The Widowmaker Page 15

Glenn hadn't intended to fall asleep again. He'd lain there thinking of Lexie and now the phone was ringing, dragging him from the depth of dreamless sleep. He fumbled for the handset, knocking it against the bedside table before it reached his ear. “Yes?"

  "You sound like someone waking from a deep sleep.” It was Kieran Douglas. “I'm in the lobby. Can I come up and see you?"

  "Certainly.” No other answer was possible.

  "I know the room number. I'm on my way."

  Glenn hung up and went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and rinse his mouth. The latter was dry from the air conditioning. He returned and was opening the sliding door to the balcony when the drum of knuckles on the door announced Kieran's arrival.

  "Coming.” Glenn reached the door, opened it and gestured for Lexie's father to enter.

  "Thanks for seeing me.” Kieran Douglas wasted no time. “I've a proposition for you."

  Glenn let him pass and closed the door. “Yes.” There was no harm in listening.

  "You've done a deal with the Japanese.” It was not a question. “Would it prevent you from managing the operation of the Phillip Island circuit next year?” When Glenn didn't respond immediately, he continued, “We're not satisfied with its operation and are considering a take-over bid."

  Glenn's mind raced. The Japanese demand for confidentiality barred him from answering directly, or even hedging. He'd have to lie...

  Kieran sensed his dilemma and forestalled him. “We don't need a definite answer for three weeks."

  Glenn bribed his conscience with the truth. “By then, I'll have one."

  Kieran studied his face, nodded and held out his hand. “I knew I liked you. This conversation is our secret. I won't tell the others."

  "That would be good.” Glenn took the offered hand and they shook on the deal.

  "You coming back with me?"

  Glenn nodded. He'd have to speak to Lexie some time.

  They walked together to the Douglas home and she met them at the front door. Her eyes seemed twice their normal size, deep enough to drown in.

  "Hi,” he said, and waited for her response.

  Kieran kept going, leaving them alone.

  "You were right,” she said. “We should've waited till London."

  "Not a good thing ... being right.” He ached to sweep her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right, but he couldn't promise a lie.

  "I can't do this,” she said. “I need time."

  She looked so fragile his resolve wavered. A dozen words would be enough to bring the smile back to her face. Therein lay the problem. She'd never accept his reason for riding. He had to remain silent until he'd made up his mind.

  "I'll pick up my things and go back to the hotel."

  "I've packed them for you.” She pointed at his holdall beside the hallstand.

  He picked it up. “Thank you,” he said. “Make my apologies to your family."

  She nodded and he left.

  Lexie watched him for as long as he could be seen, not moving from the door until he'd disappeared from view. She was a coward. Nothing could disguise it. She couldn't face the future and was too afraid to make the break final. Glenn deserved better.

  Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from the door to find her father at the far end of the hallway. “I was just coming to get you,” he said. “Dinner's on the table."

  "I think I'll skip dinner. I don't feel hungry.” Lexie turned to the door leading to her room.

  "We'll put something away for you.” Her father turned to go ... then paused. “Never make important decisions in haste."

  Lexie turned back, but he was gone.

  She stood at her doorway, one hand on the knob. Her father knew something. The lack of comment on Glenn's departure and the appropriateness of his unsolicited advice were proof. The temptation to go after him and demand an explanation died because she already knew the answer and couldn't face anyone who saw her cowardice exposed. She opened the door and fled to the sanctuary of her room.

  It was no longer hers.

  Reminders of Glenn were everywhere. He'd sat on the seat, stood at the window, and used the shower. She could still smell his deodorant. His towel was still on the rack. The unmade bed bore the imprint of his body. She collapsed onto the window seat, only to have the roofline of the Continental mock her.

  "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

  It wasn't fair. No one asked her if she wanted to fall in love, nor warned her of the pain it brought. She'd thought she'd known what it was, but her experiences in the past were nothing to this, matching neither its highs nor its lows. It should come with a health warning, like cigarettes. She giggled at the thought of, “Warning. Loving this man may be injurious to your happiness.” tattooed across Glenn's forehead. Not that it would have saved her.

