‘Is Étienne being a wanker yet?’ asks Kurt, pouring a glass of Moët from the middle of the table.
I grin. ‘Hey, I taught you that word!’
His English is better than mine despite being German. No accent, no hard consonants, no pause for translation, no slight formality. I congratulate myself that I had a small part to play. I can’t take any credit for the other four languages he’s fluent in, though…
I’ve kept in touch with him more than the others – we were always closer, mostly because of our dads – but even then, with the relentless F1 calendar it usually equates to one lunch a year when he comes over for the British Grand Prix.
‘How do you know Minnie?’ Kurt asks Étienne, handing me the glass. ‘You’re, like, four years younger than us. You were a kid when your dad retired.’
‘We went to the same school in Monaco,’ I explain.
A mischievous smile lights up Étienne’s face.‘C’est tout?’
‘Étienne’s brother was in my class.’ I hope he heard the full stop at the end of that sentence.
Étienne’s smile broadens. ‘’E wasonlya classmate?’
‘Yes,’ I say tightly.
‘I will tell the story,’ Étienne declares to an enrapt table. I stifle the urge to burrow my head in my hands. ‘It was a warm summer night. The moon was?—’
‘Alright, alright,’ I interrupt. ‘His brother was my first kiss at a stupid school disco.’
The others burst out laughing.
Étienne crosses his arms. ‘You English, nodramatiqueflair.’
I sip my champagne so my arm can conceal at least one blazing cheek. ‘What’s your brother doing now?’
Étienne rests his chin on his balled-up fist. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’ He winks, and a little bit of sick travels up my throat.
‘Don’t be weird. He finished driving young, right?’
Étienne straightens. ‘’E didn’t even make it to Formula 3. ’Is ’eart wasn’t in it. ’E’s in banking now, and living in Paris wiz ’is girlfriend.’ He bats his eyelashes at me. ‘You’re devastated,non?’
‘Distraught,’ I retort flatly.
‘A toast!’ Kurt cuts in, raising his glass. ‘To Étienne coming in P2, us boys all finishing in the points, and Minnie, returning to where she belongs – even if it is as one ofThem.’
‘Santé!’
‘Cheers!’
‘Prost!’
‘Skål!’
‘Cin cin!’
‘How’s your family?’ I ask Kurt once the clamour dies down.
‘Good. For Christmas, my parents bought themselves a dilapidated castle near Ingolstadt.’
‘Why?’
‘Excellent question. It’s all veryEscape to the Chateau. They mainly live in Bali, and last week they realised it’s incredibly painful to get from Ingolstadt to Bali, so this morning my dad bought a 767.’
That’s… incomprehensible. ‘Wow.’
