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thing?
    â€˜You all right, Connie?’ asked Betty as she walked back to the counter. ‘You look a little pale.’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she answered. But she felt humiliated.
    In the workshop of the racing team called the Cheetahs, three men were in a huddle, drinking tea and smoking. There was an air of secrecy about them as they spoke.
    â€˜So what
exactly
did you see?’ asked one.
    The man whose motorcycle helmet rested at his feet said, ‘Not much to be honest. As soon as I stopped I saw the three of them and some girl sitting staring out of the door at me. If I’d lingered, they would have come out and asked me what I wanted. They didn’t recognize me, fortunately, as I had my visor down.’
    â€˜We need to get in somehow and take a good look at the car. Sam Knight is a bloody clever mechanic; he’ll know how much he can get out of a souped-up engine. He’s a bloody genius when it comes to cars.’
    â€˜And behind the wheel,’ added another.
    â€˜Well, he’s not going to bloody well beat me!’ snapped Jake Barton, the team driver. ‘I’ll use whatever means I have to stop him standing on the winner’s podium. That’s
my
place!’
    The other two looked at each other and grimaced. Jake was a sore loser, and Sam Knight was his Achilles heel. Jake was jealous of the other man’s success, which he wrongly believed should be his alone. He was a good driver but he was wild and let anger rule his head when driving, which had led to him receiving several warnings during his racing career. The rest of the team worried that this battle with Sam would end up with Jake being banned from racing altogether, and then what would they do?
    â€˜Forget about Sam,’ one said. ‘We have a good car, and if you drive well, you won’t have a problem at all.’
    Jake flew into a rage. ‘What do you mean
if
I drive well? Are you saying I’m a bad driver?’
    â€˜For Christ’s sake keep your hair on, will you,’ said his teammate. ‘All I’m saying is if you were to concentrate more on your own car and driving, instead of this insane obsession with Knight, you’d do much better!’
    Jake was on his feet in seconds, and before his teammate knew it, Jake had floored him with a punch, then walked out of the garage cursing loudly.
    The second man helped his friend to his feet.
    Holding his jaw, the victim swore. ‘Fucking madman! I’m in two minds to walk away from him and the racing.’
    His friend walked over to the sink and ran the cold tap on a cloth, then, after wringing it out, he handed it over. ‘Here, put this on your jaw, it’ll help with the swelling.’
    â€˜One day I’ll do for that bastard!’ the injured one said. ‘I’m sick to death of hearing how good Jake thinks he is and how he should be a winner. Let’s be honest, he’s no match for Knight, no one is. The man’s a genius on the track. He has talent and is a born winner. It’s only a matter of luck if he gets a bump that takes him out on the track and enables someone else to take first place. You know it and I know it; unfortunately, Jake won’t accept that fact. Well, sod him! I’m off to the pub for a pint, want to join me?’
    They locked up the garage and left.
    Connie’s mood was lifted when she returned home to find that Sam had written her a letter:
    Dear Connie,
    I am so sorry to have neglected you this week, but as you know I’ve been working away. I’ve missed you, lovely Connie, and to make up for it I’d like to take you out for the day on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at eleven in the morning. If this doesn’t suit you, leave a message at the garage.
    PS. Wear a pair of trousers and a coat and bring a swimsuit and towel.
    Lots of love,
    Sam xxxx
    Connie danced around the room, thrilled to read that he’d missed her, and she couldn’t