Chasing Daisy

again, the thought of having breakfast with his parents in the morning. . . Well, that’s too much, too soon.
    And so we say our many goodbyes and set off on the short walk to the helicopter. The flight back to the airfield seems to pass more quickly this time around and, before I know it, he’s parking his Ferrari in the hotel car park.
    I’m on edge. What happens now? I’ve been too busy talking to drink much alcohol, and he’s stone-cold sober, so there will be no drunken antics.
    He glances at me as we walk up the steps into the lobby. ‘Want to come up to my room?’
    I raise one eyebrow at him. ‘For a coffee?’
    ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a shag.’
    I crack up laughing.
    ‘But we can start with a coffee, if you like,’ he adds, his eyes twinkling.
    Inside his suite, he directs me to the sofa area while he gets on with the drinks.
    ‘That was such a nice night, thank you,’ I tell him as he brings two steaming cups over. ‘I can’t believe you can fly a helicopter.’
    ‘I can fly a plane, too. I’ll take you on one of those next,’ he says, sitting down next to me.
    I shake my head in wonder. ‘There’s so much I don’t know about you. And to think you once said I was the mysterious one.’
    ‘When did I say that?’ he asks, gently placing the cups on the coffee table.
    ‘Oh, sorry,’ I quickly reply as my memory starts serving me properly. I feel my face heat up.
    ‘You were thinking about Will, weren’t you?’ he asks quietly, turning to look at me.
    ‘Sorry,’ I say again, but he averts his gaze.
    I feel tense and a little bit nauseous. He meets my eyes again.
    ‘Are you over him?’
    I don’t answer for a moment, then reply honestly, ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘That’s not good, Daisy.’
    ‘No, I know it’s not good, Luis,’ I snap. ‘But what do you expect me to do about it?’
    He looks away and shakes his head. ‘Were you in love with him?’ He asks the question so softly I can barely hear him.
    Was I in love with him? I don’t want to remember, but now I can’t help it. Images flood my mind of my time with Will. How he sat on a sofa not dissimilar to this one and told me he preferred my hair down to up. How he said I was doing his head in before he came clean about his feelings for me. How his eyes were full of regret when Laura got to him on the grid before me and I never wished him good luck.
    And then I see that crash, that terrible crash . . . The white sheet coming out by the ambulance crew, Laura and his family being rushed out of the pits, me packing his bag in his room and then losing his black T-shirt that still smelled of him . . . A lump forms in my throat and my eyes fill with tears, and then I desperately want to sob my heart out, but I can’t, not here with Luis.
    ‘I think you should go,’ he says morosely. ‘I have to get some sleep before qualifying tomorrow.’
    I nod and stand up. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him again.
    He doesn’t answer so I walk to the door and leave him alone on the sofa.
    Luis qualifies third the following day, and I can’t help but feel somewhat to blame because yesterday he was quickest in practice. I want to talk to him about it, but his parents are here now, and I don’t feel comfortable seeing them after what happened – or didn’t happen – between Luis and I last night. So I hide away in the kitchen because Frederick is still letting me help with the catering.
    ‘Very good,’ he comments, when I show him a platter of fresh seafood that I’ve prepared. My heart swells with pride because compliments don’t come easy to him. ‘I should have had you helping out with the cooking more often.’
    ‘I would have loved to have done that,’ I tell him.
    ‘Well, it’s too late now,’ he says, before erupting. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace!’
    I crack a smile. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
    He shakes his head angrily, and I’m touched that he cares about losing me.
    ‘I’m applying to catering college, you know,’ I tell him.
    He regards me with interest. ‘Are you? If you want me to write you a reference, let me know.’
    ‘Would you really?’
    ‘Absolutely. Just don’t go into competition with me on the Formula 1 scene.’
    I laugh. ‘I hardly think that’s likely. I’d be happy working in a restaurant in London.’
    ‘For some celebrity chef, no doubt,’ he scoffs.
    I smile and hand the platter to Gertrude to take outside to the serving table. Later, Pete, Dan and the lads drag