All That the Heart Desires Read Free Page A

Although he had been champion five years in a row, at the end of each season, almost all were convinced that he was just a flash in the pan. And more and more articles focused on his private life, which was not that private anyway.
    As each race passed and the season progressed, however, the praise grew. At last he was compared with the legend himself, Ayrton Senna.
    Lorcan was my favourite, almost from the first day, but I never imagined I would ever see him in person.
    At the entrance to the house, I realised I’d forgotten my purse and house keys in the car. I could just imagine how I must have looked to my neighbours, throwing my hands in the air with anger and looking up at the sky. I told myself to get a grip but it had been too long a day for me, and so damn unusual. As I got out of the shower, I realized I was ravenous. I had eaten little during my busy day and now regretted it. Hunting through the fridge, I found nothing to eat. Suddenly, the the doorbell rang and I smiled. I knew instantly who it was: my kind landlady and a friend, Anne-Marie, who occasionally cooked for me too.
    “Come on in,” I called out from the kitchen. The door was not locked.
    “So you’re already home?” asked Anne-Marie.
    “Yes, I am. It was a long day,” I answered as I greeted her. She was forty years old, a mother of three boys, but she was more glamorous than I ever could be. She was married to a financial advisor with some big clients and that meant she didn’t need to work, so she took care of me, as well as taking care of her boys. She was wearing a pair of oven mitts and was holding a steaming vegetable casserole.
    “And how was it?” she asked, standing beside me in the kitchen, putting the pan on the stove. She’d been my landlady for a long time now and during the time, we became friends. Still, I couldn’t tell her everything.
    “The same. How was yours?”
    She took another plate out of the cabinet and moved the food from her plate to mine. I didn’t question this anymore. A long time ago, I asked her why she put her plate on my plate. She always said that the plate she brought with her was too hot for me to touch. It didn’t make any sense but I took it as one of her ‘French’ things.
    She realised quickly I wasn’t going to tell her anything. I hoped my appearance and attitude hadn’t given too much away, otherwise she’d know something was wrong.
    “Right,” she said. “Mine was the same.” She checked around the kitchen and then headed to the door.
    “Don’t clean afterwards. Leave me something to do in the morning.”
    I smiled.
    “Anne-Marie, you know I’ll clean the dishes.” She turned around.
    “Yes I know, but I needed to say it anyway. Will you come out on the porch later?”
    I shook my head. “I have some work to do,” I said. She nodded.
    “Eat, otherwise it will get too cold and it won’t be tasty,” she lectured me.
    “ Oui, Madame ,” I said and we both smiled.
    When I had finished my dinner and cleaned up, I poured myself a glass of wine and went to the sitting room, turning the television on. Searching through the channels, I finally spotted the live report from Monte Carlo. No wonder. The big party was just beginning and the last of the guests were arriving at the gates of the hotel. Shining lights and masses of reporters were waiting for the famous faces. Everyone who was anyone was there; all were dressed in their finest, as was the female news reporter.
    A silver Mercedes stopped at the front steps. For a moment, my heart stopped beating. I wasn’t completely sure, but remembering what he was driving when our cars had almost crashed, it would be the only sensible conclusion that this must be Lorcan Shore.
    I heard the reporter saying his name. The car doors opened and the porter came forward, waiting to take the car to the garage. Then suddenly the doors slammed shut and the car drove off at full speed. The reporter was speechless at first, but soon regained her