We muttered our farewells, Sophia and I watching as our idols strolled away, hand in hand through the party. Once they were safely out of sight, Sophia screeched, her long nails digging into my forearm.
“I cannotbelievethat just happened!” She hopped foot to foot excitedly. “Talk about life goals.”
I fanned my face. “Tell me about it. I’ve been dreaming about meeting them both since I was a kid. I think I’ve watched their docuseries about a hundred times.”
“Me too,” Sophia sighed. “It’ssoromantic.”
“Right?” I gasped. “What I wouldn’t give for my own Nick Larson. No offence, you’re a great teammate and all but—”
“I hear you,” Sophia giggled. “The grid is painfully short on handsome drivers.”
“They don’t make ‘em like Nick Larson anymore, that’s for sure,” I sighed.
Sophia and I smiled at one another. Maybe we had more in common than I’d first thought. It felt good to finally have a genuine conversation with my teammate that wasn’t forced or all about work.
“You want another drink?” I asked with a smile.
“Absolutely! Lead the way.”
Harold hadn’t shown at the party, and I hadn’t heard anything from him or any of the senior team. At first, I hadn’t thought much of it, but as more time elapsed and we entered the last week of our summer break, I started to grow concerned.
Sat beside the pool, the hot sun blazed down on me, and I stared at my phone. I frowned, navigating to my WhatsApp messages and tapping on Sophia’s name.
BIANCA: Hey, hope you’re having a great break. Have you heard anything from Harold or the others?
It didn’t take long before she replied.
SOPHIA: No, nothing. Do you get the impression something is going on?
BIANCA: Definitely. I’ve tried calling Harold a few times, but his phone goes straight to answerphone.
SOPHIA: I’m going to reach out to some of the other seniors and see if they know what’s going on.
BIANCA: Keep me posted.
I locked my phone, dropping it into my lap with a heavy sigh. I had a bad feeling about this.
I turned my face up into the heat of the sun, closing my eyes. I loved being here at my sleepy French villa, especially during the summer months. It was always so quiet, just me and two members of house staff – as different as it was possible to be from the hustle and bustle of London, or the constant jet lag from travelling the world. It was exhausting, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. I lived for racing.
Sweat beaded on my brow and I got to my feet, unwrapping my sarong from my waist. I left it beside my phone before skipping across the hot tiles and diving into the cool waters of the pool. When I surfaced, I floated on my back, gazing up into the bright blue, cloudless sky.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, but as I clambered out in a shower of water, I heard my phone ringing. Hurriedly towelling myself dry, I rushed to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Bianca, long time no speak.” It was Frank Matthews, the owner of McLaren. I sucked in a breath, there was no good reason for him to be calling, that much was certain.
“Hi, Frank. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to call you on your summer break, but I’m going to need you to come into the office. There’s some important news I need to fill the team in on and I’d like to do so face to face before anything gets released to the press.”
I felt my stomach turn over. “Is this about Harold? Is he alright? I’ve been trying to call him, but—”
“Just come in. I’ll explain everything when we have everyone together,” Frank interjected. “Safe travels.”
“Alright, see you soon,” I replied, hanging up. I stared at my phone with confusion. Something serious was going on and I needed to get myself back to Britain as soon as possible. I grabbed my towel, wrapping it around my body as I hurried inside to shower.
“Miss Rossi?” My housekeeper stepped forward, her face etched with concern.
