Chapter Six

Aiden finished the Malaysian Grand Prix in fourth place. It was respectable, gratifyingly one place better than his teammate, but a long way from jump up and down exciting. It was, however, a million times better than crashing out due to his own blundering incompetence.

There was a break before the next Grand Prix. Break was a loose term because even though they weren’t on the road they were still working, getting the car ready for its next race. It entailed almost daily visits to leafy Surrey and the Delta HQ, though the sixty mile round trip commute from London was hardly a chore. Not in his Ferrari 599.

Today though, it felt pretty close to one. Not because his sleek grey Ferrari was any less responsive, but because of what was in store for him when he arrived. The more miles the supercar ate up, the more his insides gnawed and twisted. By the time he eased the purring metal machine into his parking space, his stomach had more knots than a stack of cheap timber.

There’s nothing to worry about, he tried to reassure himself as he climbed out. It was just another interview. God knows, he’d done enough in his time.

Melanie, fresh-faced and wearing a pink blouse instead of the usual team white, greeted him in the reception area.

‘Well, hello. Have you stood here all morning just waiting for me?’

She gave him one of her looks, the ones he was starting to enjoy. ‘Sure I have. I’ve got nothing better to do with my day than hang out in the Delta reception area, waiting for my drivers to arrive.’

He grinned. ‘That’s good. And just a note for next time, if you could wait with a mug of tea, too, that’d be great.’

‘You’ll get your tea and I might even put it in a mug. After you’ve met with Mike Hayward.’

‘Ah. So that’s the bribe to make sure I don’t duck out?’ He ran a hand over his chin, wondering if perhaps he should have shaved. ‘I’m not sure an hour of talking about my relationship with my father is worth a mug of tea.’

In fact he was bloody certain it wasn’t. The damn stomach knots tightened still further and Aiden suddenly wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk out.

Melanie’s hazel eyes softened and she reached out to touch him lightly on the arm, drawing him into a nearby meeting room. After closing the door behind her she turned to face him, all warmth and sweet concern. Bizarrely this time it was his chest that tightened, not his stomach, as if his heart was finding the space inside his ribs too small. Jesus, what was wrong with him? Why was her simple act of kindness making him feel so emotional?

‘I know this is going to be hard for you,’ she told him in a voice as soft as her eyes. ‘But ever since it was announced you were joining Delta, Mike from Motorsport has been asking for an interview that explores your relationship with your father. Now, just because that’s what he wants, it doesn’t mean we have to give it to him. You’ve seen my briefing document?’

He nodded. He’d seen it. He just hadn’t read it.

‘Well, in there I give some suggestions about how you can deflect some of the questions he’s going to ask if you think they’re too personal, though I doubt you need my help on that score. But if you want my opinion, I believe if we get the whole relationship out in the open, if you talk candidly about what it was like growing up with such a superstar father, then the media interest in that angle will diminish. With a bit of luck they’ll then get back to doing what they should be doing. Talking about you and your racing.’

‘That would be nice.’ Understatement of the year.

‘So, are you ready to talk about Sebastian Foster, Aiden Foster’s father?’ The look she gave him was filled with such certainty, as if she absolutely knew he could do this. And maybe if his life had been the Swiss Family Robinson paradise they all imagined, he could have talked about it.

He exhaled deeply and began to pace the room, his stomach now tying knots within knots.

‘Look, I understand how hard it is to talk about someone you loved and lost.’ Melanie gave him a quick, wobbly smile. ‘I lost my father, too.’

That snapped him out of his self-induced funk. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. How?’

‘Like yours, in a car accident.’ Again she tried to smile but it was a sad version of her trademark high watt grin. ‘Of course, my dad wasn’t driving quite so fast, or on a racetrack. In fact he was coming home from a trip to the supermarket.’

Her voice had started to shake a little and Aiden suddenly wanted to tell her to stop. What she’d experienced was so much worse than anything he’d gone through. But before he could, she dropped another bombshell.

‘My mother was in the car, too.’

He almost didn’t dare ask the question. ‘Did she …?’ his voice trailed off as he saw the answer in her eyes.

‘Yes. They both died. I was eighteen at the time.’

His heart plummeted and he felt an almost desperate urge to comfort her. If he’d been Stefano, or Frank, hell anyone else with half-decent social skills, he’d have wrapped his arms around her. Instead he remained where he was feeling stiff, awkward and useless.

