ALICE Ch 292

The party is at Aston Martin tonight, and everyone who is anyone is there, including one contractually obligated driver named Valeria Flores.

“And you were just fighting her? For no reason?” Lewis tries not to laugh.

Val shrugs. “We have unfinished business from our soccer days.”

“Oh, brilliant.” Horner joins them. “Perfect place to sort it out, yeah? Belgium.”

“And now Coach Riley is on her pit crew,” Val says bitterly.

“Coach Riley? Oh, Riley Jameson,” Lewis says, nodding. “Right. I remember those posters.”

“She mentored you,” Horner says. “Isn’t that right?”

“Why do you know that?” Val asks suspiciously.

“Why do you think?” Horner retorts.

“Good god, man. Have you no decency?” Matt Berry bumps Horner aside. “Even now, at her lowest point, you prey upon this tiny maiden not unlike a praying mantis preying upon a…” he trails off.

“Let’s have a lie down, mate,” Lewis suggests.

“And leave her with you? I think not, sir.”

“All right, well, let’s just have that, then.” Horner takes the drink out of Matt’s hand. “And Ms. Flores, if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t appear to be at your lowest.”

Val shrugs. “Why would I be? It was a good race.”

“That Grand Prix would’ve been yours,” Lewis says. “You’re taking it a lot better than Max would. It’s a low bar, but still.”

Horner stares at Val for a moment, then pats Matt’s shoulder. “She will be mine, Matt.”

“Am I being cuckolded?” Matt asks. “Is that what this is?”

Clarkson appears. “Apologies, gentlemen. I could not help but overhear. Who is being cuckolded?”

“Nobody,” Lewis says tiredly.

Clarkson pulls a long face. “How disappointing.”

“Go away, Clarkson,” Matt says. “Oh, dear me.” Lewis and the others notice the women approaching.

Looking lovely in their matching white French dresses—and looking rather more like sisters than a mother and her daughter—Irina and Sasha Orlova arrive.

“Ladies. Have you come to shower Freedom Racing with money at the expense of the Ukrainian people?” Matt asks gravely.

Irina affects a warm smile. “I wanted to express relief at Ms. Flores being safe. All the commentators talked about during the race was how dangerous it was to fight Alice Wilde. She’s very unpredictable, Alice Wilde.”

“Hardly,” Val says.

“Fighting Alice isn’t dangerous. Fighting Alice the way this one went about it,” Lewis says, pointing a finger at Val. “Was dangerous. She’s a bigger lunatic than Alice. It might not look it, but trust me.”

“It seems to be getting her results,” Irina replies coolly. “In any case, Ms. Flores, I wanted to introduce you to…”

“Where’s Erica?” Val says, cutting her off. She looks around with a frown. “Has anyone seen her?”

“Erica Bruhl?” Lewis looks amused. “I’d wager she’s with the Woodcocks. If I were a betting man.” He shrugs and takes a drink. “That’s where I’d be,” he adds, and walks away.

“I thought she was going to be here,” Val says as Irina tries to go on. “Huh. I’ll find her. Goodnight, everybody.”

A vein throbs in Irina Orlova’s temple as Val walks away.