Chasing Daisy

chest.
    ‘Take your knickers off,’ he whispers into my ear. I stand up and do as he says, while he shrugs off his jeans. I straddle him again and can feel him pressing against me, with only the flimsy fabric of his Calvin Kleins keeping us apart.
    I want him so much . . .
    ‘Let’s go to the bedroom,’ he says, but as I jump up to follow him, smoothing down my dress as he leads the way, niggly doubts start to race through my mind. I try to ignore them, but I can’t, and they’re bothering me. Maybe we should wait. Maybe we should wait until it’s all over between him and Laura.
    We reach the bedroom and he turns back to see me hesitating.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
    ‘I don’t know.’
    His face falls and I suddenly feel very much like I’d like my underwear back on. I turn and hurry back out of the bedroom and over to the sofa to retrieve it. I can’t meet Will’s eyes as I hand him his clothes. I wait anxiously while he turns his black T-shirt the right way out before pulling it over his head. He steps into his jeans and buttons them up.
    I walk to the door, my heart throbbing with disappointment, even though it’s all my own doing. My hand takes the handle and pushes down, then I look back to find him right behind me. He leans against the door and gently runs his fingers down my spine as he looks into my eyes.
    ‘I can’t believe I’m letting you go,’ he says.
    ‘I can’t believe it either,’ I reply. ‘But it’s the right thing to do.’ He pushes himself off the door and steps back, while I walk out onto the landing feeling regret course through my blood like a drug.

 
Chapter 17
     
    Will won the race the next day, but Luis didn’t give it up without a fight. Holly told me afterwards that Simon had to order Luis to back off at one point, not wanting a repeat of Monaco. She also said that after the race, Luis went ballistic with anger and he and Simon had a massive barney. Luis flew back to Brazil instead of returning to the UK for testing. The team had hired a racetrack to test some new car components they’d fitted – it’s something each team does at some stage, to make sure everything is reliable and effective. Luis was supposed to do some laps in the car himself, but in the end, the team’s test driver, a Frenchman called Pierre, had to do it all.
    I don’t even bother to ask Holly how she knows all of this anymore. Anyway, maybe it will do Luis good to have a break and see his baby niece for the first time, although the last thing any driver should do is fall out with the team boss, especially when your contract expires at the end of the season.
    As for me, I’m back in the UK myself and it’s a relief because I don’t have to get on another flight until we go to the German Grand Prix in July – a whole month away. The next race on the calendar is the British Grand Prix and Frederick and Ingrid have been keeping me busy with lots of catering jobs in the interim. It’s a far cry from the work I do on the Formula 1 circuit and can vary from ten ladies who lunch to dinnertime ballroom glitz for a thousand people. It’s solely waitressing though – no actual food prep involved – so I don’t really enjoy it.
    I haven’t heard from Will and it’s been seriously doing my head in. The second week after China was the hardest. After the race he pulled me aside to tell me he needed some space to talk to Laura, but would give me a call when he could. I thought a week would be more than enough time, but two weeks later, I’m starting to seriously ask if he’s changed his mind about me completely.
    My other horrible news is that my landlord is throwing me out. He’s putting my flat on the market, and as I can’t afford to buy it, I have to start searching for a new place immediately. I’m devastated. It may only be a tiny studio flat, but it’s warm and it’s sunny and I like it. I have been to look at a few places, but they were all either damp and dingy or way out of my price range so I’ve had to keep looking. Luckily, Holly has told me I can always stay with her if I’m stuck. I may have to take her up on it at this rate.
    On Sunday, the week before the British Grand Prix, I’m on my way into Camden to pick up some supplies for a rare night in when I walk past a newsagent’s. My feet come to an automatic stop when I see Will’s face staring out from one of the newspapers. Someone has put one of the papers back on the shelf the wrong way, and a story about