Turning back to look at Sabatino, Straker was soon in a mild state of awe. She was now something to see. Behind the wheel of this car, her demeanour, expression and body language all looked supremely relaxed — with her left hand loosely on the gearstick, her right hand — palm up — on the bottom right part of the steering wheel, and with her legs gently apart, her right knee resting against the door, while her left was hovering — poised — immediately ready to work the clutch. Straker saw Sabatino in a completely unhurried and relaxed state, apparently without a tense muscle in her body, gently but quickly working the wheel as the car bucked and careered at full pelt through this rapidly varying topography.
But there was no let-up possible.
Straker was about to see more of Sabatino’s exceptional confidence and car control.
‘They’re still there — and coming after us,’ she declared.
Straker looked across at her. He could see that she was thinking. ‘I don’t know how far we go till we get to a village,’ Sabatino yelled. ‘But we’re back to square one if we do. We’d have to slow down — and that would have those bastards ramming us up the arse again. We’ve got to get some distance between us. Hold on!’
Straker was all too well aware that if she said ‘hold on’ something hairy was likely to happen.
Up ahead, it was clear the road was about to head sharply left and up a steepish hill. The entry looked to be a tight ninety-degree left-hander at the foot of the slope — which also had a crossroads — the left-hand junction being on the very inside apex of the bend. As the Morgan shot past an earlier turning to Burdrop and Sibford Gower, and didn’t seem to be slowing down, Straker instinctively breathed in and braced himself.
The speed they we were going at — for the upcoming corner — seemed far too fast for a public road. Straker switched his attention between the direction of travel and Sabatino, trying to convince himself he should stay calm, have confidence — and enjoy the ride.
Sabatino, still with the Morgan travelling at over a hundred miles an hour, offered the merest adjustment to the steering wheel. Wafting the car across to the opposite — oncoming — side of the road again, she changed down with a high-rev double declutch. A moment or two later, she threw the car back across her side of the road — to kiss the apex on the inside with the front left.
This turn was going to be tighter than anything they had taken so far.
In — round — and up — they ran.
This time, Straker felt the back end of the Morgan step out, the force of the cornering proving too much for the grip of the rear tyres. Despite feeling the significant effects of the various G-forces, he was able to watch Sabatino as it happened.
At over ninety miles an hour round this corner, and into the hill, the Morgan slewed onto three tracks. Sabatino — all seamlessly in one continuous movement — unhurriedly turned the wheel into the slide, corrected it, feathered the power, changed down with another extraordinarily fluid double declutch, and, containing the car’s stability into a controlled power slide, accelerated away on up the hill, changing up again as the revs hit their upper limit.
He was utterly absorbed — fascinated — by her calmness, confidence and apparently effortless car control. It then hit him why this moment and experience was so special. No one ever got to see how a Formula One driver drives: they were only ever cocooned — and hidden — by their cramped monocoques, while the on-board cameras could film only their helmets and hands. There was never any portrayal of their bodies, demeanour, expressions, or attitude while they were driving. No one was ever given that insight — not even passengers in the handful of F1 two-seaters.
Straker’s Morgan may not have been an F1 car, but it was giving him an extraordinary understanding of how a driver handled a car right up to the very limit of its capacity and environment. Sabatino suddenly reminded him of a jazz musician: she was jamming with the car like a virtuoso — a complete master of her instrument, environment, and performance — making it sing, move and dance with the smallest apparent effort — anticipating, reacting to, and playing off the moment. Above and beyond that, her demeanour and confidence finally served to relax him — convincing him that he should have full confidence in this woman’s extraordinary ability and car control.
As they straightened up, climbing the hill, Straker snatched a rearward glance. The corner they had just rounded below and behind them was now partially obscured from this angle, with cow parsley and long grass overhanging the inside of the bend.
But then he saw something back there.
An altogether different car had approached the crossroads from the inside of the bend, and the very front of its bonnet could be seen side-on, insinuating into the main road. Around the end of that car’s bumper, Straker suddenly saw the large shape of the lead Range Rover flash into view. Despite his aches and pains, he couldn’t stop himself twisting round to watch, looking down the inside length of the Morgan and over what was left of its boot. The Range Rover was clearly trying to keep up with their nimble sports car — hoofing it into that corner. But its line was all wrong. Instead of hugging the apex on the bend, it seemed to be going too wide. Maybe the approach of the car to the inside of the crossroads had thwarted its set up for the corner? Now, though, the Range Rover was fighting to turn on a line that seemed too wide — looking very much like understeer. Straker saw the front wheels flicker, as the driver was clearly fighting the force of the corner, trying to hold the car to the line.
But the bulky weight of the Range Rover wasn’t having it. It had far too much forward momentum. It wasn’t able to turn anything like sharply enough.
Straker watched the 4×4 run even wider, right across the road to the outside of the corner, well over into the oncoming lane. There was a puff of smoke from the front wheels — the driver panicking, as he jammed on the anchors. But the Range Rover kept going.
At considerable speed it slammed into the grassy bank on the far side, and bounced violently upwards. Once flicked up, it started rolling over, Straker catching a glimpse of its underside as the bulking 4×4 smashed through the hedge, and careened out of sight. That was all he saw.
Their own bit of road levelled off.
Straker strained to keep watching behind, waiting to see the second Range Rover. Had it followed the first into the field?
He waited.
The Morgan charged on down the B4035 towards Swalcliffe.
But there was no sign of either pursuer.
A turning appeared, off to the right.
Without warning, Sabatino hammered the brakes, almost standing the Morgan on its nose. Straker, still looking backwards, was caught completely unawares, and was hurled forwards against his seat belt. Involuntarily, he groaned with the pain.
Sabatino, swinging the car to the left, then heaved the wheel over to the right, giving the handbrake a determined upward yank. As the back end swung out immediately to the left, she dropped into a low gear and fed in power, feathering the clutch and throttle, encouraging the car to rotate. Using only the heel of her right hand, she balanced their rotation and direction by variously steering into and out of the slide.
Straightening up, Sabatino accelerated hard and changed up, heading off down the side road — to get themselves out of sight from the road behind them as quickly as possible. She took another random turning a few hundred yards later, to Wiggington, to start an unpredictable route back to the factory.
Two minutes later — after Straker had composed himself again, and checked the road behind them several times — he confirmed that they had surely lost their pursuers.