by Amy Gallow
"Lexie?” The Chief Scrutineer turned to face her. “Lexie Douglas?"
She nodded, suddenly plagued by an elusive sense of familiarity.
"You knew my boy,” he said. “Visited him every day in the hospital and came to the funeral"
"Mr. Barton?"
He nodded. “We moved from the Island. Phyllis couldn't stay. I've been working for CAMS ever since.” The Confederation of Australian Motor Sports was the governing body for all racing in Australia. As the Chief Scrutineer, this man's word was law on technical matters.
"Is Mrs. Barton with you?"
He shook his head. “She'll be pleased to hear I caught up with you. Your kindness meant a lot to her."
"Give her my best wishes. Stewart was a lovely boy."
He nodded and turned back to Glenn. “We'll get on with it."
Lexie took Raul by the elbow. “We're in the way here. We'll sneak up to the hospitality tent."
He went reluctantly, but she was insistent and a quick nod from Glenn rewarded her.
The Barton family had lived in Rhyll, close to the bridge, Stewart a quiet boy she barely noticed in school. It was only when he moved into the same Terraces accommodation block at the Bendigo campus of LaTrobe University that they became friends. She knew he was half in love with her, but hadn't been interested at first. He was too nice, a good friend, but no lover.
This had changed when they come home together for the end of term break and stayed overnight in Melbourne. She still wasn't sure why she'd succumbed, but Stewart had been so happy, she'd believed she cared for him. They'd been discussing announcing their engagement at a party when he'd reacted to Harry Doherty's sneers and agreed to a private race on the track, riding his Dad's bike. He'd led all the way, but had gone too hard into Turn Ten and paid the penalty, lingering for days in the Prince Alfred ward, slipping in and out of consciousness. He seemed pleased to have her there when he was conscious, so she'd kept coming until he died and her regular visits had confirmed his parents’ belief she was in love with him.
"You know the Chief Scrutineer?” Raul had gone automatically to the table they'd used yesterday. The tent was unoccupied.
Lexie explained the background story without going into the complications of her personal relationship with Stewart.
"Very sad.” Raul's mind was still in Pit Six. “Is he a fair man?"
"Mr. Barton? I hardly know him. The funeral was almost ten years ago."
"He remembered you."
"True, but I didn't recognize him until he reminded me."
"I think your visits meant a great deal to him and his wife."
Lexie shrugged. She'd been trying to picture Stewart's face and was ashamed she couldn't.
"Our Team riders are out.” Raul was looking past her to the track. “Glenn wanted them out of the way. It will keep Angela occupied as well."
"How's your father?” Lexie didn't feel qualified to call him Salvatore.
"Hanging on grimly and asking for updates every ten minutes.” Raul shook his head. “It's beginning to feel as if he's been dying forever.” He crossed himself. “Not that I wish him gone, but he does milk the situation."
"Hardly surprising.” Lexie forced herself not to smile at the picture Raul painted.
"He wanted to know all about you. Insisted Glenn ring him first thing this morning with all the details. Sends his love and warns you against getting involved.” Raul looked a little uncomfortable. “I hope you're not offended."
"Does he speak English? My Italian is rudimentary."
"His English is much better than he pretends. It lets him get away with murder."
"Tell him to ask me directly next time. Second-hand tales are never as good."
"It will please him.” Raul relaxed. “He misses my mother dreadfully and flirts with all the girls to help him forget."
"She died recently?” The conversation helped Lexie ignore what was going on in Pit Six.
Raul nodded. “Eighteen months ago. It was sudden, over quickly. The heart."
"M-m-m.” Part of Lexie's mind had slipped the leash. She wondered could Stewart's memory sway Mr. Barton to delay his approval until after the race. The Widow-Maker didn't need another sacrifice. Certainly not Glenn!
"One of our riders is down.” Raul had come to his feet, his eyes on the monitor above the bar. “He's lost the bike and come off the track down in Siberia."
