bike increased in speed. She yelped and laughed as they sped along the main road. ‘Oh my God oh my God oh my God! That’s so faaaast!’
‘Too fast?’ He eased off the throttle.
‘No!’ She heard the amazement in her voice. ‘I like it. It – it’s exciting!’
He chuckled, speeded up again, and her heart somersaulted. Then, in no time at all, they reached the sign for Willowbrook and he slowed down, indicated left, and turned off. The lane zigzagged as it followed the stream. They crested the stone bridge and the village centre came into view. Her heart was still banging and she couldn’t stop grinning. He slowed right down as they travelled past the low cottages, and Liberty was glad because it would be dangerous and disruptive to roar through the quiet village on a big bike. When he saw a couple waiting to cross the road, Alex stopped to let them cross. Liberty hoped she wouldn’t be recognised with her helmet on. Though when they waved and smiled, she suspected she’d been rumbled.
Finally, they came to a halt outside the Button Hole.
‘How was that?’ asked Alex.
‘Great.’ She was beaming as she clambered off the bike. ‘Much better than I expected.’ She didn’t need to look at her reflection in the shop window to know her cheeks would be the colour of holly berries.
‘I thought so. You almost deafened me.’ He lifted his visor, and his dark eyes creased as he smiled.
‘Did I? Sorry.’ She giggled. She unclipped her helmet and lifted it off. ‘Tell me truthfully, is that the speed you normally travel at?’
He shook his head, laughing. ‘I went at a snail’s pace for you.’
Her shoulders sank with disappointment because it had felt fast. But she appreciated that he’d listened to her.
‘Maybe we can go for another spin some time.’ He winked.
She giggled again and stepped back onto the pavement. ‘We’ll see. But thanks for the ride.’
He nodded. ‘See you later. And if you change your mind about riding home, call me.’
Liberty watched as he rode off, threading his way gently through the narrow streets towards the main road. What a start to her day. Adrenalin was rushing through her and she had a feeling it would take a while before it returned to normal. She pushed open the door to the bakery.
‘Liberty!’ said Marjorie, the owner. ‘What are you doing here so early?’
‘I missed breakfast. Can I have a bacon sandwich and a coffee, please?’
‘Course you can. Love the leather. Is it a new look?’
She laughed. ‘No. It’s definitely a one-off.’
Or was it? She’d really enjoyed it. And that was exactly why she had to try new things. Why she had to be braver.
In the back room of the Button Hole, she changed out of the leathers and folded them neatly. She’d seen a whole new side to Alex today, a side she hadn’t expected: the way he’d reassured her and driven slowly for her, he’d been considerate and understanding. Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge him when he’d first arrived. She realised she knew nothing about him, apart from the odd little snippet Natasha had told her. The shop was empty and Evie wasn’t due in until lunchtime so she used the opportunity to do a quick internet search of his name.
The results appeared and she did a double-take. He was a world champion. He’d won countless prizes, and there were photos of him on podiums all over the
world holding up big trophies. ‘Well I never,’ she muttered, under her breath.
There were similar black-and-white photos of his dad. In some he was racing, but there were many of him taken at red-carpet events with women clinging to his arm.
And there were pictures of Alex’s most recent accident. Video clips, too. Liberty hesitated, then clicked on one. As the footage played, she saw his bike lean into a corner. Then he lost control and it spun across the track. She held her breath. He was an orange blur catapulting through the air, then bouncing roughly over the gravel until he came to a stop. Her heart was in her mouth as he lay still while race staff rushed to him. Then the clip ended. She clicked the tab shut.
No wonder his injury was keeping him awake at night. It looked really bad. How could he still want to race after surviving something so horrific?
‘So how are you finding it here?’ asked Luc.
Alex’s gaze slid from his friend to the garden of Poppy Cottage. Little Lottie and her friend Annabel were outside playing some kind of game that involved ducking in and out of the playhouse. Luc had brought coffee and pastries into the orangery so they could keep an eye on the children while they enjoyed a late breakfast and a catch-up. ‘Honestly?’
