“This is dangerous,” she hissed, glancing around. “If they catch us here together, it’ll be the story of the month—”
“Don’t worry. It would be normal for a driver to take his seat opposite the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“No, no. Not good.”
“Okay, whatever you say. I’m not staying long. I’ve to check the car before we go into parc fermé. A shipment came in last night. I want to get a test run in before anyone else. We need to adjust the rear wing—”
“Fine, fine, I understand,” she said. He was miles away, in motor-racing land, calculating the points, strategizing the turns, worrying about the engine. Unreachable. His mind was flicking through the engine’s bill of materials, all the permutations, searching for the reasons he was bound to win this one. This was not the time for existential angst about their relationship.
Not that there ever was a good time for that.
Chapter 23
She returned to the hotel after a brisk morning walk on the streets of Suzuka. The hotel was running an exhibition of Japanese art in the lobby. The watercolors looked delicate, ephemeral, and the polite gathering offered an oasis of calm in the hustle and bustle of the F1 hullabaloo.
Stepping away from the fourth impression of Mount Fuji in a row, she spied Reece two paintings down. On his arm he had a beautiful Japanese girl, with ultra-gloss hair and expensive accessories. He looked bored. His face brightened when he saw her, and he sauntered over, leaving his date staring intently into a painting.
“Hey babe,” he said, “getting sick of Mount Fuji yet?”
“Don’t babe me.”
“Yeah. Just wanted to apologize for the incident in Spa. I was a little … inebriated. It shouldn’t have happened, and I swear, it won’t happen again.
“It’s okay, Reece. Apology accepted.” Viv made a move to get away.
“Cool. I wouldn’t like it standing between us, you know.” Reece blocked her way.
“No, no worries on that score. So, are you looking forward to racing on home turf next week?”
“You bet. It’s time to get back on top of the table. Fontaine will never beat me here. ”
She nodded noncommittally.
He lowered his voice. “Look I know you two have a … thing.”
“What?”
“I’ve been watching you. I know Fontaine. He’s different now. He can’t hide it, and neither can you.”
She bit her lip. As long as there was no proof, this was just noise. Besides, he could be bluffing. What could he possibly know? What evidence did he have? “So what’re you going to do about it? Tell everyone?”
“It’s none of my business.” Reece shrugged. “As the man himself would say.”
He had nothing then. “So what was all that in Spa? Some kind of test of my fidelity?”
Reece grinned. “Yeah, I mean, if I were going out with someone like you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be hiding it.”
“Unless I asked you to?”
“Ah.” Reece’s eyes narrowed with understanding. “I see. Professional distance and all that. All well and good, I suppose. Once the season’s over there’ll be a big announcement?”
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Maybe.”
“But he’s taking you to the wedding, right?”
Viv’s cool shattered. “The … wedding?”
He grimaced as if in pain. “Oh man, this is seriously fucked up.”
“Reece, what wedding?”
“Uh … ” He scratched his neck, and looked around as if hoping for salvation from somebody, anybody.
“Reece—?”
“His sister, yeah? Saskia? Heard of?”
“Oh.”
“You—want a drink?”
“No thanks, Reece. I’m fine. I’m just … going.” She walked off.
Going nowhere.
She sank down on the nearest chair in the empty hotel dining room, feeling sick and woozy, a heaviness pulling her heart down. So Saskia was getting married, and Adam hadn’t seen fit to tell her. Which could only mean one thing—he didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want her there with his family. Maybe there was a simple explanation, but that one seemed to be the simplest and the only one.
The question was, what should she do about it? Kick up a fuss, whine and demand to be invited? That way he couldn’t refuse her, but if he didn’t want to invite her, then she didn’t want to be there. She had no place there. She could even live with that if he’d only told her.
Quashing the impulse to ring him and demand what was going on, she drummed the phone against her palm, thinking furiously. Would it open a can of worms? Would it upset him? Was this another Reece trick? Reece was desperate to win, just as Adam was. He’d try anything. Even lying about that. But it was an odd thing to lie about, a sister’s wedding. No, it must be true. But she wouldn’t upset Adam before this race, which was going to be difficult enough for him.
She could cope with the winning obsession. Drivers had to be like that to a certain extent. But Adam was sharing less and less these days. After four months, was it too much to ask to let her in? Given how he treated his family, maybe she couldn’t expect him to treat her any better.
Hang on. She had to talk to him. ASAP.
• • •
Adam came to her room on short notice. She skipped the BBC dinner and knew he was skipping his team’s traditional pre-race dinner to make the time to see her.
“I’ve only got five minutes,” he said, then stopped suddenly. “Hey—what’s wrong?”
She shook her head briskly. “Nothing. How’s the car—all set for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m just hoping it doesn’t rain. I’m starting on softs. Sixty-five percent chance, though, at the latest forecast, so we may revise that decision.” He bent to kiss her, and she responded, although the voice in her head was screaming to address the issue first.
“I met Reece this afternoon,” she said.
“Yeah? I hope he kept his paws off you.”
“He was impeccably behaved, with some Japanese woman. We were at the same art exhibition together.”