Lexie turned. “He's getting up.” The track marshals had reached him and she could see the rider shaking his head. “It looks like he's okay."
"More than can be said for the bike,” Raul said, as the camera had zoomed in on the machine and the front forks were twisted to one side. “We might not have enough spares.” He sounded doubtful. “I cut them back this time. Money was short."
They watched the bike loaded onto the pick-up truck. “They'll take it back to the pit,” Raul said. “We'll go down and see how bad it is."
The scrutineers were still working on the Widow-Maker, while Glenn was using the touchpad of a laptop computer, to scroll through lists of spares. “We may be in trouble,” he said, acknowledging Raul's arrival. “I've emailed our Australian people."
"Smallwood!” It was the Chief Scrutineer.
"Yes.” Glenn turned to him.
"We'll get out of your hair. You'll need the room. I'll send a truck for this one."
"No verdict yet?” Lexie could see the tension in Glenn's stance.
"A provisional okay, but I need to satisfy myself on those link pins. They look light."
Glenn nodded. “I put the calculations in with the other papers, plus the test results for the thousand hour trials. The ones in the bike have done less than six hours."
"I saw them. My assistant is crunching the numbers now.” The Chief Scrutineer saw Lexie. “It's nice to see you again. I'll tell Phyllis."
"Thank you, Mr. Barton."
"Please call me George.” He smiled.
"Thank you, George.” Lexie returned the smile. “I'm sorry I didn't recognize you immediately."
"Its ten years and four months since the funeral. I'm flattered you remembered me at all.” He led his team out of the pit bay.
"Funeral?” Glenn faced her with a question.
"I knew his son in university. He died in a motor accident."
The arrival of the damaged bike interrupted, and Glenn turned away. “Start stripping it immediately and give me a list of the replacement parts.” He turned to Angela. “Has Tony finished with the doctor yet?"
She nodded. “He'll be here in a minute. Carlo has one more lap."
"Call him in at the end of it. If we don't have the spares, we'll have to cannibalize his bike and send Tony out again this afternoon."
It felt chaotic to Lexie, but everyone was responding as if this were a normal day. Angela relayed instructions to Carlo via the comms set, Tony arrived and began unpacking another set of racing leathers, and the two mechanics stripped the damaged bike, laying the parts in order on a canvas sheet. There was little talk and no excitement.
"Come.” Raul took her arm as the pick-up truck arrived for the Widow-Maker. “We are in the way. Walk with me for a while."
* * * *
Glenn watched her leave. The stakes had gone up last night. He was no longer playing just for himself and the future was closer. The balancing act was getting harder and there were still too many balls in the air.
Salvatore was fading fast. Three times this morning his mind had wandered, either because of pain or the overall deterioration. The talk about Lexie had perked him for a while, but the façade had slipped more than once and he'd pleaded for a result to justify the damage he'd done to the family finances. It was obvious Raul hadn't told his father the whole truth. The paucity of spares was not Raul's choice. The money wasn't there for more.
George Barton was meticulous but the figures of the provisional approval were good. He should support it. The delay was inconvenient, especially with one bike damaged, but nothing more. The
Widow-Maker would be available.
He shuddered. It would be his first race in two years ... and on a machine reputed to be a killer. No wonder his fear had returned.
He'd plundered his reserves of courage this morning walking up the pathway to the Douglas house. Salvatore's phone call had driven him. Lexie could ask to be shifted to another team and then go back to London where he might never find her.
He'd not chased her last night because he didn't trust himself not to give in. Sexy Lexie was an apt name. Her reaction to the second kiss overwhelmed any pretensions of self-control on his part and he'd been as desperate as her for consummation. But for the sight of people in the hotel reception and restaurant, he'd have confirmed her reputation without a thought. The mind picture of a smirking hotel manager had been a douche of cold water.