‘How long have we known each other, Alex? Of course you can be honest with me.’
‘It’s too quiet.’
‘Too quiet? I thought you’d enjoy having a break from it all.’ He pushed the plate of pastries towards Alex, who took a cinnamon swirl.
‘You don’t find it quiet, too?’
‘Not at all. I love coming home to Willowbrook. It’s a haven. It’s …’ he gazed fondly at his daughter in the garden ‘… home.’
‘Because your family is here. You’d say that wherever Natasha and Lottie were.’
‘True. But Willowbrook is special. There’s something about this place …’
Alex frowned. He couldn’t see it at all. What was special about a tiny village, in the middle of the English countryside, that hadn’t changed for the last two hundred years? They still had cobbled roads, for Heaven’s sake. He ripped off a chunk of pastry and savoured the buttery cinnamon sweetness.
‘You’ll understand,’ Luc went on, ‘when you settle down and have a family of your own.’
Alex tensed. He loved kids, but he’d never be a father. A good father should be stable, committed, reliable. He was none of those things. He thought of his own father. Some people should never bring children into the world. He’d rather grow old alone than repeat his father’s mistakes.
‘Anyway,’ said Luc, ‘how’s your search going? Have you found anything yet?’
‘Nothing whatsoever.’ He counted off on his fingers all the places he’d tried. ‘The town hall, the records office, and most of the parish registers in the area. I don’t know where else to look. I’m losing hope, to be honest.’
‘Have you spoken to people in the village?’
Alex drew his coffee cup towards him and felt the familiar dark thoughts enfold him. He’d never been the type to open up easily, and now he had even more reason to shy away from attention. If word got out that he was here and not on the circuit, questions would be asked. ‘It’s a delicate matter. I don’t want to broadcast to the world what my father did. Plus I don’t know anyone here. Who would I ask?’
‘There’s Old Dorothy. She’s lived in Willowbrook a long time. And I presume you’ve spoken to Liberty already?’
‘Not in detail.’ Alex ducked his gaze away, but he saw his friend’s eyebrows lift.
‘Why not?’
Alex picked up his spoon and tapped it against his finger. ‘We got off on the wrong foot,’ he said carefully. He wasn’t sure how to explain that the pain, insomnia and his recent news had been eating away at him, or that he seemed to have done everything possible to anger her. ‘But things are better now.’
He thought of her breathless excitement when he’d driven her to work that morning. When she’d taken off her helmet she’d glowed with delight. And he’d been surprised by the twist of joy he’d felt, sharing her excitement, and by the rush of awareness, too.
‘What happened?’ Luc pressed.
‘She had a problem with my bike.’ He hesitated. ‘And she didn’t like it when I told her I don’t want to be involved in her life. She wanted to cook for me and spend evenings together. She kept asking lots of questions. She was …’ he tried to find a more tactful word for ‘interfering’ ‘… trying too hard.’
A short silence passed. Finally, his friend said, ‘You’re complaining about that?’
‘I need my own space. And the injury’s been giving me a lot of trouble. But I took her out on the bike this morning. She seemed to enjoy that, something about a challenge she’s doing.’
Luc didn’t look impressed. ‘But you’ve told her about your search, right?’
Alex shook his head.
Silence. Luc studied him briefly, then said, ‘You know, you don’t have to be on guard here, Alex. You can relax, you’re among friends. Liberty’s never had a stranger lodge with her before. Natasha said she was nervous about it and she only came round to the idea because she needs the money. She might have tried too hard, but I’m sure her intentions were good.’
Alex felt the bite of guilt. He was so used to holding people at arm’s length when they tried to get close to him: everyone he’d met for the last twenty years had seemed to have selfish motivations. There was only a handful of people in his life he could trust – like Luc. And his family. People he could be sure were not out to profit from him. Other than those exceptions, he’d long since decided he functioned better alone. ‘You’re probably right,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not normally this snappy. It’s just …’ He rubbed his shoulder absently.
