When Harry Dame had escorted me to the back office, I could hear her unreasonable complaining.
“She looks too young and too good to be in here.”
“Sorry,” was all I heard from Dame as he pushed me through the door and closed it behind him. That was the day I knew I must change my appearance, although I was not sure what was bothering the customer.
Sitting in the car, I sighed. I switched on the engine, calmed by the sound of the motor.
Soon, I was in the busy streets of Monte Carlo. I needed to get out of that part of the principality as quickly as possible. The hotel had a big party launch later that evening and I wanted to be as far as possible from there. That crowd meant nothing to me.
Although the streets were busy, traffic was smooth. I was thankful when I was on my way to the suburbs of Nice, where I lived. Monaco was too expensive for me, although Dame had wanted to buy me an apartment there. I had refused.
Choosing the
Grande Corniche
out of Monaco was not something I did on a daily basis. It had its twists and turns, and was just too tricky for the newcomers. This time my mind played little tricks on me and, before I knew it, I was halfway up. At least the road was empty.
The appearance I had chosen three years ago was obviously the right one, although Dame was not happy. Every morning, I brushed my hair for so long that it lay flat and obedient. When I went to buy a pair of glasses, the optometrist was surprised when he realised my eyesight was perfect. He was persistent, but so was I, and in the end I left his store with two pairs with plain lenses. It took only those two small changes and my look was quite different.
Suddenly, I spotted the lights of an oncoming car, almost on my side of the road. The driver didn’t appear to be aware of his erratic driving, so I blinked my lights twice. Nothing. The car was still veering over to my side of the road. I slowed down but that didn’t make any difference. If the driver didn’t spot his mistake soon, we’d crash into each other. I had nowhere to go.
Realising that, I stepped on the brake with all the power I had in my legs and automatically put my hand on the horn. The oncoming car was just too close, with only a few metres between us. I knew that nothing would save me from the collision and, out of fear, I closed my eyes. All I could do was to wait for the inevitable.
I pictured all the horrible details of the collision: broken glass, the metal around me crushed and broken, unbearable pain, and darkness. I saw it all.
When I felt my car stop, I slowly opened my eyes. I could hear the insufferable sound of a horn loud and clear. It took me a few extra seconds to realise that my hand was still firmly on it. I lifted my hand and the dreadful sound stopped. I managed to brush my long hair out of my face.
I looked over the windscreen but could see nothing. Not even the on-coming car. Nothing. Just an empty space and far down below, where the road dropped away, azure sea lit up in another beautiful sunset. It was a beautiful sight and, honestly, I wanted to enjoy it until I realised how close to the edge of a road I was—just inches from a sheer drop!
Realising that, I took a deep breath and tried to steady my pounding heart. I was alive and my car was still in one piece.
Suddenly, my door opened and someone or something lifted me out. I closed my eyes. I hadn’t been aware of my seat belt loosening, but I quickly realised I was standing next to a very angry man.
“My God! If you can’t drive, don’t get behind the wheel!” were the first words I heard. I opened my eyes and saw I was standing pretty close to the edge of the precipice. I quickly stepped away. The fall would have been deadly.
His words still rang in my ears and I heard him speaking but wasn’t listening to what he was saying to me. All I could feel was anger—almost violent anger.
“I can’t drive?!” I spat out the words. “I CAN’T DRIVE!?”
I was still looking over the edge.
“I would very much like to know which idiot gave YOU a driving licence! Is driving in the middle of the road your daily practice? Do you realise that—” I heard footsteps coming closer and then … I smelled him. It was almost an indescribable fragrance of perfume and male scent. It was a good smell. I turned around and the rest of the sentence got stuck in my throat.
I recognised the ‘idiot’ driver immediately and my accusation wasn’t far from the truth. He WAS accustomed to driving in the middle of the road. He was in black tie attire and not only did he smell good, his appearance made me forget, for a while, what I wanted to say.
My anger helped me conceal the fact that I recognised him. His ego was already sky high without my admiration and he’d already proven what an idiot he was in the way he had spoken to me.
Lorcan Shore. A man I had followed for the last five seasons in Formula 1. From the day he joined the highest class of single-seat motor racing, I knew he had what it took to succeed in this sport. But nevertheless, who the hell did he think he was? Or, for that matter, where did he think he was? On the racetrack?
“Did you buy your driver’s licence perhaps? With a show like this, I’m almost certain that you did! I almost drove off the road because of you! You were all over the place. Keep your eyes on the road and not … everywhere else. Christ! Can you at least picture in your thick head what would happen to me? I would be dead and gone and for that matter, nothing would happen to you, right? And I can’t drive? ME? Do me a favour and return your driver’s licence. It would be safer for all of us, knowing that you did that!” The words coming out of my mouth didn’t give me any credit. I knew that I was going overboard with the verbal tirade. I criticised his driving skills, something he thought he was the best at. And I enjoyed doing it.
Suddenly, I realised that he was silently standing still in front of me. I stopped talking when I looked into his eyes. To be able to do that, I had to raise my head; at six foot four he was the tallest man in the F1 circuit.
A strange feeling went through me. It was like … he was in some sort of trance. Something was not as it was supposed to be. Then I realised.
Of course not. We almost crashed. Certainly nothing is as it’s supposed to be!
My hands clenched as I waited for another verbal attack, but there was none. His grey eyes were calm and he was looking at me as … I was not sure what. I realised we were standing way too close to each other, and for the sake of my heart, I stepped away. Instantly, his hands were on my shoulders.
“Don’t—” he started, when I interrupted him abruptly.
“Take your hands off me. Now!”
