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Shatz had plotted and schemed to become his agent. That was the rule of the sport, Formula 1 in particular – a
small planet where the sun rose and set with cruel speed.
    Roland’s tone of voice suddenly changed and revealed a hint of friendship, something they shared beyond a normal business relationship. Yet he was still playing good cop, bad cop.
‘Jochen, there are problems. There’s a session of private tests at Silverstone with Williams and Jordan. If I understand correctly, they’re not calling you. They’d rather
have Malot and Barendson, the test driver, to check the new suspension. You know what this means?’
    Of course he did. He knew the racing world too well not to. When a driver wasn’t informed of a team’s technical improvements, it was very likely that the boss didn’t want him
to be able to give another team precious information. It was practically an announcement that they weren’t renewing his contract.
    ‘What do you expect me to say, Roland?’
    ‘Nothing. I don’t expect you to say anything. I just want you to use your brain and your foot like you’ve always done when you race.’ Roland paused before adding,
‘You’re with her, aren’t you?’
    Jochen smiled in spite of himself.
    Roland disliked Arianna and wouldn’t even call her by name. Just ‘her’. But no manager liked a woman if he thought she was the reason his driver was going soft. Jochen had had
dozens of women before and Shatz had always judged them for what they were: the inevitable perks of someone constantly in the limelight, pretty objects that shone in the reflection of the
champion’s sun. But Shatz went on high alert when Arianna entered Jochen’s life, like someone trying to convince a stubborn child to wash behind his ears. It was time for Jochen to
explain that Arianna was just a symptom, not the disease.
    ‘Roland, hasn’t it occurred to you that it might be over? I’m thirty-four and most drivers my age have already retired. The ones who are still around are just caricatures of
what they once were.’
    He carefully avoided mentioning those who were dead. The names and faces and laughter of men who suddenly became corpses in the twisted bodywork of a single-seater, a bright-coloured helmet
thrown aside, an ambulance that never came fast enough, a doctor who couldn’t save them.
    ‘What are you saying?’ blurted Roland with a flash of rebellion at his words. ‘We both know what Formula 1 is like, but I have a bunch of offers from America for the CART. You
still have some time left to enjoy yourself and make piles of money without any risk.’
    Jochen didn’t have the heart to dampen Roland’s managerial hopes. Money certainly wouldn’t change his mind. He had enough money to last him several lifetimes. He had earned it
by risking his hide all those years and, unlike many of his fellow drivers, he hadn’t been tempted to get a personal jet or helicopter or houses all over the world. He didn’t feel like
telling Shatz that it was something else, that he wasn’t enjoying it any more. The thread had snapped for some reason and he was just lucky it hadn’t happened while he was still hanging
by it.
    ‘All right, we’ll talk about it,’ he said instead.
    For now, Shatz realized, there was no use insisting. ‘Okay. Get in shape for Spain. The season’s not over yet and all you need is a couple of good races and you’ll be riding
high. Meanwhile, enjoy yourself, man.’
    Roland hung up and Jochen sat there staring at the phone. He could practically see his manager’s face.
    ‘Great!’ said Arianna as she came up the steps, rubbing her hair with a towel. ‘You wait for me to leave and then you start with the phone calls. What am I supposed to think?
Is there another woman?’
    ‘No, it was Roland.’
    ‘Ah.’
    Their whole situation was contained in that monosyllable. ‘He doesn’t like me, right?’
    Jochen pulled her towards him, encircling her tiny waist with his arms. He