Spilt Wine

54. Of Cars and Stars

Catherine and I eventually got up for brunch, and we spent the afternoon lounging on the couch and telling more stories. She could now talk about her childhood in Saint-Brieuc and of warmer, friendlier times with her father before he sold the boat and they moved inland.

"Even after the move to Rennes, he was often quite gentle and fun, but he had a terrible temper, so easily triggered. We all learned to tiptoe around anything that might set him off. It became more difficult – it was impossible to predict what would send him into a rampage." She paused and thought for a short while.

"It was a very strange spring. I was confused with the blood in my underwear; Mamère had told me nothing. The evil nun who molested me made me even more confused about my body – made me ashamed of my development. Never knowing when Papa would hit me or with what made me ache with tension. I was so relieved to spend the summer on the péniche. That was such a wonderful escape. I felt free for the first time in a very long while."

I nodded. "We should all feel free. Always. I wonder why some people find power in making others suffer. Don't they realise they make themselves unhappy? All they need to do is accept the situation, change their own attitude, not spread their discontent, not try to change others. One of my favourite thoughts is, Give me the peace to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. This sort of says it all, doesn't it?"

Sunday 11 May 1986

On Sunday morning, we cuddled in bed and continued relating things from our pasts. "So there's a gap in your story, David. I last saw you setting up a wine business and a wine club and importing wine. But yesterday, you jumped to driving to Afghanistan, climbing and then doing the auctions in London. What happened between setting up the wine business thing and London?"

"I finished school, then went through Venture, the officer candidate school in Esquimalt. I ended up as the Class Captain and then became the Cadet Commander of the school, came second in the class and was sent to Camp Borden to begin pilot training. We called it Camp Boredom – in the sands a hundred kilometres or so north of Toronto.

"I had done some club racing with the Healey on the west coast – I had shipped it back from Germany. But by this time it was seven years old, so I bought a new Triumph GT6 to be more competitive and –"

"So you raced also?" She ran a finger across my lips.

"Yes, more for variety earlier, but now the mountains were too far away to play in, so I poured more of my energy into the racing."

"You were in the Navy then?"

"No, still in the Air Force, the Navy came later. Anyway, the Triumph was a very peppy and lively car with a 1998cc six-cylinder engine. It did well in the one point eight to two-litre class, but I didn't like its rear suspension. It had swing axles, and it humped horribly in the corners, the ass-end lifted, hopped then let go with little notice. I added torsion bars, and they helped but not enough.

"I traded it for a new E-Type Jag. It was a powerful beast, but it ploughed. It had horrible understeer, and often, when I tried to correct, it popped to oversteer with little warning. I soon traded it for a new Lotus Europa. It tracked the corners as if on rails and –"

"You spent a lot on cars." She trailed a finger across my chest.

"I had a lot to spend, and I was looking for something that worked, that fit my needs. I quickly came to appreciate what Colin Chapman was doing with his little cars. I loved the Lotus."

I winced. "Then everything changed – I broke my neck."

"That wasn't a smart thing to do." She sat up and looked at my neck, fingering it lightly. "It seems to have healed." She giggled. "Your head is still attached. Was that racing?"