  She changed, swapping her promotions uniform for a tracksuit, tied her hair back in a ponytail and donned sneakers. Unable to remain in this room filled with memories, she'd seek solace where they'd never been together—running along the beach to Red Rocks Point. The southerly wind made it sheltered, reducing the chill of the evening to a bracing freshness.

  She kept well clear of the Continental, following Chapel Street up to Osbourne Avenue before cutting through one of the caravan parks only to stop in her tracks as she reached the beach—there were dozens of Grand Prix parties dotted along its length. She'd forgotten how the locals hated the practice...

  "I thought you'd given up this nonsense. Unless you're meeting Lionel Smallwood's boy.” It was Jack Welch, hatless and standing in the shadow of a large bush, his uniform and gun belt concealed beneath a loose blue jacket.

  Too depressed to respond with her normal fire, Lexie shook her head. “I'd forgotten and was hoping for a quiet run along the beach."

  "You won't get quiet before this mob leaves on Monday.” Jack Welch was being pleasant. Her father's edict had spread. “I'll be glad when it's over."

  "So will I."

  "He's got pole position, they say.” Jack Welch had sensed something from her reactions. “I'm going to watch it with Lionel. He and Judy will be here in the morning."

  Lexie's self-esteem plummeted. She'd not thought of Glenn's parents—another gem for her list of failures. He was better off without her.

  "You know them well?"

  Jack Welch didn't answer immediately and she didn't feel capable of looking at him, so Lexie watched the heavy-laden oil tanker making its way up the main channel from the Western Entrance. It would turn north towards the Crib Point terminal shortly.

  "He was my first sergeant when I came out of the Academy.” Jack's answer came when she'd almost forgotten the question. He kept his voice low, his thoughts on long ago. “Taught me everything I know about being a good copper. Judy mothered us young blokes. Kept us on the rails until we found our feet. It's a pity we don't have more like her these days to keep the young ones sane. I'd walk a hundred miles barefoot for either of them."

  Lexie turned. This was a Jack Welch she'd never suspected and didn't know how to handle.

  "If I'm not the copper he was, it's my fault. Neither of them realizes how special they are."

  The same could be said for their son, Lexie thought. “I think I'm beginning to realize how good a copper you are,” she said. “Dad always said so and now I can believe it. You're keeping a quiet eye on a potential trouble spot."

  "It's the best way. Doesn't confront anyone.” Jack Welch welcomed the change of subject. “I've got men discretely watching all the trouble spots. If something looks like developing, we'll come together and head it off with a visible police presence."

  He held up his hand and Lexie noticed the earpiece for the first time. “You'll excuse me, Lexie. Something's brewing at the pier.” He turned and left, heading towards the unmarked car parked in a friend's drive. “I suggest you go home,” were his last words.

  Lexie watched him drive away before she turned back to the beach. The parties were getting noisier. Jack wa
s right. It was no place for her!

  The walk home took longer. She dawdled, looked into gardens, spoke to people she would normally have passed with a nod, and looked for distractions—anything to avoid thinking. Too many uncomfortable conclusions threatened her peace of mind.

  It didn't work ... but her pride kept her smiling. The busybodies would learn she'd failed again soon enough.

  * * * *

  Glenn lingered over his dinner, amused by the constant stream of visitors to his table. Not all the riders were convinced he should ride. They understood the impossibility of banning him and tried to convince him to withdraw.

  "You're mad,” one of them said. “The Japanese won't honor a riding contract that doesn't deliver. They're ruthless. One sub-standard ride and you're out."

  Glenn agreed with him, surprised the fable of the riding contract was holding, especially with the riders. He'd thought they'd see through it instantly. Perhaps the Japanese knew more than he thought...

  "Hail, Braveheart!” It was Raul. “Enjoying the plaudits of the mob?"

  "Sit down and shut up. I expected better from you."

