Chasing Daisy

since I last saw Will. Holly and I flew straight here on Monday afternoon and we’re sticking around after the race for a week’s holiday on the island of Langkawi. Pristine beaches, crystal-clear water and palm trees galore . . . When you’re coming to a location as beautiful as Malaysia, it would be stupid not to make the most of it.
    A couple of days ago we met up with Frederick to help source local produce and set up the hospitality facilities at the track. The mechanics arrived yesterday, and today the drivers do. I can’t sleep from the anticipation of seeing Will again. It’s only three thirty in the morning and we have to be at the track for five. I’m going to look a right state, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
    Will has been in Kuala Lumpur himself for the last few days with his personal trainer, acclimatising himself to the environment. I’ve been on tenterhooks in case I bump into him, but it’s unlikely in a city as big as this. He’s staying in a different hotel along with Simon and the directors. And Luis, of course.
    Eventually, Holly switches the light back on.
    ‘Can’t sleep?’ I ask.
    ‘No thanks to you,’ she grumbles.
    ‘It’s too hot here,’ I say, for want of an explanation that doesn’t involve a certain racing driver.
    ‘Well, why did you switch off the damn air-conditioning in the middle of the night?’
    ‘It was too cold, then,’ I reply innocently.
    She just humphs and gets out of bed, heading in the direction of the shower.
    An hour later we arrive at the track and I’m jumpy with adrenalin.
    ‘Have you been drinking too much coffee?’ Holly asks, when I jolt at the sight of a team member entering the white-tented hospitality suite.
    I walk back into the kitchen and she follows. I’m about to ask Frederick what needs doing when someone calls my name from the door. Holly and I both turn to see Simon standing there. He beckons for me to go over to him.
    ‘Hi, Simon, what can I get for you?’
    ‘Nothing at the moment, but Daisy, it’s no good if you’re not staying in the same hotel as us. We’ll have to get that sorted for the next race.’
    ‘Okay . . .’
    ‘Speak to Ally,’ he calls over his shoulder as he walks off.
    Ally is Simon’s PA back in the UK. She liaises with the team’s travel agent among many, many other things.
    ‘What was that about?’ Holly is immediately on my case.
    I fill her in.
    ‘Oh. That means we won’t be able to share a room.’
    ‘It’s only for Bahrain. We’re all staying in the same hotels once we hit Europe, right?’
    ‘I guess so.’
    ‘It’ll be okay.’
    ‘At least you’ll be happy.’ She gives me a small smile.
    ‘I’d rather be with you, actually.’
    ‘Yeah, right!’ she exclaims. ‘You’ll be well within stalking distance of Prince Charming.’
    ‘Shh!’ I warn. ‘Anyway, stalking distance?’ I ask huffily.
    ‘I saw the magazine you were looking at in the middle of the night . . .’
    ‘It wasn’t the middle of the night; it was this morning. Will you quit teasing me?’
    ‘Sorry.’ Then she whispers, ‘Consider yourself lucky. I’ll probably have to share with Klaus and Gertrude.’ She glances at the German couple diligently working away at one of the counters. Klaus is de-heading fresh prawns and passing them to Gertrude to finish shelling before he hands her the next.
    I give Holly an ‘aren’t they weird?’ look before adding, ‘Threesome?’
    She groans distastefully and swipes me on the arm with a wet tea towel.
    ‘Ow!’ I shout.
    ‘DAISY!’ Frederick snaps, so I wipe the smile off my face.
    I head out to the serving table just in time to see a black-haired, olive-skinned figure walk in.
    ‘Hi, Luis, what can I get you?’ I ask in a deliberately bored-sounding voice.
    ‘Black coffee.’
    I glance over at Frederick, who’s just about to sit down for a meeting with Tarquin, Will’s nutritionist/personal trainer. Luis looks over his shoulder and spots the scene before glancing back at me with amusement.
    ‘And I’ll have some bacon and eggs, too,’ he says.
    ‘Shouldn’t you have a nutritionist?’ I ask, serving up the greasy food onto a plate.
    ‘Don’t need one,’ he says, taking the coffee and blowing on it, his dark eyes watching me over the rim of his cup.
    I raise my eyebrows disapprovingly and hand him his plate.
    ‘So,’ he says, not taking his plate from me. ‘I hear you’re our designated bun tart?’
    ‘Your what ?’ I