He didn’t move. His eyes reflected the setting sun. His calm look made me even more furious. Before I was able to remove his hands, he spoke, his voice steady and serious.
“Don’t take another step back. You’ll fall.”
I had completely forgotten where we were. I turned around, looked over my shoulder and saw he was telling the truth. Hundreds of metres, straight down. Still, I wanted his hands off me; his touch was burning my skin.
I stepped sideways and his hands finally slipped away. I felt his touch all the way as his hands slid down my arms. I needed to get my grip on reality back. Quickly. I was still extremely angry with him and wanted to tell him once again how much.
“Can I apologise?”
I looked back into his eyes.
“I’m waiting,” was my response.
“Let me introduce myself,” he started. I knew he felt stupid and I was wickedly happy with that. Let him be just a little bit humble.
“My name is Lorcan Shore.”
I almost blurted out,
I know
, but kept my mouth shut. He offered me his right hand. I realised, watching his eyes that it was unusual for him not to be recognised on the spot.
I took his hand and shook it. As always, my grip was firm, perhaps too strong for a woman, as I was always being reminded by Dame.
I gazed into his face, which was illuminated by the setting sun, my own face in shadow. I didn’t know what to think when I saw surprise in his eyes. Was Dame right? Was my handshake really too strong for a woman? Did it unsettle him?
I dropped his hand and hid mine behind my back. I knew he was waiting for me to introduce myself but I wasn’t about to give him my real name.
“Anna,” I lied. He quickly realised that was all he was likely to get from me.
“I confess, Anna,” he said, “I was distracted, which I’m usually not.”
That was his poor attempt at an apology and explanation. But I knew he was telling the truth. I turned away from him, back to the car. Back to the edge. A foot—only a foot more and I would have driven right off. Dead and gone. I doubted much would be left of me. I heard him talking, obviously apologising, but my mind had wandered off.
Turning around, I spotted his Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG almost in the same position as mine but facing up the hill, not over the edge. If a collision had happened, he might have been safe. I wouldn’t have been so lucky.
I turned back to face him again. He was raking a hand through his black hair, his face a picture of remorse.
“Can I go now?” I asked. My anger was gone but I didn’t want him to know that. I was still shaken from both the near accident and his presence; two things I didn’t want him to know.
Surprise was written on his face and it was then that I realised I had missed something he had said. Too caught up in my own thoughts. He looked bemused and repeated his question.
“Can I at least take you for a drink? As an apology.”
I shook my head.
“No thank you. I’m on my way home and, frankly, I’ve had enough excitement to last me the rest of the summer.” I saw he wanted to say something more, but I raised my hand to silence him. “I’m just too tired. Good night.”
With shaking legs, I got in my car. I didn’t want to look at him again, although I knew the expression on his face must have been priceless. He’d been turned down. How many times had that happened in his life? In the last five years? I was pretty sure it had never happened.
Before I managed to start the car, he was beside me holding the door. I didn’t want to, but I was forced to look at his almost flawless face again. Damn it! He looked so good and he smelled good. His scent carried on the breeze.
“Please.”
I couldn’t speak. Instead, I shook my head and started the car.
“Where can I find you?” he asked again.
“Can you move your car, please?”
He stood beside the car for a few more moments and, if he had remained there, I might have been tempted to change my mind. However, he reluctantly turned and went back to his Mercedes.
As I drove away, I glanced in the rear view mirror. He was standing in the middle of the road, then I turned into the bend and he was gone.
It took me twice as long as usual to get home. The house Dame rented for me was small and the only one in darkness. I was still shaking. I wasn’t sure why. Was it the near car accident or was it meeting the golden boy, Lorcan Shore, face to face?
I’d recognised him on the spot. His smell was just delicious.
Great
, I realised I was faced with another problem. Every time I saw him on television from now on, I would smell him. That was my curse. I was not able to forget a smell once I connected it to someone.
Getting out of the car, I remembered almost every newspaper headline from the past few months. Although he had been champion five years in a row, at the end of each season, almost all were convinced that he was just a flash in the pan. And more and more articles focused on his private life, which was not that private anyway.
As each race passed and the season progressed, however, the praise grew. At last he was compared with the legend himself, Ayrton Senna.
Lorcan was my favourite, almost from the first day, but I never imagined I would ever see him in person.
At the entrance to the house, I realised I’d forgotten my purse and house keys in the car. I could just imagine how I must have looked to my neighbours, throwing my hands in the air with anger and looking up at the sky. I told myself to get a grip but it had been too long a day for me, and so damn unusual. As I got out of the shower, I realized I was ravenous. I had eaten little during my busy day and now regretted it. Hunting through the fridge, I found nothing to eat. Suddenly, the the doorbell rang and I smiled. I knew instantly who it was: my kind landlady and a friend, Anne-Marie, who occasionally cooked for me too.
“Come on in,” I called out from the kitchen. The door was not locked.
“So you’re already home?” asked Anne-Marie.
“Yes, I am. It was a long day,” I answered as I greeted her. She was forty years old, a mother of three boys, but she was more glamorous than I ever could be. She was married to a financial advisor with some big clients and that meant she didn’t need to work, so she took care of me, as well as taking care of her boys. She was wearing a pair of oven mitts and was holding a steaming vegetable casserole.
“And how was it?” she asked, standing beside me in the kitchen, putting the pan on the stove. She’d been my landlady for a long time now and during the time, we became friends. Still, I couldn’t tell her everything.
“The same. How was yours?”
She took another plate out of the cabinet and moved the food from her plate to mine. I didn’t question this anymore. A long time ago, I asked her why she put her plate on my plate. She always said that the plate she brought with her was too hot for me to touch. It didn’t make any sense but I took it as one of her ‘French’ things.