“Hmm.” Adam cast a glance at his phone. “Anyway I’ve to get to the race strategy meeting now. I’m already late. Let’s talk about this later.”
“But this is important!”
He frowned. “Reece is important?”
“No. Talking is important.”
“So is preparation,” he said. “After the race—”
“After the race? After the race? I can’t believe this. After the race … is before the race!”
He ran his fingers across his brow. She could almost see his synapses burning with pre-race calculations. This wasn’t entirely fair of her.
“It’s fine. Just … go.”
He regarded her for a silent moment. Then he moved in. “Kiss me before I go.”
She hesitated. He saw it. He flinched, but his expression grew determined. “I won’t force you.”
“Oh, Adam.” She lunged into him. “What’s going to happen to us?”
He kissed her, rougher than usual, turned, and strode out of the room. She blinked back tears while watching him shut the door behind him. Was she being a complete bitch, attacking him with this before his race? She’d never have done this with her exes. But wasn’t she allowed to care about what they might lose, even if he only had one thing on his mind—winning?
• • •
She cleaned herself up. She applied an extra layer of foundation, and two of mascara. She had to rise above it. Life would go on as long as she held up her end. She left it until the very latest moment to enter the studio, when everybody was in a pre-transmission frenzy. This meant ignoring Mack’s and Sarah’s calls and invoking their anxiety, but tough. The rules had changed.
The makeup artist was the first to accost her when she showed up.
“It’s okay, I’ve done my own,” she began.
He dabbed her eyelid with highligh
ter. “Why you people can’t leave it to the professionals, I don’t know. You DIYers all think you’re Kate Middleton on her wedding day.”
Viv felt so far removed from a royal princess that she burst out laughing in the kind of breathless way that left her dangerously close to sobs, but she pulled herself back from the brink.
Sarah came rushing up. “You’re here! Don’t need to tell you that Mack’s having a conniption.”
“You’re right, Sarah, you don’t need to tell me that.”
Studio lights burned into her retinas. Her smile was breaking cracks in her makeup. Her soul had been hollowed out with a spoon. She’d managed an hour of this, but how much longer could she keep going? She knew her voice sounded dead, vacant.
“It looks like the championship is boiling down to an epic duel of Hunt-Laudian or Hamilton-Rosbergian proportions,” Rick intoned, nodding at Viv to follow up.
“Yes,” she said, cocking her head to give the impression of a comfortable discussion in front of the TV, “this type of rivalry is always exciting to watch, especially when each race is so crucial. Fontaine and Marlowe are too close in points now to be able to ignore each other, though that’s what they would most like to do. We have black and white personalities here, and they’re clashing on several levels.”
Rick nodded. “Given that they were once teammates, it looks as though that camaraderie of two seasons ago has all but died out.”
“It happens a lot,” she added. “The drivers have to become hardened during the years of competition, to focus on the goal, nothing else. They often turn into quite nice guys after they retire, and they’ve even been known to become friends again.”
Rick laughed, and she forced herself to join in. It took effort to say these words, because they were true. All she wanted to do was go to the garage, grab Adam and ask him where they stood.
“Well, well, well, the Japanese public is sure laying it for Fontaine. Listen to that cheering out there in the stands.”
Viv kept a smile plastered on her face. “Yes, he’s popular here.”
Rick, bless him, had noticed her slow reaction, her inability to keep up a steady stream of commentary on the duel between Adam and Reece, and he came to her rescue by blabbering enough for two.
“Fontaine has always considered Reece Marlowe his benchmark,” he said. “But after Marlowe’s no-finish in Barcelona, it could be that Fontaine is now going to surpass him.” His gaze darted to her, and she nodded automatically but didn’t agree.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, Marlowe is a fantastic driver, but his lifestyle may hold him back at times. Fontaine is ready for the challenge for the title, as this race and many others have shown.” Don’t worry. His lifestyle will never hold him back, she could have added.
She watched the race dispassionately. In the grand scheme of things, who cared who won?
And there he was, standing on the podium, once again his body rigid with anger for having come second to Reece. Ridiculous, really. She looked away from the monitor and focused on the cables of the cameras.
Maybe it was time to wake up and smell the petrol.
“And next up is Silverstone back in Old Blighty, and it looks as though Marlowe has a fight ahead to hold on to his championship. Now they’re neck and neck, with Fontaine on 184 points to Marlowe’s 183, and Bates trailing behind on 153 points. It’s all still to play for, folks. After the break we’ll have extended coverage of the race and an interview with Marlowe’s team chief, Charles.”
Time was up, and everyone started dismantling the studio and removing their personal effects for the trip back. Viv went through the motions like a robot. Next stop, London. She couldn’t wait. She needed a dose of real life again, away from this madness.
Chapter 24
Silverstone, England
First item on the agenda was to do this TV interview with Catherine Price from the BBC. Adam groaned inwardly. Yes, he’d promised it, and Vivienne had claimed it had done her career good. So at least there was that. But now he had to follow through. And this was live.