  "Apparently you're not.” Raul chuckled as he sat opposite. “I'm disappointed.” He pointed at the glass of mineral water with a slice of lemon and two ice cubes. “I would have expected champagne at least."

  Glenn ignored him. Raul knew he never drank before a race. These were only opening remarks. Raul would be much harder to fool.

  "No Lexie to help you celebrate?"

  Glenn shook his head. “She doesn't approve."

  "She's afraid, and not all of us can embrace fear."

  "Are you suggesting I can?” A diversion ... and anything to keep Raul from the riding contract was welcome.

  "To you, it is a tool ... a device to allow you to rise above yourself. Your brain courts it, calling up fearsome images to drive you forward. Our Japanese friends understand you better than you think, because you are one of them, following the way of the warrior—Bushido!"

  "That's arrant nonsense.” Glenn made his tone dismissive. “I'm a man facing unemployment and doing the best I can to land another job."

  "One that could kill you.” Raul turned serious. “Is it worth it?"

  "Being born has fatal consequences for everyone."

  "Now who's talking nonsense?” Raul's hands rose in disgust.

  It was a mistake to smile. Raul's hands came down slowly as his mind engaged and Glenn swore under his breath. He'd slipped and Raul had pounced.

  "So you will ride tomorrow for more than the Japanese.” Raul knew the answer. He was saying it aloud to confirm his thought.

  Glenn nodded. Now Raul had guessed; he must trust his friend's discretion.

  "Are you sure?"

  A shake of his head was answer enough.

  "But you feel you must?"

  Glenn didn't respond.

  "Yes.” Raul answered his own question. “You must.” He smiled. “Being brave is an encumbrance I'll happily forgo."

  Glenn sat back in his chair. He was the one who'd made the decision to go along with the Japanese and ride the race, and it was unfair to impose the burden on a man who benefited directly but could do nothing to change it. He'd fallen a long way short of his personal standards...

  "What do we get out of this?"

  Glenn glanced around before he answered. The crowd in the dining room had thinned and he recognized none of the remaining guests. He leaned closer to Raul to keep his voice low. “Naming rights, royalties and development costs."

  "The first for Salvatore and the rest for the family. What do you get?"

  "A contract to develop the suspension."

  "...And then?"

  A shrug seemed natural. He must respect Kieran's confidentiality.

  "Lexie?” There was an edge to Raul's voice.

  "Wouldn't understand."

  "You're wrong to test her like this.” Raul was shaking his head. “She deserves better..."

  "Undoubtedly, but I must ride."

  Raul sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and pinched his chin between his thumb and folded forefinger, his gaze never leaving Glenn's face. “In an odd way, I'm glad to find you are as human as the rest of us. It makes you less daunting, and, if fortune truly favors the brave, you deserve to walk off into the sunset with the girl at your side, but you've given too many hostages to fortune..."

  "I know."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 10

  Lexie's smile lasted until she was home, her eyes filling with tears the moment she reached the privacy of the drive. Sandra Douglas, alerted by a process known only to mothers, met her at the door and took Lexie in her arms to guide her inside.

  "There, there.” They were the words she'd used to comfort Lexie as a child. “It's not that bad."

  "I wish it were true,” Lexie sobbed. “I've made a mess of things again."

  "M-m-m.” Sandra was not convinced. “Sounds like an over-reaction to me, but I'll make a cup of tea and you can tell me the worst."

  The matter of fact reaction slowed Lexie's tears. She accepted the man-sized handkerchief from her mother and followed her through the house to the kitchen.

  "Kieran's gone to bed early. He's picking up Lionel and Judy from the ferry on its first run tomorrow."

  "They're coming here!"

  The wail of despair earned a sharp look from Sandra. “Don't work yourself into a state. We'll handle it ... and so will they."

  "I'm not sure I can."

  "Nonsense!” There was no sympathy in her mother's voice. “We know it's difficult to care so much for a man who does dangerous things, but you're not a teenager anymore. You'll find your way."

  "I can't watch him race.” They'd reached the kitchen and her mother was at the bench, setting out cups.

