replied. “Debbie Fielding.” She extended her hand and he shook it. Her skin was warm and dry and there was no strength in her grip.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, really. I must be going.” She stood up and waved goodbye to her friends on the dance-floor. They waved back and she blew a goodbye kiss to the plump girl.
“Can I give you a lift?” asked Chung, getting to his feet.
“I have a car,” said Debbie, picking up her handbag.
“How about a race, then?” he asked.
She stopped dead. “I’m sorry?” she said.
“A race,” repeated Chung. “How about a race?”
“A race?”
“A race home. If I can’t give you a lift, the least you can do is give me a race.”
She grinned, thought about it, and then nodded. “Okay, Anthony Chung. You’ve got your race. But I warn you, I’ve got a Jaguar XJS.”
“Nice car,” said Chung. “I’ll meet you outside in five minutes. That okay with you?”
“Fine.”
“So where are we going?” She told him the address of her house on the Peak which Chung knew was her parents’ house. “I’ll see you outside, then,” he said.
When Chung went out to get his car, Debbie asked one of the waiters to arrange to have her Jaguar brought over. While she waited she lit a cigarette.
“Smoking?” said a voice. It was her friend, May. “I thought you’d given up.”
“It’s the only one I’ve had today,” said Debbie.
“Who was the Chinese guy?”
“Anthony Chung. I’ve never met him before tonight.”
“Seems cute,” said May.
“Very,” agreed Debbie.
“And you let him get away?”
“We’re about to have a race, actually,” said Debbie.
“You’re what?” exclaimed May.
“A race. You know, brum-brum, first one past the chequered flag is the winner.”
A waiter came up and told Debbie her car was outside. “Gotta go, kiddo,” said Debbie and kissed May on the cheek.
“Be careful,” May said, but Debbie was already gone.
Debbie slid into the driver’s seat and slipped off her high heels. She turned the ignition key. The Jaguar’s engine purred and she stroked its gear stick absent-mindedly as she waited for Chung to arrive. She heard his car before she saw it – a deep-throated roar that seemed to vibrate up through her seat. She looked over her shoulder as he drew up next to her Jaguar. His window slid down smoothly and he smiled across at her.
“Tell me that’s not a Ferrari F40,” she said.
Chung raised an eyebrow. “Okay, it’s not a Ferrari F40,” he said.
“Four-valve V8 engine, 478 brake horsepower at 7,000 rpm, Weber Marelli fuel injection system, carbon fibre and Kevlar body.” She rattled off the statistics like a Ferrari salesman.
“That’s the one,” he said. “But you forgot the twin turbos.” He gunned the accelerator. She could hear the whistle of the turbo and the clatter of the cams and saw that several heads turned to stare at the lipstick red car and its good-looking driver.
“That is one terrific car,” said Debbie, enviously.
“And fast,” said Chung.
Debbie slowly pushed her foot down on the clutch and put the Jaguar in first gear. “So tell me, Anthony …” she said, but roared off before she finished the sentence, leaving him fumbling for his own gear stick.
“Bitch!” he shouted, surprised by her sudden departure. He put the Ferrari into first and spun the rear wheels on the cobbled road as he accelerated after her. He had to brake to avoid a red and grey taxi which pulled out in front of him, and by the time he reached Arbuthnot Road she was out of sight. It was just after midnight so there was little traffic about. He ran a red light and headed up Robinson Road, towards Shan Teng, the Peak. She lived on Findlay Road and he was pretty sure she’d head up the narrow, winding Old Peak Road where he’d find it difficult to overtake.
He roared up Robinson Road, the noise of the engine behind his shoulder blades almost deafening him. The
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, really. I must be going.” She stood up and waved goodbye to her friends on the dance-floor. They waved back and she blew a goodbye kiss to the plump girl.
“Can I give you a lift?” asked Chung, getting to his feet.
“I have a car,” said Debbie, picking up her handbag.
“How about a race, then?” he asked.
She stopped dead. “I’m sorry?” she said.
“A race,” repeated Chung. “How about a race?”
“A race?”
“A race home. If I can’t give you a lift, the least you can do is give me a race.”
She grinned, thought about it, and then nodded. “Okay, Anthony Chung. You’ve got your race. But I warn you, I’ve got a Jaguar XJS.”
“Nice car,” said Chung. “I’ll meet you outside in five minutes. That okay with you?”
“Fine.”
“So where are we going?” She told him the address of her house on the Peak which Chung knew was her parents’ house. “I’ll see you outside, then,” he said.
When Chung went out to get his car, Debbie asked one of the waiters to arrange to have her Jaguar brought over. While she waited she lit a cigarette.
“Smoking?” said a voice. It was her friend, May. “I thought you’d given up.”
“It’s the only one I’ve had today,” said Debbie.
“Who was the Chinese guy?”
“Anthony Chung. I’ve never met him before tonight.”
“Seems cute,” said May.
“Very,” agreed Debbie.
“And you let him get away?”
“We’re about to have a race, actually,” said Debbie.
“You’re what?” exclaimed May.
“A race. You know, brum-brum, first one past the chequered flag is the winner.”
A waiter came up and told Debbie her car was outside. “Gotta go, kiddo,” said Debbie and kissed May on the cheek.
“Be careful,” May said, but Debbie was already gone.
Debbie slid into the driver’s seat and slipped off her high heels. She turned the ignition key. The Jaguar’s engine purred and she stroked its gear stick absent-mindedly as she waited for Chung to arrive. She heard his car before she saw it – a deep-throated roar that seemed to vibrate up through her seat. She looked over her shoulder as he drew up next to her Jaguar. His window slid down smoothly and he smiled across at her.
“Tell me that’s not a Ferrari F40,” she said.
Chung raised an eyebrow. “Okay, it’s not a Ferrari F40,” he said.
“Four-valve V8 engine, 478 brake horsepower at 7,000 rpm, Weber Marelli fuel injection system, carbon fibre and Kevlar body.” She rattled off the statistics like a Ferrari salesman.
“That’s the one,” he said. “But you forgot the twin turbos.” He gunned the accelerator. She could hear the whistle of the turbo and the clatter of the cams and saw that several heads turned to stare at the lipstick red car and its good-looking driver.
“That is one terrific car,” said Debbie, enviously.
“And fast,” said Chung.
Debbie slowly pushed her foot down on the clutch and put the Jaguar in first gear. “So tell me, Anthony …” she said, but roared off before she finished the sentence, leaving him fumbling for his own gear stick.
“Bitch!” he shouted, surprised by her sudden departure. He put the Ferrari into first and spun the rear wheels on the cobbled road as he accelerated after her. He had to brake to avoid a red and grey taxi which pulled out in front of him, and by the time he reached Arbuthnot Road she was out of sight. It was just after midnight so there was little traffic about. He ran a red light and headed up Robinson Road, towards Shan Teng, the Peak. She lived on Findlay Road and he was pretty sure she’d head up the narrow, winding Old Peak Road where he’d find it difficult to overtake.
He roared up Robinson Road, the noise of the engine behind his shoulder blades almost deafening him. The
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