Chasing Daisy

married to a local girl and lived a simple life here in the mountains.’
    ‘How did he die?’
    ‘Cancer. He was ill for a long time before he finally passed away.’
    ‘And they had no children?’ I know my mother said they didn’t, but I want to be sure.
    ‘No. No children.’ Pause. ‘Your mother couldn’t have handled it, you know.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Caring for him. She wasn’t the type. She was always looking for something better, a better life for herself. It drove her mad that your grandfather and I were so settled here for all those years. When Carlo died, she wanted me to move to New York.’
    ‘Did she really?’ I can’t imagine my grandmother in New York.
    ‘Yes. Of course, I refused. Although I was tempted just to annoy your father.’
    I look away.
    ‘Sorry,’ she apologises. ‘I shouldn’t speak badly of him. He’s still your father.’
    ‘Is he, though?’
    She studies me for a moment. ‘I think so. You look nothing like Andrea. I think you have your father’s nose.’
    I can’t help but snort at the triviality of that resemblance.
    I return to England four days later.
    ‘Have you seen the papers?’ Holly asks me the moment we settle ourselves down on the sofa with a nice glass of wine.
    ‘No? Why?’
    ‘God, it’s all about Luis, Luis, Luis.’
    I sigh with frustration. ‘Why won’t they just leave him alone?’
    ‘No, it’s not that,’ she says excitedly. ‘They’re all interested in him now. After that last race result, and then running off after the awards ceremony like that and turning up at the airport the next day with his beard shaven off. It’s like he’s a new man! They can’t stop talking about him!’
    ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Yep, ooh, the other drivers are all going to be jealous again.’
    ‘Jealous? Why would they be jealous?’
    ‘Daisy, you are so out of touch! He was like the hot new thing when he started out in F1. The other drivers all felt massively threatened!’
    ‘Oh, right. So . . . Does anyone know where he went when he ran off like that?’ I ask hesitantly.
    She grins at me. ‘He went to see you, didn’t he?’
    I nod awkwardly.
    ‘Ally told Simon about Luis ringing up to find out your address, so he wasn’t worried.’
    ‘Does anyone else know?’ I ask.
    ‘No. Just Simon, Ally and me. Bloody hell, though, Daisy. What did you say to him to get him to clean up his act like that? Simon’s over the moon! He’d decided Monza was Luis’s last chance!’
    ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Yes! So whatever it was, you saved Luis’s butt. I hope he knows it.’
    ‘I think he does,’ I say quietly. ‘But hey, tell me what else has been going on?’ I don’t really want to discuss Luis anymore.
    The following week, one of Holly’s colleagues at the canteen calls in sick. Holly asks me if I can cover for her. I’ve never been to team HQ before and I’m keen to see it, so I agree.
    It’s like something out of a James Bond film, all shiny black, white and gold with a series of high-security gates to get through before I’m finally allowed inside the hallowed doors. The team’s headquarters are enormous, and racing cars from past seasons line up along the polished concrete floor. I walk quickly past them, not wanting to know if one of Will’s old cars is there.
    The so-called canteen is like a Michelin-starred restaurant, so there are no cheese and pickle sandwiches packaged up in cardboard. I’m lucky I’m trained in silver service from my time working functions for Frederick and Ingrid, because some of the most important sponsors are coming in for a lunch meeting today and Holly has wangled it for me to help her wait on them. We’re in the boardroom where they’re dining, dishing out freshly baked bread rolls, when the door opens with a whoosh and Luis comes in.
    I look up with surprise. There was an empty seat, but I had no idea it was for him.
    ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologises to the sponsors. ‘Terrible traffic.’
    ‘No problem,’ Simon replies, indicating Luis’s chair. He sits down in it before he sees me, and then jolts a little in shock.
    ‘Oh, hello! I didn’t know you worked here?’
    ‘Just helping out,’ I reply, embarrassed, because now everyone is looking at me and before that I was just an anonymous waitress. ‘Brown, white or granary?’ I ask, holding up the bread basket.
    ‘No thanks.’
    I give Luis a look.
    ‘Oh, alright, then. That one, there.’ He points to a granary roll. Out of the corner of my