Donna Hartley was no shrinking violet. She had the kind
of job many men would have envied; she was a sports
commentator for super bike racing and loved every minute
of it. She presented the image of a tall confident woman
in her late thirties, not frightened of the world and
what it had to offer.
She began commentating fifteen years ago because of her
love of motorbikes coupled with her journalistic
training, and now worked for the major sports station as
their “star reporter” on the track. She was involved with
the sport on a personal basis as well, to the extent of
marrying one of Europe’s top riders, a Frenchman called
Sadly it was a short marriage, both of them had nothing
in common besides the physical side of the relationship
and it ended with a divorce in which she’d been allowed
to keep custody of their young daughter and a large slice
of his personal fortune.
The wind was gusting as she stood by the side of the
track interviewing one of the riders, her long tawny hair
blowing across her handsome features as she asked him
what he thought about the forthcoming race. The bike
engines roared as the riders pulled back their throttles,
causing her to shout into the microphone for her voice to
carry above the din.