He'd learnt a great deal last night, listening to the flow of conversation, observing attitudes and probing gently. The family was a history lesson of the Island, the generations adapting to change, spreading their influence to become landholders, merchants, and professionals. The father's acceptance of him last night bound them all. It was a warm feeling.
"We're down to one bike.” Angela's voice brought him back to the present.
Every face in the pit was turned to him, the two riders anxious, and the remainder expectant. He turned to Tony.
"Are you up to it?"
A nod and a broad smile from Tony matched the frown from Carlo.
"Sorry, mate.” Glenn clasped Carlo's shoulder. He couldn't even promise there'd be a next time and the knowledge was in the younger man's eyes.
"I could ride the Widow-Maker.” Carlo was desperate.
"You're too light. She needs a heavier rider on this track.” Carlo couldn't quite hide his relief.
Glenn turned back to Angela. “Cannibalize Carlo's bike to rebuild Tony's. Let me know when you have a completion time.” She nodded and he turned away. He could do nothing here.
The hospitality tent didn't appeal. He needed to be alone so he followed the track between the service bays and the lake. Opposite the scrutineering bay, he recognized Harry Doherty taking an illicit break, crouching behind a row of wheelie bins, a stubby in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Beyond him, in the shade of an awning, stood Lexie, Raul and George Barton, deep in conversation and sharing nibbles from a paper plate as they drank from Styrofoam cups from the coffee vendor. Lexie was laughing at some remark. They hadn't seen him and two more steps would hide him.
He walked on. Harry Doherty was none of his business now that he wore the overalls of the refuse collector and George Barton wouldn't appreciate the appearance of influence, especially as Glenn suspected someone was pressuring him.
There was no proof beyond a sense of the man's awkwardness, but Glenn had dealt with him before. The rider's association was a possibility. Racing was a dangerous business and the rumors surrounding the Widow-Maker were enough to create nervousness in the men who would share the track with her. Part of Glenn's problem was the responsibility he felt for his fellow riders. Practice was one thing, but dicing in the midst of a pack negotiating a corner was another. A mistake could take several riders down in the most dangerous of all situations.
No one would blame him for not riding. There were a dozen eminently sensible reasons why he shouldn't. Those qualified to make the judgment would congratulate his good sense ... even Salvatore reluctantly understood ... but going out with a whimper didn't feel right.
* * * *
Lexie was happy. George Barton had seen them passing and asked them to share his morning tea.
"I'm taking a break,” he told Raul. “Your machine's on its way and we'll start immediately."
"These formalities are necessary.” Raul's words were not quite an agreement.
"They are.” George Barton didn't give an inch. “It has a bad reputation and the geometry is unconventional. There's more than your rider at stake."
"Ah...” Raul nodded. “I understand. The other riders..."
"Their representative will talk to him soon. They sympathize with your position but know Glenn's a reasonable man."
Understanding surfaced and Lexie laughed in relief. The riders would black ban the machine for their own safety. Glenn wouldn't ride!
"My father will be disappointed."
"Salvatore was instrumental in bringing the riders together and forming their association. He'll understand better than you think. He led the thrust to open up the Manx GP to international riders."
"I pray you're right."
"He's an old warhorse. Sound the charge and he'd rise from his grave. I remember cheering him as a boy.” George Barton's expression was warm. He obviously admired Salvatore.
They stood watching as the Widow-Maker was rolled into the raised inspection stand and secured in place. Now that it was no longer a threat, Lexie could think of it as an ugly duckling rather than a monster. It even looked a little sad.
"You'll be busy now.” She finished her coffee as a hint to Raul. “We should go."
Raul did the same. “Thank you, both for your hospitality and for your trust,” he said, shaking George's hand.
Lexie allowed him to lead the way through the growing crowd of spectators, her promoter's uniform opening gates where Raul's competitor's card failed.
"Our brave-hearted friend is safe.” Raul's tone hovered between satisfaction and sadness.
Lexie nodded. “He's safe."
"Walk me to the top of the stand. The reception's better there."
