from its minute focus on the track. Silvio had done well. The car was performing perfectly. The conditions were ideal. The race was his—another win to add to his impressive record.
You don’t have to prove anything…
Darkness engulfed him as he plunged into the tunnel. The soft voice in his head was so real that for a moment it was as if she was in the car with him, and he could almost smell the cool scent of her skin. His focus wavered and he blinked hard, almost dizzy with longing.
The mouth of the tunnel was ahead of him. As he came out the sun was in his eyes, the taste of her skin was on his lips, the echo of her words in his ears, and suddenly he had the oddest sensation of everything making sense. The barrier in front of him was too close, coming too fast, but it felt almost unreal because in that moment he knew…
And then there was an explosion—pain, fire, blackness.
Nothing.
Chapter One
Four years later
CLEARSPRING WATER, as the marketing department was keen to point out, was sourced from an ancient spring deep in the green heart of the Yorkshire Dales. Its offices, however, were situated in a hideous 1960s building on an industrial estate on the fringes of a grey Yorkshire town.
They were pretty depressing at the best of times, but on the first Monday morning in January the drooping paper chains and balding Christmas tree in Reception that no one had quite got round to removing made them feel more than usually grim. Standing in the cell-like kitchen at the end of the corridor, waiting for the kettle to boil, Kate stared at the calendar on the wall in front of her.
New year, new calendar. New set of photographs of the Campano racing team.
Pulling the sleeves of the rather unflattering polo-necked jumper her mother had given her for Christmas down over her fingers, she turned her back on the calendar and leaned against the worktop, repeating her New Year’s resolution in her head like a mantra. This year I am going to stop waiting. I am going to give up dealing in maybes and what ifs; stop obsessing over what I haven’t got, and make the most of what I have—a gorgeous, happy, healthy three-year-old boy.
Her fingers tingled. She wasn’t going to look. Wasn’t going to pull the stupid calendar off the wall and flick through in search of a photo of Cristiano Maresca like some obsessed teenage fangirl.
As she had last year. And the one before.
Cristiano Maresca hadn’t raced since the accident that had almost killed him at Monaco, but if anything his status as a celebrity heart-throb had only increased. He was more elusive than ever, but rare snatched paparazzi photographs of him looking lean and menacing were reproduced endlessly in newspapers and magazines, along with speculation about whether he’d ever return to the circuit.
Why was the kettle taking so long to boil?
She took down mugs from the cupboard, threw a herbal teabag into the one that said ‘The Boss’ on it, and spooned coffee into ‘I’d rather be in Tenerife’. The kettle was just beginning the throaty splutter that was a prelude to its great crescendo as it reached boiling point. Kate’s gaze flickered back to the calendar.
January’s photo was harmless enough, showing two of the Campano cars—Clearspring banners clearly visible—racing side by side. Surreptitiously, as if it had a mind of its own, she felt her hand come up, lifting the page so she could see the picture underneath.
‘July.’
The voice from behind her made her jump. Kate snatched her hand back as Lisa from the art department stuck her head round the door.
‘Don’t pretend you weren’t looking for Maresca.’ She grinned. ‘We all have. He’s July. Roll on summer!’
The kettle reached its final death rattle in a billowing cloud of steam as Lisa disappeared down the corridor. Grimly, Kate sloshed water into the mugs and followed, allowing herself a brief moment of triumph as she knocked on the door of Dominic’s office.
She hadn’t looked, and she had until July to get her life together and move on. Or give up coffee.
‘What the hell is that?’ Dominic peered suspiciously into the mug as she set it down on his desk and then gave a groan. ‘Oh, God—it’s a conspiracy. Don’t tell me Lizzie’s got you on board with this appalling New Year detox idea?’
Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘Happy New Year to you too,’ she said sardonically, turning and heading back towards the door. ‘And you’re welcome.’
‘Wait—sorry,’ Dominic sighed. ‘A whole week in the company of my mother-in-law seems to have brought out my petulant side. Let me try that again, in the manner of a civilised human being who is delighted to be back at work at the start of an exciting new year.’ He beamed comically, gesturing to the chair squeezed into the gap between the window and the filing cabinet opposite his desk. ‘Have a seat and tell me about your Christmas. I take it you weren’t buried beneath an avalanche of pink plastic like we were?’
Cupping her coffee in both hands, Kate sat down. Nine months older than her son, Dominic’s daughter Ruby was both Alexander’s best friend and his nemesis. Between them, they seemed to have dedicated their lives to proving any child psychologist who claimed that gender roles weren’t programmed from birth an idiot.
‘Nope, it was wall-to-wall cars with us,’ Kate said ruefully. ‘Alexander’s favourite by miles is the Alfa Romeo whatever-it-was from you.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘He even takes it to bed with him. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ Dominic said with a wistful sigh. ‘It’s a Spider, you hopeless girl. An Alfa Romeo Spider—and Alexander’s quite right. It’s one of the most iconic cars ever made. I’d go to bed with one if I could.’
‘Does Lizzie know about this?’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t be surprised,’ Dominic said wryly, putting down his mug with a little grimace of distaste. ‘An Alfa Romeo Spider would never make me go on a detox programme.’
‘Serves you right. You shouldn’t have partied so hard over Christmas.’
Dominic leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes, well, you know what this job’s like. Clients to entertain, staff parties to organise.’ He looked at her pointedly over his glasses. ‘Even though some staff didn’t bother to turn up.’
Kate rolled her eyes, suddenly taking a great interest in rearranging the Post-it notes stuck all over the filing cabinet into tidy lines. ‘Come on, we’ve been through this before. I couldn’t get a babysitter, OK?’
‘Your mum was out clubbing again, was she?’
The unlikeliness of the image made Kate smile briefly in spite of herself. ‘I can’t ask her all the time. She already does enough, looking after Alexander for me when I’m working. It’s not as if I can afford to pay her or anything.’
‘She wouldn’t take it even if you could. You know she loves having him. It’s been a lifeline for her after Will…’
‘I know, I know.’ Kate pressed her finger down on the corner of a Post-it note that stubbornly refused
