Straker frowned as he mulled this over. ‘Doesn’t that create phoniness too?’
‘Oh yes!’ said Sabatino with a broad smile. ‘But in them, not me! With this approach, they’re never directly threatened. They’re disarmed. It helps me get their guard down — meaning I can read them much more easily and, ultimately, get them to do what I want.’
They ate for a few moments, Straker praising the food. ‘If you were so completely ostracized by your brother and boyfriend, how did you get back into racing, then?’
‘That first drive didn’t go unnoticed. I was spotted by a rival team. The owner saw my rapid improvement in lap times. When his driver had an accident and couldn’t race, he got in touch — probably because he liked the novelty of fielding a girl driver, more than me. It certainly caused a bit of a stir. I made it a condition of my agreement, though, to be given a proper budget for practice.’
‘And that was the off?’
‘In karting, yes. I raced for two seasons and notched up some good wins and results. It was then that I came up with my third tenet — nothing to do with chauvinism, you’ll be pleased to hear.’
‘Which is?’ he asked with a concessionary smile at her taunt.
‘Attention to detail. To leave nothing overlooked. The competitive difference between karts or F1 cars, particularly, in normal conditions is minimal — measured in hundredths of a second per lap, a matter of seconds over a two-hour race. Nothing, really. But working through the whole gamut of a race and race preparation I came across one potentially huge advantage.’
Straker’s expression conveyed considerable curiosity: ‘What was that?’
‘It was so simple and obvious — to me, at least. Race cars and rain don’t mix, right? In the wet, you can easily drop half a minute a lap. Also, because of the far higher likelihood of spins, bumps and crashes, the expected race order in the wet can be completely turned on its head. Wet conditions can easily turn a motor race into a lottery. So I thought: why be a hostage to the wet? Why not try and turn rain — wet conditions — into an advantage? In any season of racing, it’s inevitably going to rain sometime. If I could materially bring it home when everyone else is cocking it up, I saw the possibility of creating enough of a margin — even in just one race — to make a difference to a whole season’s results.’
Straker nodded and smiled appreciatively at the logic. ‘How did you act on that?’
‘Practice, practice, practice! Some people practise until they get it right; I wanted to practise until I couldn’t get it wrong. Every time it rained — or even looked like raining — I rushed to the track and went out in a kart and drove — drove, drove, drove. I spun. I slid. I spun some more, got soaked, caught God knows how many colds. Nearly caught pneumonia — certainly had a bad bout of pleurisy. But … I kept pushing myself and, in the end … I got better. In fact, I got pretty good.’
‘Doesn’t everyone do this?’
‘No, thank heavens. There’s only one other who I discovered did anything similar — and I only learnt about him after I’d started in Formula One.’
‘Who was that?’
Sabatino raised a self-effacing eyebrow. ‘Ayrton Senna,’ she said. ‘But I’m convinced my obsession with rain also helped my general driving. Tuning-in to the hyper sensitivity of wet conditions, I guess, improved my car control. Must have. Because of that, I genuinely believe that I’m able to push myself harder in the dry.’
‘Makes sense. Who spotted you for the bigger cars, then?’
Sabatino finished a mouthful of food. ‘I soon moved to England, to study engineering at university — go-karting sparking my interest in mechanics — and picked up an occasional drive here and there. I seemed blessed by a series of one-offs. An injury to a driver at Brands Hatch gave me a chance drive in a Formula Ford. A disqualified driver at Thruxton opened up a seat in Formula 3000 for half a season. And my big break came at Donington at the end of last year where I was driving a GP2: I pulled off a coup against Simi Luciano, the runner-up in last year’s F1 season, no less, who had turned up to give some sort of exhibition drive.’
‘You beat him?’
Sabatino nodded coquettishly.
‘What?’
Sabatino smiled at Straker’s reading of her expression. ‘That day, Donington was wet. Not just wet — it was wet, wet. Ceaseless torrential rain. Standing water across large parts of the circuit. To everyone’s surprise I wiped the floor with Luciano. I went round twenty-five seconds faster than him — only four seconds slower than for a dry lap time. It caused quite a stir.’
Straker gave an I-can-see-why nod in admiration.
‘That,’ she said almost as a flourish, ‘was lift-off — Mr Quartano being the reason.’
‘Really?’
‘He was there — at Donington. It all happened so fast. He made me an offer that very afternoon. I think it was about the time he was trying to buy Ptarmigan from the receiver. I guess I’d have to say that from that point on the rest is history.’
Straker shook his head in appreciation. ‘Talent will out.’
‘Maybe, and in the end, perhaps — but not immediately. It’s not automatically meritocratic. Talent’s still got to find its chance to shine. And so much of that’s down to luck. Quartano, therefore, was my lucky charm.’
Straker nodded. ‘Mine too,’ he said as he subconsciously reached for his drink in a toast. ‘Where do you think your driving talent comes from?’
Sabatino shrugged, taking a sip of her own. ‘Who knows? Certainly not my parents — neither nature nor nurture. My father died when I was four, but had no mechanical bent, and Mother’s practically a certified agoraphobic. She hates me racing — says it’s far too dangerous. If she gets to hear about Helli Cunzer’s accident yesterday, she’ll have a fit. Where does any ability come from? Beats me. I enjoyed riding, and I suppose you enjoy things you’re good at. Horses test you in all sorts of things — but certainly balance, feel, rhythm, and a sense of anticipation. A horse has an independent spirit. A mind of its own. You can get it to do certain things, but it can always spook, change its mind, lose its balance, or require help recovering, particularly jumping cross-country.’
‘And you think those skills transferred to the cockpit?’
‘They’re pretty similar to the demands of car control, I’d say. In that respect, horsemanship and driving ability have a similar core. It’s not for nothing, for instance, that Schumacher’s a quite brilliant horseman — Western riding,’ she said with a smirk. ‘But still. None of those abilities are worth anything, though, without nerve. The key factor in F1 has to be a readiness to push hard and to commit.’
‘Not the will to win?’
‘Male drivers say that. Must play to the macho instinct, I suppose. To me winning’s incidental. A by-product. If I get everything right, I normally come out on top. Winning’s not my drug; getting it right is. You can win and still be rated as a human being.’
Straker was surprised by her tone of self-justification. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.
She looked almost apologetic. ‘I was the only driver to go and see Helli Cunzer today. Twenty-four hours ago he nearly died. There but for the grace of God … Was it weakness to go? To support a man who got it wrong? Am I any less of a winner for caring about a friend who made a mistake?’
There was very nearly a tear in Sabatino’s eye. Straker’s opinion of this woman was changing by the minute.
Their plates were cleared away, creating a natural break in the conversation. Trying to divert herself from such frustration and disappointment, she said: ‘I have a subject for you,’ and gave him a knowing smile. ‘I saw your reaction to it — in the pit lane on Thursday.’