Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [121]
`Oh dear, I'd love to be able to help you,' Miranda sighed, `but I'm afraid I'm a lesbian.'
`I'm sorry, that was the wrong answer. The correct answer was (c), racing driver. And I'd be more than happy to prove it to you if-'
`How did everything go?' Miranda broke in hurriedly, before he got carried away.
`Mission accomplished. The practice sessions went brilliantly.' As modest as ever, Miles added, `Starting from pole position tomorrow. Would you like to hear my lap times?'
`I meant Daisy.' Miranda knew he was teasing her but she had to know.
`Didn't I just tell you that? Mission accomplished. She's gone.'
Oh my God, thought Miranda, her hands suddenly clammy with shock and relief. What have I done?
There was a pause.
`You've gone quiet,' said Miles. `Changed your mind yet about being a lesbian?'
Was she upset?'
`I really hope you aren't thinking of dumping me and running off into the sunset with Daisy.'
`I wasn't actually expecting this to happen.'
`Too late to back out now. I wish I could see you tonight.' Miles sounded regretful. `But I'd never get any sleep and you'd play havoc with my reflexes. Are you coming up tomorrow, by the way?'
`To watch you race? I don't know.' Without warning, Miranda's stomach contracted. The idea of cheering Miles on from the stand was all very well in theory, but when it actually came to it, she didn't know if she could bear to watch. This was motor racing, not tiddlywinks.
It was dangerous.
`I'll drive carefully,' said Miles. `Keep to the speed limit, follow the highway code, all that stuff, I promise.'
`I still don't think I can.' Miranda braced herself, expecting him to call her a wimp. `Sorry.'
There was another pause, then Miles said, `Don't be. I'm quite flattered. As far as Daisy was concerned, watching me race was basically a photo-opportunity that was too good to miss.'
His tone was dry. Miranda, who had never told him what Daisy had said to her friend on the phone that day in the salon, wondered if he had known all along. As she spoke, a lump came into her throat. `Good luck for tomorrow, unless it's unlucky to wish you luck.'
Actors said break a leg, didn't they? Maybe racing drivers said burst a tyre.
Miles sounded as if he was smiling.
`Wish me as much luck as you like. And put the TV on tomorrow morning. I've got a pre-race interview lined up
and I want you to see it.' 'Why?'
`Don't argue,' said Miles. `Just do it, okay?'
Miranda was on her fourth bowl of Cheerios the next morning by the time the racing commentator's interview with Miles took place. Sitting cross-legged on Florence's
sofa, she squealed and dribbled milk down her chin when she realised why he had been so keen for her to watch. Her copper pig was making his TV dйbut, attached to a narrow strip of leather and tied around Miles's tanned neck. As he spoke, Miles idly unfastened the second button of his denim shirt and fiddled with the pig until finally the interviewer was forced to comment on it.
`This?' Miles grinned. `Oh, he's a good-luck present from a close friend of mine.'
The interviewer, who was as famous for his faux pas as for his high-octane commentary style, said eagerly, `And that's the very lovely lady in your life, Australian actress Daisy Schofield, am I right?'
`Actually, no, but I do have a message for the lovely lady in my life.' His tone light, Miles smiled lazily into the camera. `And that is, when you meet the right person, you know it. That's what happened to me and I-'
`Well, that's all we've got time for,' bellowed the interviewer, clamping his hand excitedly to the side of his head in final-lap fashion. `I hear through my earpiece that your team manager is waiting to speak to you down in the pits, so for now, Miles Harper, and on behalf of the rest of the nation, may I wish you the very best of luck for this afternoon's titanic race!'
The cameras swiftly turned their attention to Miles's great rival, an ugly Frenchman with a face like a walnut, and Miranda turned off both the TV and the video. Unable to watch the race, she wished she knew