‘Where’s the showing off in that?’
‘Did you buy your apartment because of this lift?’
‘Course I fucking did.’
It’s not super practical, taking a good thirty seconds to leave us in the boring car park – but practicality is what the normal entrance is for. She won’t admit it but it’s written all over her face: this is pretty freaking cool.
I park up beside a Pagari Nova and the look she gives me indicates she knows full well who owns it.
‘This is a big step, introducing me to your car collection,’ she notes, getting out.
‘Don’t get a big head, these are only some of them.’
‘Where are the rest?’
‘Essex and Italy.’
‘Ah yes, Chelmsford, the home of the supercar.’
I just laugh.
Her attention’s caught by the Aurora two spaces down. ‘Wait, you don’t have just one Pagari, do you?’
I shake my head once. ‘No, ma’am.’
I can’t blame her for being hypnotised by them – they glow, two magnificent Italian race cars in a sea of mid-engine sports cars. All charisma, drama and art. Timeless feats of engineering. Georgie once described my Nova as ‘NASA meets opera.’ By contrast, the Aurora isn’t one colour; as I follow behind Minnie, the body shifts from green to blue to black.
‘Ask me how many times I’ve driven her,’ I say.
‘Is it that awful to drive?’
‘Three.’
Minnie takes a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘She’s theatre. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to drop four mil on theatre, but don’t mistake her for a usable car. Even on a track.’
‘Youboughtit?’ she cackles. ‘Youdrivefor Pagari!’
‘You think they’d give me a custom paint job? Not a chance. They gave me that corker there, though.’ I nod towards my beautiful Nova. ‘To be fair, she’s much better to drive. Also quicker than the speed of sound, but so much smoother. She handles corners like a dream.’
‘I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: you drive aFiat?’
‘You can’t take a Pagari Aurora to Carrefour, Roberts. You know that.’
That tickles her. ‘Which one’s your favourite?’ She’s looking at my custom black 488 Pista Spider in the middle. Cute.
‘My LaFerrari.’
I’m such a basic bitch. Petrolheads the world over agree it’s one of the greatest modern cars, and I was the loudest sceptic until I drove Tom Webber’s. One drive was all it took. Wicked fast, designed like an F1 car, petrol-powered supplemented by an electric motor. Chef’s. Kiss.
‘Of courseyou have a LaFerrari,’ Minnie says through a laugh. ‘It’s a race car built for the road.’She glances around the garage. ‘Is it in Essex? If there’s ever a car to cruise around Monaco in, it’s that.’
‘Don’t worry, she’s here. I keep her covered, and away from the others.’ To look upon her is an honour, and one I don’t bestow on people who can’t tell the difference between glass and cardboard in the refuse room.
Minnie sidles up to me, eyes all mischief. ‘You said before that you don’t fuck girls in cars.’ She bites her lip and I can’t tear my eyes away. ‘Would you make an exception with a LaFerrari?’
I tongue my cheek. ‘I believe you misquoted me. I said a man doesn’t fuck a girllike youin a car.’
