JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
9 August
6:20 a.m.
Warsaw, Poland
There was a flood in Latvia, one that made it impossible to drive over what was evidently the only bridge in existence, or at least so you would have assumed, judging by the reaction of the local population.
“I’m not saying that I would have wished to drive through flooded areas,” I told Paulie that night when we were lying together in the car. “But it is irksome to be here wasting time.”
Paulie made a noise of agreement. She was warm and soft and lay draped over me like a delicious woman-scented blanket, the car blanket over top of us. I had a horrible feeling that my left buttock was glued by body moisture to the leather bench of the backseat, but other than making a little wiggle to see how hard it would be to shift the cheek, I decided not to worry about it.
Outside the tractor enclosure in which the Thomas Flyer was parked, the wind periodically gusted, making the thin material of the enclosure’s sides flutter in the night. The lights of the house began to extinguish as we snuggled, and despite the fact that I was sleeping in the backseat of a 1908 car, with one butt cheek glued to the seat and Paulie’s right elbow digging into my pancreas, I was happier than I ever remembered being.
“I guess I’d feel more like that if the Esses and Anton weren’t trapped here with us. At least we’re all on the same footing,” she murmured sleepily into my collarbone.
I wrapped my arms around her, feeling like the luckiest man alive. Just being with Paulie made me happy, and knowing she reciprocated all those feelings I’d been hesitant to express filled me with a sense of peace that I hadn’t realized had been lacking from my life.
“Now I know what I’ve been missing,” I mused into the top of her head, and gave it a kiss.
“Hmm?” she asked, scooting over until she was half on me and half in the space between me and the seat back.
“Nothing, love. Go to sleep.”
“I like it when you call me ‘love,’” she said, yawning hugely, and then snuggled into my side and promptly fell asleep.
I had vague notions of staying awake during the night just to make sure no one would try anything with the Thomas Flyer, but lack of sleep, long driving hours in horrible weather, and incredible lovemaking took their toll, and I drifted off without realizing it.
“Hrn?” Something clanged nearby.
“Mrrf?” came the answer from behind me.
I opened my eyes to find that at some point I’d rolled onto the floor and was lying stark naked on top of an oilcloth sheet that we’d used when changing tires. I sat up and met Paulie’s blinking eyes. Her hair was standing up on end, sleep creases on one cheek. She squinted at me, and asked, “What are you doing down there?”
“Sleeping. Something woke me up.” I grabbed my trousers, which were underneath me, and hurriedly got into them and my shoes before emerging from the car. The flaps of the enclosure moved gently, and I parted them to reveal daylight and a pale blue sky. From the barn emerged the form of a man, who waved and shouted something I didn’t understand.
“Good morning,” I called back, and waited until Paulie crawled out of the car in her jeans and shirt. “I intended on staying awake, but I guess you having your wanton way with me did me in.”
“Can’t talk—gotta pee like a racehorse,” she said, trotting to the farmhouse.
I went to the side of the barn, remembering the farmer pointing with pride to the toilet and ramshackle sink that had been included in a lean-to that looked like it had been tacked to a wall, and with a cheery nod and wave at the two sons, I used the facilities. I was just heading to the farmhouse with thoughts of country ham and eggs, and perhaps some homemade marmalade, when Paulie burst out of the house, shouting and waving her hands in the air.
“They’re gone! Those bastards, I knew it! I knew they would cheat! Hurry up—they have an hour on us!”
“What? How?” I dashed to the main entrance of the barn, swearing profanely at the empty space where the Zust had sat the night before.
“They left us here, those rotters.” Paulie was panting when she got to me, her phone in her hand. Behind her, Anton emerged from the house, hopping on one leg while he tied the shoelaces of another shoe.
I paused. “Why is Anton here?”
“They left him behind, too. Oh, I am so going to rat them out to Roger.” She started typing frantically on her phone.
Anton got his shoe on properly and met us halfway to the Thomas Flyer. “I just woke up. Is it true? Is the car gone?” he asked.
I waved at the barn. “So it seems. Why did they leave you?”
He made a face. “They wanted to do something to your car, and I said I wasn’t having any of it. I’m not saying I wouldn’t do many things to make sure my team was ahead of yours, but nothing underhanded. Nothing . . . devious.”
“Devious and underhanded like telling the border guards that we were smuggling a weapon into Russia?” I asked.
Anton had the grace to look abashed. “I . . . that . . . I’m profoundly sorry about that. When they explained the plan to me, I thought it would simply mean a little delay for you. I had no idea they would strip-search you and retain you for hours. I’m just glad there was nothing for the guards to find.”
Paulie started to say something about the gun, but at a quelling look from me, she changed it to, “Yeah, well, I notice you didn’t bother telling Roger what you did.”
He spread his hands in a placatory gesture. “I apologized for my part once Roger told me what happened.”
“Was it you who took our spare tires?” I asked, one thought leading to another.
“No.” He looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I told Sanders that was too underhanded and that, while I wanted to win the race, I didn’t think we needed to be dishonest to do it. The Zust is a fast car, and we can easily outrun the Thomas Flyer.”