‘Maybe you should make an appointment with the doctor.’
Alex laughed. ‘Liberty said the same thing.’
‘Jake’s a friend of mine. He’ll be able to help with the pain. And anything else you want to speak to him about.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked sharply.
Luc met his gaze steadily. ‘I’ve known you a long time, Alex. Long enough to know something’s eating at you. You might not be ready to speak to me about it, but maybe it would be good to get it off your chest, whatever it is.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking—’
‘It’s okay, Alex,’ Luc cut in gently. ‘I’m not prying. And nor will Jake. He’s a professional. Anything you tell him will be strictly confidential.’
Alex opened his mouth to speak, then sighed. ‘Luc, I’m sorry,’ he said finally. He wasn’t ready to talk. It was still too raw, too new.
His friend smiled. ‘When you’re ready, you’ll share. But go and see the doctor about that shoulder, because the pain’s making you short-tempered.’
Alex gave a dry laugh.
‘And talk to Liberty about your search. Perhaps she can help you. If she can’t, she’ll know who you should speak to. She grew up here so she knows everyone.’
A short while later, Alex left Luc’s and put his helmet on. He climbed onto the bike, then stopped. Ahead was the village, and behind him the main road. At this time it would be quiet, and the thought of the empty tarmac stretching away from him was simply too tempting. He turned left and gunned the engine.
Ten minutes later, he arrived back where he’d started, his face flushed, blood pumping pleasure through every vein. Yet it wasn’t a substitute for the high speeds and adrenalin rush of racing. How was he supposed to live without that?
He forced aside the wintry thoughts and concentrated on the directions Luc had given him for Old Dorothy’s cottage. It wasn’t difficult. Five minutes later, he knocked on her door, helmet in hand. He waited.
He’d almost given up waiting when she finally opened it. Alex tried to hide his surprise. Luc had called her Old Dorothy, but he hadn’t been prepared for quite how elderly and frail she was.
‘Hello, dear. You must be the French racer. Luc called t
o say you might drop in. Step inside. I’ve just made a pot of tea.’
He wiped his boots carefully.
‘I do like a man in leather,’ she murmured.
At least, that was what he thought she said. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing, dear.’ She set off at a shuffle towards the tiny kitchen. ‘Make yourself at home,’ she called, over her shoulder, and waved in the vague direction of the lounge.
Instead he followed her and waited while she made the tea. ‘Here, let me carry that tray.’
‘Good manners, too.’ She smiled as if she wanted to eat him. ‘Put it on the coffee-table, there. Yes, that’s right. Now, do you take milk and sugar?’
Alex hated tea and drank only coffee. But seeing how long it took her to shuffle across the room, he bit his lip. ‘Black is fine, thanks.’
‘So you’re trying to track someone down?’ said Dorothy, once they were both comfortable with a china cup in hand.
Alex reached into his inside pocket and drew out the envelopes, yellowed with age. ‘I found these letters when I was sorting through my father’s things. He died earlier this year.’
She nodded for him to go on.
He opened the first and handed it to her. ‘They’re dated thirty years ago and addressed to him. But there’s no return address, no name. Only the postmark tells me they were sent from round here.’
Dorothy took the letter and put her glasses on. They were attached to a beaded chain around her neck that chinked as she moved her head and read the handwritten note. Alex knew the letters word for word. The black ink of a fountain pen, the loopy neat handwriting, which suggested the writer had been young, possibly not much more than a schoolgirl.
Dear Gérard,
This will come as a shock – I’m still shocked myself – but I am pregnant.
Please write soon. I’m scared.
Mx
‘Well I never,’ murmured Dorothy. Her blue eyes sparkled.
‘There are more.’ Alex handed her the remaining two.
Dear Gérard,
I don’t know if you received my last letter. I am pregnant with your baby. I should have explained that it can only be yours – I promise.
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