Chasing Daisy

lying awake in bed for about an hour, going over in my mind the events of the night before. Now that I know about Holly and Simon, I see the signs everywhere. All those times he asked for her, not me. I wonder if it started before Italy? I wonder if it started before or after she told him to hire someone else to look after Catalina? What was it that Frederick said at the time? ‘ Simon likes people who stand up for themselves .’
    Well, he obviously liked Holly. A lot. And I can see what she sees in him. He’s attractive, if not way too old for her, and he’s clearly very powerful. Not to mention rolling in it, although that has never been an appeal for me.
    But where is this relationship going to lead? Is he going to divorce Catalina and shack up with Holly instead? Somehow, I doubt it. I toyed with the idea of waking up my friend and questioning her about all of this, but I never actually worked up the nerve. Now that she’s awake, I feel even less ready to ask her about it.
    And then there was that weird drink with Will last night . . . What was all that about?
    At the track a few hours later, Holly urges me to hurry.
    ‘Okay, okay. Just let me go to the bathroom.’
    ‘We’ll miss the grid walk at this rate!’
    I wipe down my hands and rush into the bathroom to check my reflection. There are so many famous people and VIPs at this race that I want to look my best.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Holly screeches as she pokes her head around the door.
    ‘Give me a sec.’
    ‘Lipstick, lipstick . . .’ She grabs my make-up bag impatiently, rummaging around for a second before pulling out my burgundy-coloured lipstick and applying some to her lips. It suits my olive skin tone, but on Holly’s pale complexion it looks too harsh. I tell her.
    ‘Bollocks!’ she exclaims, wiping it off on the back of her hand and then immediately attempting to scrub the consequent mark off with soap.
    ‘Here, use this.’ I hand her some sheer lipgloss and she tries that instead, pursing her lips at me afterwards. ‘Much better,’ I decide. She shoves everything back into my bag and drags me out of the bathroom.
    The bridge is crowded with pedestrians and we hurry past them towards the pits. Balconies overlooking the track are packed with well-dressed ‘suits’ and socialites wearing large sunglasses as they bask in the sunshine. Monte Carlo is a beautiful city and today is a glorious day, barely a cloud in the sky. I can well understand why Will would like a place here. For a split-second I see myself sitting up on one of those balconies with him and have to inwardly berate myself.
    The garages are practically empty when we arrive. The cars are already on the grid and most of the mechanics are out there with them. Holly and I go to the pit wall.
    ‘Let’s walk down to the start/finish line,’ she suggests. ‘See who we can see.’
    I follow her as we climb over the wall into the throng.
    ‘Look, it’s Prince Albert!’ she says, pointing out a handsome man surrounded by important-looking people. ‘And I heard Brad Pitt was here!’ Holly nudges me.
    ‘Really?’ I look at her with interest. I met him once at a film premiere I went to with—
    ‘Johnny Jefferson!’ Holly squeals.
    I feel like the world is closing in on me. I see him instantly, regardless of the fact that Holly is pointing right at him. He’s being mobbed by camera crews and is wearing dark shades so I can’t see his piercing green eyes, but I’d recognise his dirty blond hair a mile away.
    Holly is practically jumping on the spot. ‘Let’s follow him!’ She tugs on my shirt.
    ‘No, no.’ I pull back and she looks at me in surprise.
    ‘What’s up with you? You’re not having another funny turn, are you?’
    ‘Yes, I think I am.’
    ‘Daisy!’ Her disappointment is fierce.
    ‘I’ll see you back in the garages,’ I say weakly. I don’t wait for her to answer, just walk away. Seconds later I feel a hand on my arm and spin around to see Luis standing there. His eyes convey his concern and I know he’s seen Johnny, too.
    ‘Luis, can we have a few words?’ a man with a film crew interrupts.
    ‘In a minute.’ Luis puts his hand up to ward off the journalist.
    ‘No, you go on,’ I urge, embarrassed.
    He watches me as I rush away to the relative safety of the garages. I busy myself tidying up the small catering table at the back, while trying to keep my tears at bay.
    I saw Johnny’s last PA once. She was in Soho, London, walking