Paulie snorted indignantly and glanced at her phone when it burbled at her.
“I don’t understand why they would leave you behind,” I said, mulling over what he’d said. I wasn’t certain he was telling the truth, but if he wasn’t, it meant he had been left behind as a plant. But for what purpose? To slow us up? Or to take us out of the race entirely?
“Got a response from Roger. He says it’s not against the rules to leave before us. The idiot.” Paulie looked disgusted. “I told him the Esses left Anton behind, and he said that also is not against the rules, although frowned upon, and asked us if we’d give you a lift to Warsaw.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Anton said, his expression worried.
“I just bet you would.” Paulie narrowed her eyes on Anton. “And I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect a straight answer to it.”
He stiffened. “I do not make a habit of lying.”
“Uh-huh. Are you working for my father?”
He blinked twice. “Who is your father?”
“That’s avoiding answering the question. Yes or no—are you working for him?”
“Unless your father is a member of parliament from a small constituency in the north of Scotland, then no, I do not work for him.”
Paulie looked startled. “You work in Scotland? But you’re Russian.”
“I was born in Ukraine, but my parents emigrated shortly thereafter.” He frowned at Paulie. “Who is your father?”
“The carpet king of Northern California.” She chewed her lower lip. “Damn. That means I was all wrong about you.”
I caught her eye and tried to mentally warn her about throwing all her trust in him when I wasn’t convinced he wasn’t working against us, but she was busy reading another text. “Roger says they’re all stuck about ten miles back and are going to ditch the cars because of flooding between us and them. Wait—there’s more . . . taking a train to Warsaw. They’ll meet us there. Oh, good—we don’t have to dress up until we get there. Come on. If the roads are as bad as Roger says, maybe the Esses are not zooming ahead of us.”
She texted wildly while moving toward the car. I ran inside the farmhouse, gathered up my suitcase as well as Paulie’s, thanked the farmer’s wife, and offered a handful of euros, which she refused. Anton was ahead of me with his own bag, which he tossed into the back of the car. I emerged from the house with a paper bag with warm muffins.
“Tabby and Sam are with Roger and the other film crew, and they said they heard on the news that all sorts of roads are washed out,” Paulie said, turning to glare at Anton.
He shrugged and held up his hands. “I have nothing to do with their decision, I assure you.”
“Hrmph.”
“Lovely news,” I said grimly, and tossed our luggage into the car. “At least it’s not raining anymore.”
“I’ll take the first shift.” Paulie took the key from me and slid over behind the steering wheel. “You eat and get some rest. You can’t have slept well on the floor.”
I climbed in next to her and was prepared to dispute the fact that I was sore and stiff, but was distracted when she started the car.
Immediately, the engine started knocking loudly.
“What the hell?” Paulie asked.
I sighed and got out, taking off my goggles and hat, both of which I’d automatically put on. “Keep it running. I’ll take a look,” I said, unstrapping the bonnet and pushing it back to stare down at the engine with incomprehension. Anton was at my elbow when I tried to find something that looked wrong. The knocking was even louder, and I could see an oily yellow puddle under the car.
“The hell?” I asked, prodding at a piece that did nothing.
The farmer came out at the noise and was soon joined by his sons.
“What’s going on?” Paulie called.
“I don’t know what the problem is. Everyone is looking and talking, but I don’t speak the language.”
“They say it’s a crank bearing,” Anton translated, asking a question of the men. “We can’t drive the car with it this way. It would be very bad. The oil has been drained as well.”
By this time, Paulie had joined us and swore under her breath. Her fingers found mine and tightened in a show of support and comfort. I squeezed them in return, grateful for the fact that she was there, shouldering the burden of the car alongside me. It boded well for our future.
“Ah. Yes?” Anton held up a hand when Paulie asked him what was going on. The oldest son ran for the house, calling loudly to his mother as he did so. “Yes, yes, that is good. It seems that our host knows of another farmer who used to be a mechanic. They are calling him to come and look at the engine.”
“The engine that your team sabotaged,” Paulie said, and suddenly opened her eyes wide and sucked in approximately half the air in the yard. She turned to look at me, horrified.
“What?” I asked her.
She glanced at Anton and leaned into me. “They did something to the car. While we were in it.”
“Ah.” I thought about that for a moment before answering softly, “We had the blanket over us, if that is what you are worried about.”
“Still.” She shivered and released my hand to rub her arms. “It gives me the creeps to know they were poking around the engine while we—”
I whispered in her ear, “While I was poking around you?”
She made a delightful little half snort, half laugh, and pinched my side.
“What do you know about this?” I asked Anton a few minutes later, when he was done conversing with the farmer.
“I’m no expert on engines,” he said, shaking his head.
“I meant about the sabotage. It’s clear that your team is taking whatever steps are necessary to leave us in the dust.”
“And I told you both that I refused to have anything to do with that sort of thing,” Anton said firmly.
I looked closely at his face, but saw no signs of deception. I didn’t put much stock in that, however. Despite his having been briefly a member of my team, I hardly knew him.
Half an hour or so later the mechanic arrived, along with three other men, and in no time there was a party around the engine. Tool chests were brought out, cloths were spread on the still-damp ground, and men donned filthy overalls in order to get underneath the big car.