‘All I’m trying to say,’ she continued, her eyes welling, ‘is I know how hard it is to talk about the death of a parent, so if you really don’t want to do this—’

‘I’ll do it,’ he cut in sharply, feeling like a blasted fake. Here she was, wearing her heart on her sleeve, crying over the death of her parents. People she clearly loved. And here he was, with a heart of stone, feeling only anger and bitterness towards his own father.

His harsh tone caused her to reel back a little and he swore under his breath.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. I just … I’m sorry you went through what you did. Really sorry. And in comparison, my story is …’ Feeble? Pathetic? Pitiful?

‘What, Aiden?’ She studied him with luminous brown eyes.

The truth stuck in his throat and he couldn’t, wouldn’t voice it. ‘Very different,’ he settled with, walking back towards the door. ‘Come on, you’d better take me to this Mike fellow. And bring me that flipping cup of tea you promised.’

Here we go again, he thought as he trailed behind her neat figure. Once again he’d recount the story of how exciting it was to be the son of a racing car driver. Hell, if he told it often enough, maybe even he’d start to believe it.

Mel sat at the opposite end of the room from Mike and Aiden, ostensibly with her head down, trying to work. In reality she was listening and occasionally watching Aiden lie his way through the entire interview. And doing it with all the enthusiasm of a man walking into the dentist for a root canal filling.

‘So, tell me about the time you first realised your father was a world-renowned racing car driver?’ Mike asked.

Aiden smiled, the amenable smile that never really touched his eyes. ‘Well, I guess I would be about five. I went to the race with my mother and we sat in these fantastic seats, right on the finishing line, opposite the pit lane. It was incredible. I remember hearing all these voices around me roar in excitement, cheering Sebastian Foster as he blazed through the chequered flag. I remember puffing out my chest and wanting to jump up and down shouting “that’s my dad”.’

Bullshit, she wanted to scream. Surely Mike could tell it was a lie? Surely he could see past the bland expression on Aiden’s face and into the guarded eyes? Why was he lying? Why couldn’t he just tell Mike the truth and be done with it? So what if he hadn’t always seen eye to eye with his father. Name her a father and son who didn’t have the occasional ding dong.

‘Would you say you had a privileged upbringing?’

There it was again, the nonchalant shrug, though his tight jawline told her he was anything but relaxed.

‘My father had plenty of money and a garage full of fast cars,’ Aiden replied with that shucks, wasn’t my life wonderful false smile on his face. ‘What young boy wouldn’t want that?’

Heaving out a sigh Mel began to write down the questions that Aiden had either lied through, or cleverly evaded answering.

‘And was it your father who taught you to drive your first kart?’

A brief hesitation. ‘You have to remember he spent a lot of time overseas, so the opportunity for him to actually teach me anything was fairly limited.’

Another evade.

‘But what about when he wasn’t racing?’ Mike prompted. ‘The weekends during the off season?’

Aiden shifted his stance, raising his arm casually across the back of the chair. ‘Actually I went to boarding school, so I was only home during the holidays.’

Well, at least now she knew where his exemplary good manners came from, even if she hadn’t learnt anything more about his relationship with his father.

Obviously realising his interviewee wasn’t exactly playing ball, Mike tried another angle. ‘Can you give us a sense of what Sebastian Foster was like as a dad?’

Aiden frowned, his face tightening. ‘Look, Mike, I’m not sure what you want me to say? He died when I was ten and I don’t have an awful lot of memories before that. I mean, how much can you remember of your first ten years? Most of the time I was away at school, or taking part in my own karting races.’ As if aware he was becoming too tense, Aiden relaxed his face and smiled. ‘Sebastian Foster was, and still is, a legend. What you saw in public was what I remember in private, too. I’m incredibly lucky to have had him as my father.’

‘Do you think he would have been proud to see his son following in his footsteps?’

Mel cringed as Aiden briefly closed his eyes, as if the question was painful. When he opened them he shifted forward in his seat, resting his hands on his knees, his jaw muscle jumping. ‘With respect, how the hell do I know?’ Shaking his head, no doubt appalled at his brief slip into honesty, he sighed. ‘I like to think he would have been pleased to see me take up racing, yes, but frankly until I win a Championship, there’s not much to be proud of, is there?’