Lexie led the way now, choosing a sponsor's stand not open to the public and explaining their need to the female security guard. They were admitted and she allowed Raul to climb the tiers alone. He didn't need the distraction of an intrusion. It was pleasant standing in the sun and she was sheltered from the wind on the lowest tier. She nodded her approval when Raul took shelter behind the clear Perspex windshield at the southern end and turned away to ensure his privacy. Breaking the news to his dying father would be difficult enough without having a witness.
The morning practice was in full swing now, the noise from the track constant and the spectator numbers had grown to produce a background rumble to the snarls of passing bikes. Lexie wasn't interested in anything beyond the knowledge Glenn was safe. It no longer mattered whether the Bagnelli team fielded one or two riders. He wouldn't be one of them.
One problem remained. How were they going to manage private time together? To accept the wisdom of waiting until London, she wanted more than the two kisses on Lover's Walk, much more. Her father's party was the obvious solution. The Douglas house had a hundred private nooks. She'd played in all of them as a girl. Get Glenn to the party and she'd find a way of enticing him into one of them. She closed her eyes to enjoy the anticipation...
"Lexie.” Raul had returned. “We need to go back. He wants to talk to Glenn.” He saw the question in her eyes and nodded. “He accepted the situation and will instruct Glenn to comply with the rider's request ... there's no alternative."
"Can't you tell him?"
"Glenn is employed directly by my father."
She nodded and rose to her feet. “I'll lead the way."
Angela greeted them at Pit Six. “Glenn? He went out once we knew only one bike was serviceable. I thought he was joining you."
"We'll have to wait.” Raul looked around the pit. “How's it going?"
"We'll be ready for Tony to take it out this afternoon. I don't think we'll get the other back in time.” Angela was all business. “I've advised Race Control and Tony is having an early lunch. Do you want me to have Glenn paged, or call his cell phone?"
Raul shook his head. “I'll get them to call him direct. It will save time.” He left, checking the signal strength on his cell phone.
* * * *
Glenn finished the call and stood staring into the middle distance, unaware he was smiling. Salvatore had given his instruction in English, repeating it twice so there could be no mistake. In another man, the langua
ge and choice of words would be unremarkable, explained by the difficulty of using other than his mother tongue, but Glenn knew this one.
"I'm saying you should not ride the Widow-Maker. You understand me. You should not ride the Widow-Maker.” Salvatore had enunciated the words clearly, forcing vigor into his voice to carry his determination.
Nothing had changed. Raul had found out about the potential rider's ban of the Widow-Maker and spoken to his elder sister, Maria, who looked after Salvatore since Josefina's death. She'd yelled at her father until he'd said the words to satisfy her, knowing Glenn would read between the lines. They'd played this game before, using Maria's weakness in English and Salvatore's subtlety to disarm her. It would be interesting to see if Raul was fooled as well.
News traveled fast. The rider's representative had only just walked away when Salvatore's call came. Raul had been with George Barton, which made the Chief Scrutineer his source. Had he pumped him, or was Lexie's personal connection the cause. It really didn't matter ... beyond indicating that George Barton was not confident of finding enough to keep the Widow-Maker off the track and had placed an each-way bet as security. Rider's bans were not popular with promoters. They were bad publicity.
The drink he'd shared with the rider's rep meant he couldn't ride today. Hopefully, Angela would finish rebuilding Tony's bike in time for the afternoon practice slot. It would give the other riders time to discuss his arguments and be watching his practice run in the morning. He had until the qualifying slot in the afternoon program for them to decide in his favor. He'd have to ride the best laps of his life if he wanted to force their hands.
He'd accepted an invitation to Kieran's party last night, even though he rarely socialized before a race. It was before the moment on Lover's Walk had wakened his feelings for Lexie and he now wondered if going was wise. Lexie wouldn't be content waiting until London and she wasn't used to being thwarted. Fighting against her and himself promised to be exhausting, but he'd read some of the undercurrents in the Douglas household last night and it was important.