Paulie watched and fretted, worrying aloud about how far the Essex team could get. I kept an eye on Anton, and a closer one on the men who started taking apart the engine. As each piece came off, the men would gather around it, examining it and holding a comprehensive discussion before moving on to the next piece.
Irritation and impatience rode high on me, but I repeatedly bit back the demands that they put the engine back together and just let us go on our way, knowing the engine would not stand up to travel in its damaged state.
Almost five hours later, we waved our good-byes again, my wallet quite a bit lighter after the repairs had been made.
“I’ll reimburse you for my half of the cost,” Paulie told me when I got behind the wheel. “Or better yet, we’ll make Roger pay for it, since it was caused by the team he insists isn’t behind all the trouble we’ve had.”
“I’m not concerned about the money,” I said, peering through the grubby windscreen. “It’s the head start the Essex car has that worries me.”
Anton sighed. “I wish I had some reassurance to offer, but alas, there is nothing I can say other than I regret my teammates have chosen this path.”
“Oh, come on,” Paulie said, shooting a glare over her shoulder to him. “You can’t honestly expect us to believe you had no idea the Esses were responsible for damning the entire race from start to finish?”
“No, I assure you I did not. Yes, I knew they told the customs officials about you having a gun, but you didn’t have one, so you were only slightly delayed. And I did know they intended to take all your tires, but Stephen was only able to get a few before someone came by the car. I felt you had enough left to see you through until Roger could replace what you were missing. As I said, those are regrettable instances, but I hardly see how that’s damned the entire race.”
“Don’t belabor the point,” I told her softly. “He will only deny it and you will simply seethe. I’d much rather you had a look at the GPS unit and see if there are alternative routes indicated.”
We drove with few breaks for the rest of the day, sometimes able to follow the main route mapped out by the race officials, other times being led on lengthy detours. Mindful that the Essex team had at least a five-hour head start, we took turns driving with only necessary stops for petrol and to relieve ourselves. Anton had offered to take his turn driving, but it wasn’t until we’d been in the car for eight hours that we finally took him up on his offer and allowed him to take the wheel, although I made sure I was next to him, awake and aware.
Just in case he had any ideas.
It was after midnight by the time we reached Warsaw. We stopped at the first available hotel on the outskirts of the city and took two rooms.
“Get some sleep,” I told Paulie when we straggled into our room. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She collapsed on the bed, lifting a wan hand. “I’d join you, but I think I’d fall asleep even assuming your fabulous body all wet and soapy and naked was pressed against me. Damn.”
“Damn?”
She yawned hugely. “I like you wet and soapy and naked, but I just don’t have the energy to do anything about it.”
I smiled. “Another time you may work your wiles, all right?”
“Deal,” she said, and moaned when she snuggled herself into the mattress.
I had a shower, scraped away the worst of my beard, and donned fresh clothing. When I emerged from the steamy bathroom, Paulie was sound asleep. I pulled off her shoes and tucked her beneath the sheets, stroking back a strand of black hair that fell over her face, looking down at the woman who had so completely barged into my life and turned everything upside down.
I thought about my life back at Ainslie Castle, where I was a glorified clerk stuck in a job that anyone could do. Elliott’s wife, Alice, was more than capable of doing the work, and it had crossed my mind more than once to simply turn it over to her. But what would I do then? I wasn’t trained to do anything but estate management, and how could I ask Paulie to live with me, to love me, when I had nothing to offer her?
I sighed. I’d have to stay a steward. At least then I had the gamekeeper’s cottage to offer Paulie as a home, and enough of a salary to feed and clothe her.
The night air was soft and warm when I left the hotel room, making sure it was locked before I retraced my steps to the parking lot. We’d pulled the Thomas Flyer into a spot that couldn’t be seen from the street, but there was no parking lot attendant we could pay to watch the car. “Well,” I told it, shaking out the blanket, “at least this time I shouldn’t end up on the floor.”
I slept fitfully for three hours; then Paulie came down to find me. “What are you doing here?” she asked, waking me up. It was light out.
“Sleeping,” I said, rubbing my face. “And guarding the car.”
“Dammit, you should have woken me, and I’d have slept out here with you. Come on.” She tugged me until I was in a sitting position. “I slept like the dead, so I can drive first thing. Let’s get some breakfast in you, and then we’ll go dump Anton on Roger, wherever he is, and get back to catching up to those stinking cheaters.”
I allowed her to pull me from the car and give me a push toward the hotel rooms. “We shouldn’t leave the car alone—”
“It’s not going to be alone,” she said, settling in the backseat and pulling out a small notebook. “Go eat. Take another shower if you want—I’ve had mine. And when you’re ready to leave, get Anton out here.”
I left her to her writing, making a mental note to jot down my thoughts just as soon as we were on the road again. “At least this time I have something interesting to write about,” I said aloud while I made my way to our room. “It’ll need a lot of editing, but there’s a good deal of meat to it. Maybe too much. Hmm. Will have to consult another travel journal to see how they balance real life with interesting facts . . .”