Mel couldn’t take any more. She stood up and walked over to them. ‘Sorry, Mike, but we’re going to have to call it a day there. You know how it is. Aiden’s next appointment is already champing at the bit, telling me we’re late.’

Mike looked down at his watch. ‘Well, sure, but I thought we had an hour?’

‘Forty-five minutes was scheduled, and we’re already at fifty minutes, so please, if you don’t mind?’

‘Actually, I had a few more questions.’

Mel glanced over to where Aiden was watching her, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Oh, and he might not want to show it but she was pretty certain there was a heavy dose of relief in there, too.

‘Perhaps if you want to email the questions to me?’ she suggested to Mike, trying her best to keep him sweet. ‘We’ll get you a reply as soon as the day quietens down.’

Looking slightly mollified, Mike put away his recorder and shuffled out of the room. Mel followed him, making sure he knew his way out. Then she went back to face Mr Evasive.

‘My next appointment?’ Aiden asked the moment she slipped back into the room. ‘Don’t tell me, it’s with Horse Weekly.’

‘Horse … what?’

‘You said he was champing at the bit?’

He was grinning widely at her now and it was hard not to respond. Hard to ignore the flutter of her heart. Taking her time, avoiding his eyes, she went to sit opposite him. ‘Aiden, why did you lie to Mike?’

Instantly the grin disappeared.

‘What do you mean?’ He sat back, folding his arms across his chest in what she could see was an instinctively defensive gesture.

‘Don’t take me for a fool.’

For a long moment he said nothing. Then he rose to his feet, looking down at her from his six-foot frame. ‘Look, are we done now?’

‘No. We won’t be done until you explain why you treated that interview as if it was a tedious chore you couldn’t be bothered with, like sorting out the recycling.’

‘Actually, I recycle as I go along. Don’t most people?’

Mel had a reasonably long fuse, but it was just about to ignite. She leapt to her feet too, squaring up to him even though her eyes only made it to the top button of his black polo shirt. ‘I thought we’d agreed you were going to be honest with Mike?’

His grey eyes flashed. ‘Did you really want me to tell old Mikey boy that actually Sebastian Foster didn’t give a damn about anybody but himself?’ The veins stood out starkly on his neck as his face flushed with anger. ‘Or how about that rather than being proud of me, he didn’t even know I existed?’

Silence reverberated round the room. Mel didn’t know where to put herself. What to do, what to say.

Then Aiden swore under his breath and went to sit down again, shoving his head into his hands. He looked so defeated, so utterly wretched, that instinct took over and she found herself putting her arms around his stiff, unyielding body. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He raised his head and glanced at her with sombre grey eyes. ‘Sorry for what? That my father was a jerk, or that you made me talk about the father that was a jerk?’

Oh God. Her heart began to swell in her chest, filling with feelings she didn’t want. She needed Aiden to be the shallow, rich playboy she’d imagined. Not this vulnerable man sitting beside her now. ‘I’m sorry for both.’

For a few moments he rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands, obviously trying to pull himself together. Then he let out a long, slow breath and sat back up. Immediately Mel snatched her arm away and stood out of touching range, afraid he might think she was coming on to him. Even more afraid he might be right.

His eyes told her he’d noted her quick slide away, but he made no comment. ‘No need to apologise. I can’t see how the first is your fault, and as for the second, you were only doing your job.’

‘Perhaps, but if I’d known you carried all this … anger inside you about him, I’d have never put you through that.’

He angled his head to look at her and all she could think was God, this man is absolutely, heart in the mouth, gorgeous.

‘Strikes me that you kicked Mike out as soon as you realised.’ He held his hand up to his ear in an exaggerated show of listening. ‘I’m not sure I hear a load of other journalists clamouring to talk to me.’

Grateful for the dial down in emotional intensity, Mel smiled. ‘Busted.’ Then, because she had to ask. ‘You could have told Mike what you just told me, you know. Nobody would think any less of you. In fact it might get some of the press off your back.’

‘Do you really think anybody out there wants to hear that Sebastian Foster was anything other than a fabulous father?’

‘From the sound of things, you don’t owe him anything.’

His shoulders slumped as he let out another deep sigh. ‘He was still my father.’

Mel’s heart was now so swollen it started to ache. Finally she understood. How could the son, the pretender to the legend, knock his father off the pedestal the world had put him on?