but seeing the car like that will bring it home to people how amazing you are to have come back from it.’
Her musky perfume caught in the back of his throat, combining with the despair that lodged there, choking him. Everyone remembered the accident except him. And if Dr Fournier was right that might mean that, no matter how strong he was, it would never come back.
He knocked back a slug of champagne. It had cost Silvio a fortune, but to him it tasted like battery acid.
‘I’m not back yet.’
‘But you will be,’ Suki purred, trailing a scarlet-tipped finger down the silk lapel of his dinner jacket. ‘You were three times World Champion. You just need to get a couple of races—a couple of wins—under your belt. I know it must be hard—’
With a muted sound of disgust Cristiano broke away from her, thrusting both hands through his hair. Apart from Francine Fournier, Suki was the only person who knew about his memory loss, but even she had no idea about the flashbacks and the panic attacks and the palpitations that plagued him when he was driving.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he said bitterly.
Below them Silvio was moving swiftly from group to group, beaming as he shook hands with the men and kissed the women, most of whom towered above him in high heels. In a moment he would make a speech, and then after that the guests would disperse into the adjoining salons and take their places at the gaming tables to play poker and roulette. Suki’s theme for the evening had been decided apparently without irony, and the guests were looking forward to celebrating Cristiano’s return by gambling with Campano money.
For him, the stakes were much higher.
‘I’m here for you—you know that,’ Suki said in a low voice. ‘If there’s anything—’
‘The twenty-four hours before the crash,’ he interrupted through tightly gritted teeth. ‘Tell me again. What happened?’
She stiffened slightly, and suddenly her perfectly made-up face was as hard and expressionless as a Venetian mask. ‘I’ve told you,’ she said carefully. ‘There’s nothing more.’
Cristiano’s gaze was inexorably pulled back to the shredded metal and blackened paintwork of the ruined car.
‘Again,’ he said with lethal softness.
He heard her give the merest hint of an impatient sigh. ‘You qualified in pole position. Some girl had come over from Clearspring Water to interview you and I took her to the press suite to wait for you while you went back to have a shower and rest.’ Her tone was nonchalant, almost as if the events of that lost evening were completely inconsequential. ‘One of Silvio’s friends was having a party on a yacht, so most of us had left the Campano building by six. I’m guessing that you must have finished your interview with the Clearspring girl by seven and gone home soon afterwards.’
‘What about the next morning?’
Suki picked an imaginary bit of lint from the front of her very tight red satin dress. ‘Normal race day routine. You arrived at the track—’
‘According to the newspapers I missed the drivers’ parade.’
‘Maybe you were a bit late.’ Suki shrugged. ‘Four years is a long time. I can’t remember exactly what happened that day—none of it seemed to matter compared to what came afterwards.’
The throbbing in his head intensified. The music was building to a crescendo, the violinists thrusting their hips and their bows more and more feverishly as the guests kept coming. Cristiano’s gaze flickered restlessly over all of them, as if he was looking for someone in particular.
‘Was I alone?’
‘When you arrived?’ she said casually. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t you have been?’
He gave an icy smile. ‘Because the night before a race I usually wasn’t.’
It seemed like another lifetime. When he had driven fast and won races and seduced women all with the same effortless arrogance.
‘Like I said, I was at the party. I didn’t see you leave.’
‘This girl from Clearspring…’
His voice trailed off and his hand tightened on the railing as his restless gaze snagged on something below. Someone. He snapped it back, raking his eyes over the crowd again, trying to locate whatever it was that had caused that sensation like a flashbulb going off inside his head.
Suki gave a dismissive laugh. ‘Oh, please. She wasn’t your type at all,’ she said with an edge of scorn. ‘She turned up wearing some kind of librarian-style grey suit—can you imagine? At Monaco? In May? I’m talking seriously plain and boring—the kind of girl who thinks the best fun you can have in bed is reading a book…’
Cristiano had stopped listening.
He was watching the girl in a dress of clinging blue satin who had just walked through the door and was drifting, like the rest of the guests, towards the stage. The thing was, he wasn’t sure why he was watching her.
Another flashbulb exploded inside his head.
In a roomful of some of the most beautiful women in the world she should have been invisible, but suddenly it was impossible to look at anyone else. She was slight, slender, though the cut of the dress accentuated breasts that looked surprisingly full and lush, and her dark blonde hair was loose and unadorned, curling up slightly at the ends where it skimmed her bare shoulders. There was something very separate about the upright way she held herself, as if she were battling the temptation to turn and run. Her eyes were downcast, her face pale and completely expressionless.
‘Who’s that?’
His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed a razorblade. Suki glanced at him in surprise, following his gaze. ‘I take it you don’t mean the woman in the red Dolce & Gabbana? Because if you don’t know who she is then—’
‘Blue dress.’
‘Oh.’ Suki made the single syllable bristle with disdain. ‘I have no idea—which means she’s probably nobody. The girlfriend of one of the minor mechanics or geeky technicians. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t think where I’ve seen her before.’
Cristiano didn’t answer. The girl was directly below them now, so that he could see the satin sheen of her bare back and the raised bumps of her spine.
This time his head felt as if it had been split in two by forked lightning. It was as if the violinists were dragging their bows backwards and forwards over his taut nerves as their music swooped and screamed towards its pulsing climax. He was distantly aware of pain shooting up the tendons in his forearms, and realised he was gripping the railing so hard that his fingers were numb, as if he was trying to stop himself vaulting over it to get to the girl in the blue dress.
She had come to a standstill a little distance away from the platform where the violinists still tossed their hair and swayed between the two cars. Her back was towards him and Cristiano felt his body tightening, hardening, as his eyes travelled down its bare length. Her skin was the colour of old ivory.
And