Since Vivienne was in his life, he’d become more confident about doing something like this—but only in theory. Actually doing it was another matter. She’d landed last night and headed straight to London. He had to come direct to Silverstone for team meetings. She’d been unreachable all morning but texted to say she’d make it in time to watch the interview behind the scenes. A good luck kiss would have made all the difference.
The BBC studio by the circuit was larger and more disorganized than he’d expected it to be—at least as a naïve observer. Apart from the area in front of the camera, chaos reigned—men and women with rolled-up shirt sleeves and headpieces dashing to and fro, shouting out directives. Cables twisted around furniture, coffee cups balanced on any flat surface available. This was Vivienne’s natural environment. How could she stand it?
He leaned forward on the leather couch in the brightly lit studio, not quite sure where to look—into one of the cameras, at the interviewer, or at the audience who were taking their seats slowly and staring at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have refused to do the full rehearsal, because then he’d have a clue what to do.
The makeup artist tiptoed up to him.
“No thanks,” he said.
The makeup artist glowered at him, his powder box suspended inches from Adam’s nose. “There’s shine—right … here.”
He flinched.
“We’re good, Danny,” Catherine piped up. “He’s fine as he is.” She motioned impatiently to the cameramen and sound technicians. “We’ll just do a little sound check and then we’re ready to go live.”
Countdown sounded, and he twisted his fingers in his lap.
“We’re honored to have you here today. Adam, I don’t believe you’ve done many live interviews before?
“No.” He shrugged.
“Well don’t worry, this audience is very well behaved.” Right on cue, they cheered and clapped. They were clapping for themselves, not him; they clearly wanted him thrashed by their golden boy, Reece. Some even had the audacity to wear the signature red Reece fan shirts. He couldn’t see any neon green out there.
“Why did you avoid interviews in the past, Adam?”
“I’m not great on TV,” he said honestly.
The audience laughed.
“I think you’re just fine,” Catherine said, a flirtatious note fluttering up her pristine, BBC-English accent. “I think you can go out in public without being ashamed.”
It elicited a few catcalls from the audience. He fought the urge to shake his head. Vivienne had told him to keep his head still.
“Seriously though, how do you feel going against Reece at the Sepang circuit in Malaysia after the way you crashed season before last?”
Adam frowned. Of course, she couldn’t say what really happened, could she? For all he knew, she probably believed Reece’s version. What would Vivienne tell him to say here?
“Well, Reece and I have had our differences … especially after that race, but at this stage of the game, I can’t afford to dwell on that. There’s so much else to think about—the car, the circuit, the weather, the team tactics, the points table, and my own ability to give it all I’ve got.”
“And you do publicity, too, don’t you?”
“Not much. I did in the beginning when I joined F1. I was sponsored by Alstrum Turbines. But I’m not deep in endorsements at the moment, er, Catherine.” He looked into her rather plastic looking face. The texture of her skin seemed … wrong.
“Not yet,” she grinning. “Maybe after today?”
The audience chuckled. At what he wasn’t really sure.
“Why not do more publicity, Adam? Maybe on French media?”
He fiddled with the bottom of his T-shirt. “Living in the public eye has always been difficult for me.”
“Indeed it’s not for everyone. I think a lot of people would sympathize with you there. But in your own case, why would you say that is, Adam? All d
rivers have a private life, but we never hear you talk about how you turned from a seventeen-year-old schoolboy running away from home to the superstar driver you’ve become. Is it true that your younger brother’s death still affects you to the extent that you’re considering undergoing psychiatric treatment?”
His heart hammered. What? “No, I’m not … but as anyone who has lost a family member—especially a younger brother who looked up to you—will know, it leaves a void that is never filled. That remains raw. Having the public, reporters, poke at it in the name of entertainment just seems wrong to me. I don’t want sympathy. I want it to be left alone.”
There was a collective gasp. Catherine was frowning as much as her botoxed face allowed.
“Your brother—” She had to consult her notes, and he wanted to kill her for not caring enough to remember “—Eddie died at age fourteen in a quad bike accident. So tragic for you. For your poor parents! I believe they divorced that same year. Do you think it was due to grief?”
“Possible,” he said, through gritted teeth after a long pause. Her phony smile wavered.
“Yes, quite, I understand,” she said. “That’s a family tragedy and a half. Now, let’s talk about the race and the championship. Let’s watch the footage of your last win in Spa-Francorchamps …”
• • •
Viv sat watching the interview on the screen in her office upstairs. She grasped the arms of the office chair. He’d come out with that. On live TV. To Catherine? Catherine Price who’d stolen her interview from her?
Of course, Catherine had used her arsenal of interviewer tricks and gotten lucky, but why, oh why couldn’t Adam have confided in her before about how much he was suffering because of Eddie? She could have helped him … talked him through it. Catherine had dug to his core in one blundering move and exposed him, whereas she’d only scratched the surface after months of skirting around his sensibilities.
She let the interview run on, hardly taking in what was being said except that they’d retreated back to safe territory—the race, the points table, the rivalry with Reece—the stuff the audience wanted to know, Reece fans the lot of them.
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