  "Will it be any better, not seeing?” Sandra had turned back to her.

  Lexie shook her head.

  "M-m-m. Damned if you do and damned if you don't.” Her mother's smile was gentle, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Novelists make a great deal of the joys of loving and seldom mention the pain of becoming hostage to another's actions.” The kettle boiled and she turned away to make the tea.

  Lexie sat down at the kitchen table and waited, suddenly too exhausted to do anything else. Her mother had always been a good listener, but this time she seemed in the mood to talk, returning to the table with the teapot, cups, saucers, milk and sugar.

  "You were too young to remember either of your grandfathers, but they were great mates, POWs together, first in Changi, then on the Railway, and finally in Japan. Each swore he owed his life to the other a dozen times.” Sandra's tone was quiet, ruminative. “There's a lot of them in you. They too felt guilty because they survived and others didn't. I saw your grief for young Billy when he died surfing Express Point, and for young Stewart Barton. Harry Doherty's stupidity didn't take long to reach us and Kieran had to convince your brothers that beating Harry to a pulp wouldn't stop the silly name he gave you. We decided to ignore it and hoped you'd do the same, but we could see your pain."

  Sandra paused to check the tea and, satisfied, filled their cups. Lexie added the milk and sugar and cradled the old-fashioned porcelain cup in her hands, seeking its warmth as she waited for her mother to sit down. “There was another one,” she said. “In Europe..."

  "Oh, no.” Sandra abandoned her tea to reach out across the table and cup her hands around Lexie's. “You poor thing."

  "Julie, a girl I knew well in the Agency, became involved with a Formula One driver and persuaded me to join a promotion gig at the Nürburgring track in Germany. I met Charles there. He was an American in his first season of Formula One, and terribly nervous. I was assigned to his team and we became friends, mainly because he seemed so different from the rest."

  "What happened?"

  Sandra was prompting, keeping the words flowing, and Lexie smiled at her. Only a few days before, she'd have considered this interferin
g.

  "Everything. We hit it off instantly. Spent every free moment together.” She paused, thinking about the past, trying to find words to capture exactly her feelings all those years ago. “It wasn't like what's happened with Glenn. Complete spontaneity instead. We were young enough not to think at all, just react."

  Lexie had the strangest feeling. As if she were speaking of someone she'd met long ago and no longer knew. Part of her could remember those three weeks as if they were yesterday, another part looked on from a vast distance, interested, but unaffected.

  "The team manager had to step in at one stage and tell Charles to cool it, to slow down before it affected his driving, but we just laughed and carried on as before, cramming a lifetime into every day. It was almost as if we knew what was to happen.” She'd never thought that before. “Race eve was the worst of all. Julie, Henri, Charles and I went mad, did every crazy thing we thought of, and only stayed out of the police cells because they recognized Henri at the last moment. He'd been on the circuit for two years and was making a name for himself."

  Lexie tried to remember the faces that went with the names and was ashamed that she couldn't picture them clearly, their outlines blurring the moment she concentrated.

  "Julie and I were a bit hung over race morning, but the boys seemed fine. Charles was excited about his first outing with the big boys and Henri was terribly focused. They went to the track early and we followed at ten when the promoter called. I drew a position in the team hospitality tent, I think the team manager insisted, and Julie was assigned to the podium. I think he wanted his drivers focused."

  Sandra was shaking her head. “I can remember what it was like when you got going. Jack Welch used to sit in that chair and tell us what you'd been up to and we never knew whether to laugh or cry.” She studied Lexie's face and saw something there to sober her. “What happened?"

  "Charles lost it on the tenth lap, hooked his front wheel into Henri's and they cart wheeled over the safety barrier and into a concrete wall. Hopefully, both died instantly, for the cars burst into flame."

  A silence neither woman knew how to break.

  Sandra because she wasn't sure how to comfort a daughter she hardly knew and Lexie because she was ashamed she no longer felt guilty. Regret, yes. Guilt, no! It had happened too long ago. To another Lexie. One who no longer existed.