‘My lady,’ it said, ‘I am Senhor Asturias, the manager of the hotel. And I offer our compliments of the house,’ and wafted forwards holding a silver tray on which stood a bottle of Taittinger, a flute already filled, and a half-pint glass of Guinness.
This greeting — from a stranger — took the puff out of Sabatino’s reaction.
Almost automatically, she reached out for the Guinness, and took a sip. Her eyes becoming accustomed to the change in light, she noticed a padded massage table had been set up over by the drawn curtains, stacked with a number of neatly folded fluffy white towels. An immaculately dressed Chinese girl wearing a dark blue Nehru-collared silk jacket was in attendance. On a low table beside her was a small incense burner offering up an intoxicating scent — as well as several bottles of aromatic oils and a warming plate holding a collection of large rounded flat stones.
Asturias, having placed his tray of drinks down on a portable stand, proceeded to walk forward, and, with an outstretched arm, invited Sabatino to move into the bathroom. Here, again — with no electric lighting — the space was lit with hundreds of candles, spectacularly reflecting off the wall-sized mirrors. Next to the bath — filled to the brim and almost overflowing with white foam — was another portable stand, this one supporting a large tray. On it was a crisp white linen cloth hosting silver cutlery, and an array of plates with collections of exotic fruits, pastries, meats, cheeses, and four different types of chocolate. In the corner of the tray stood a slim and elegant silver vase holding a single rose.
Sabatino, turning round to face Straker, said: ‘This is all a bit cheesy, isn’t it.’
Straker exhaled with an exaggerated blow. Shaking his head, he walked forward and threw the electric light switch on in the bathroom and killed the music. Against the earlier dimness, the numeruos bright spotlights were almost blinding, even hurting eyes.
‘Okay, João, take it all away,’ said Straker and started indicating — with a series of wildly dismissive hand gestures — that Asturias should pick up all his cheesy paraphernalia. ‘But … João, please leave me the chocolate … if you will?’
‘Ah, er, hang on,’ stammered Sabatino, spinning round. ‘Hang on, a minute,’ she said loudly, holding up a hand to try and halt the removal.
Straker glared at her, the diagonal folds of skin above his eyes intensifying his stare more than ever. ‘You don’t want it taken away then?’
Sabatino turned round to look back at the bath and the tray of goodies waiting beside it. Sheepishly, she shook her head.
Straker threw the bathroom switch back the other way, immediately restoring the room to the much softer and flickering candlelight, and re-engaged Dean Martin. ‘Sense at last. João, thank you,’ and turned away from the door, allowing the hotel manager to withdraw. As Asturias passed, Straker smiled, shook the man by the hand, and patted him on the shoulder as he let him out of the suite.
When the door was closed, Straker heard Sabatino say from inside the bathroom: ‘This is okay,’ — her resistance clearly de-energized since the Yes or No showdown of a few moments before — ‘but,’ she added, trying to restore her sense of control, ‘you can let the Chinese girl go. I’ll ask Colonel Straker to perform the massage, if he’ll be so kind?’
After an hour in her bath — and a more spirited go at the tray of snacks than Straker had expected — Sabatino climbed out and walked through into the bedroom. There, she climbed up onto and lay face down on the masseuse’s table. Straker, rubbing some oil on his hands, began his attempt at massage, hoping he’d be able to stretch out the limited number of moves and techniques he could think of.
The limits of his repertoire were never tested. Before he ran out of ideas, the gesture of the unsolicited pampering had finally got through to Sabatino. Fewer than twenty minutes later, they ended up in bed together. This time, they seemed to make love rather than — as on previous occasions — perform gymnastic sex.
Lying beside each other afterwards, they were both pretty near spent.
A matter of a few minutes later they fell into a nap.
Two hours on and they were bathed again and changed.
Straker, continuing his religious silence of the afternoon, said nothing about racing, the Championship, the Qualifying session, the gearbox, or her place on the grid. Sabatino began to show a little more appreciation for his attempts at a distraction. By seven o’clock, she was even enthusiastic about the idea of a light meal somewhere out, but nearby. Straker let the idea be entirely hers.
After supper, he walked Sabatino back to her hotel.
‘I’m happy to go to my room,’ he said as he kissed her gently on the cheek, ‘to give you a decent night’s rest before tomorrow.’
‘Where’s this Mama stuff keep coming from? I haven’t finished with the Colonel, yet. Not yet. Not by a long way.’
With his efforts to distract Sabatino throughout that afternoon, evening and night, Straker was grateful to have also been distracted from his own concerns.
But lying in bed after she had dropped off to sleep, he couldn’t calm his thoughts.
Following the official Qualifying session, Straker had been pleased and relieved. With Sabatino in P3 and Aston in P4, she had been well positioned for the Championship — staying ahead of Aston. And, from Straker’s point of view, in P3, she would have been well in front of the suspected collision threat from Adi Barrantes — the proximity threat, as he called it, Barrantes being a long way down the grid behind her.
But now — with the gearbox penalty, and the ten-place drop to P13 — Straker could only fixate on Adi Barrantes’ Massarella.
Barrantes was lurking there, now, in P6.
In order for Sabatino to get back up to the front of the pack — to get close to, let alone retake the advantage from Aston — she would have to get past the menacing black Massarella of Adi Barrantes.
The proximity threat was back.
And the risk — and stakes — were higher than ever.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Next morning the weather had cleared. None of the threatening clouds were left. Sublime sunshine bathed Interlagos — the land between the lakes — and Sabatino awoke refreshed and seemed completely refocused.
‘Nine places? It’s just nine places,’ she said as they were both wearing white towelling robes and eating breakfast in her hotel suite. ‘I’ve got a second advantage per lap on each car between me and Aston. This is doable,’ she declared as if coming to an understanding.
Straker continued to say absolutely nothing. He was still distracted by the threat of proximity and intentional collision.
By mid-morning, the cars were out on the grid. Sabatino’s Ptarmigan, now in P13, had its new gearbox. Exhaustive checks had been carried out overnight to ensure there were no possible complications or snags with the change of such a major component.
Sabatino walked onto the grid. While trying to get to her car, she was repeatedly bombarded with media interview after interview. It began to dawn on her the kind of a mêlée that would follow if she did succeed today. If the press were like this now, what would they be like if she actually won the World Championship?
Finally climbing into her car, she was grateful to escape the attention and to enjoy a moment’s peace. Sitting there — isolated — with time to reflect, she suddenly realized that she was back in the zone. They, Ptarmigan, had rid themselves of all that trouble with Massarella, which removed a considerable amount of stress, and — today, now — she had become resigned to the ten-place drop for the replacement gearbox. This race might be tougher than needed, and certainly tougher than any of the team had expected, but she realized she was ready to take her fight to Paddy Aston.