Qualifying Three had Sabatino set up for a two-stop strategy.
Her fuel load was similar to the faster laps she had done all weekend. She posted two flying laps in Q3.
The first put her point-three ahead.
On the second, with nothing to lose, she gave another scorching performance, not putting a wheel wrong — bettering her own time by a further five tenths.
She was on pole by over a second.
For the two Championships — the Constructors’ and Drivers’ — as well as for herself, she had done everything she could have hoped for.
But would it be enough?
FIFTY-NINE
Weather, on the Sunday, was as close to a perfect English summer’s day as anyone could wish for.
Once the cars had formed up on the grid in the southbound carriageway of Park Lane, the great and the good were swarming all around them. The hooter went.
The engines started their roar.
All the media and hangers-on soon dispersed and, within a few moments, all that was left on the track was the might of fifteen thousand horsepower screaming for a fight.
The lights went on, and Sabatino pulled away, sedately leading the field off round the 3.75 mile circuit on the formation lap.
A few minutes later, Sabatino — on pole — was ready.
This was it.
The wait seemed interminable.
One red light came on.
The second red light.
Third, fourth and then the fifth.
The five lights seemed to burn for an age.
Then GO!
The roar peaked as twenty-two cars pulled off the line.
Sabatino, on the clean side of the track, got a blistering start. She was away well, and hurtling down to Turn One. Behind her off the grid was a Mercedes, not a contender in the Championship this year. Behind him — in P3 and very much a challenger — was Simi Luciano in the Massarella. Over Sabatino’s right shoulder was her closest rival for the title, Paddy Aston in the Lambourn. Championship-wise, this race could see the leader board turned completely on its head. If she wasn’t careful, she could be dethroned that very afternoon.
All of that pressure was hurtling down the road behind her — every pursuer hell-bent on taking her lead.
But Sabatino was focused.
Judging her line, she held her ideal position down Park Lane and got a clear entry into Turn One on Hyde Park Corner roundabout, kissed the apex, and exited powerfully into Piccadilly.
Those behind her weren’t so lucky. There was a bottleneck. The Mercedes in second place was challenged by Luciano, which queered his entry into, and line through, the apex. In the exit, the Mercedes managed to hold P2, while Aston made the most of the enforced funnelling, getting a jump on the Massarella.
Sabatino snatched a glance in her mirrors. She saw the order between Luciano and Aston had been reversed. Damnit, she swore to herself. Paddy Aston’s Lambourn was now up to P3. Her hope that Aston might be held up further down the field for a while had evaporated round the very first corner. Sabatino, now, needed Paddy Aston behind the Mercedes in P2 long enough for her to break away and establish something of a lead.
Reaching Turn Two, round Piccadilly Circus, Aston’s purple Lambourn was in the Mercedes’s mirrors and getting bigger all the time.
Sabatino pushed hard while her chance remained. She had a clear sweep through Turns Two, Three and Four — and could just about see the spat going on between Aston and the Mercedes behind her. She didn’t want that scrap to end anytime soon. The Mercedes was a vital four-point buffer between her and the man who was only one point behind her in the Championship.
Round Turn Five, at the bottom of the Haymarket, and Sabatino was feeling confident. Her car was up to temperature and performing as well as it had all year. Passing Canada House, she had a one-second lead on the Mercedes, and could see how much of a challenge Aston was mounting behind him. Aston, very clearly, was not going to let Sabatino get away.
Down towards the bottom of Trafalgar Square.
Sabatino planned to take the left-hand option under Admiralty Arch and set herself up accordingly. Looking back, though, she saw her unchallenged claim to the lead was about to end. The second-placed Mercedes was clearly following her route into the entry, but Aston was already swinging wider. He’s going to cut in through the middle arch, she thought to herself as she lost sight of them both in her mirrors rounding the corner herself.
Lo and behold — as she screamed through under the arches into The Mall and looked back — she saw what she feared. The Mercedes was emerging through the left-hand arch, while Aston’s Lambourn was coming through the middle one.
A little Scalextric-like, but that unusual split in the track had already livened up overtaking — while the TV shot along the length of The Mall to Admiralty Arch, with cars racing for position emerging through the different arches, was quite sensational.
Aston now had a clear track to his front. The Mercedes had lost its advantage: Aston, with the Lambourn’s extra grunt, soon drew level and was past.
Paddy Aston was now in P2 and only a hundred and fifty yards behind Sabatino as they headed through Turns Seven and Eight, the chicane outside Buckingham Palace.
Sabatino breathed deeply, as she resigned herself to her closest rival for the Championship emerging from that squabble and mounting a serious challenge to her lead. If she wasn’t able to pull away, she would have to drive error-free, defensively — resolutely, holding her rights to the line. This race, now, was far more than simply the London Grand Prix. It was, de facto, for the Championship. It was her or Paddy Aston. Only one point separated them on the Championship leader board. Sabatino could extend that to three points, if these positions were held to the end of the day. Or she could be a point behind him if the places were reversed. Her not finishing the race did not even bear thinking about.
The two gladiators raced on, lap after lap. Their relative positions held constant. At least for the moment.
Straker was watching avidly — and hearing analysis of her telemetry and performance throughout the race from the team in the motor home. By all technical measures — as well as sporting ones — Sabatino was driving with extraordinary sang-froid and consistency.
They were only ten laps in. There were sixty more to go. How could she retain that level of concentration for that long? And under that mental pressure — knowing that the tiniest of mistakes would let Aston pounce and take advantage?
What must it be like in the cockpit? Straker wondered.
To the spectators, the tension heightened significantly during the pit stops. After thirty laps, Sabatino and Aston were still only two seconds apart on the track.
Any slip-up in the pits — a wheel nut that wouldn’t budge, a wheel gun that refused to work, a problem with the fuel rig, a misunderstood signal from the lollipop man, or a snatched start causing a stall — could easily cost her two seconds. Thirty laps of brilliant racing — not to mention the Championship lead — could be thrown away that easily.
‘Box this time,’ came Treadwell’s instruction over the air.
Sabatino, just passing the Serpentine, responded: ‘What’s my lead?’
‘Two-point-four seconds.’
‘Okay, ask the guys to do this one for me!’
Straker held his breath.
Sabatino approached Cumberland Gate and Marble Arch. She rounded Turn Eighteen cleanly and was pointing up to Nineteen. Round there, she was about to re-enter Park Lane when, pulling over further to the right, she threaded herself on round Cumberland Gate before turning left into the top of the other carriageway of Park Lane. There, she headed south down the pit lane in front of the row of temporary garages. Flicking the limiter, she kept her speed down — to an agonizingly slow — eighty kilometres an hour.