Favourite. Chapter 8 Part Two

This novel is fictional, you should not look for intersections with historical events. This is a continuation of Nikita Savelyev’s Racing Action Movie, first published on F1News.ru…

Favourite. Chapter 8 Part Two

The receiver at the Monetti factory was immediately removed, moreover, they were lucky – the right person was on the spot. It is true that they were linked to him for an eternity, it seemed. But the conversation itself lasted no more than three minutes.

During the agonizing wait, Marcel set himself the standard: drink no more than once every half hour, so by the time the call came back the bottle was only a quarter empty. A short conversation with the operator, line connection clicks.

“Mr. Reid, this is Monetti’s secretary, Emma Tomasi,” a well-placed, confident female voice with a barely perceptible accent came over the phone.

‘Good afternoon,’ Neville held his breath in excitement, but immediately recovered. – Yes, I’m waiting for an interview with Mario … with Señor Monetti.

‘Unfortunately Señor Monetti is busy today and will not make time for you.

– And when? Just an urgent question…

“Don’t worry, your request has been passed on to him and I’m authorized to pass on the answer.

-Excellent. I’m listening.

– As you know, we have abandoned the practice of giving our fireballs for use to pilots who are not official representatives of Monetti. And even for renowned racers like you, Mr. Reid, we make no exception. Sorry.

“Of course,” Neville muttered. They could not hold ceremonies, but immediately refused. Oh wow those Italians. I knew it was an empty idea.

“But don’t rush to hang up, Mr. Reid,” the voice became meaningful.

– I’m listening.

“Señor Monetti is willing to consider the conditions under which you will become our pilot.

– How is it going? Marcel was surprised.

– What surprises you? Monetti is always open to cooperation with fast riders. You must arrive in Italy and discuss the terms of the contract on the spot. I can register you within a week.

‘Thank you, but I have a contract,’ Marcel sighed.

“As far as I know, a prisoner on parole,” the irony cut through the pipe.

– I am very grateful for the offer and even flattered, but I have to refuse.

Neville hung up, put his hands on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. I wonder what Mario was up to? Did you want to show strength in front of Carragher? Suppose brazen Brits are trying to displace his famous brand from the racing Olympus, so now we’ll show what their best racer is really worth? Or is he just eager to secure the title by any means necessary? And where would he put his many pilots, there are already too many? Will kick someone out of the base, he doesn’t rate Neville so low as to offer a reservist position. It looks like him. Mario likes to say that the key to victory is a great car and the driver is just an appendage.

However, this is of little importance. The main thing is how to be Neville? No one goes to distant Africa anymore. But he urgently needs to break through. Does he race or a name? Trying to convince compatriots? BGS? Hopeless: they don’t even participate in all European races. My father looked into the room – looked accusingly at Neville with his meager still life on the table, shook his head, but said nothing. I have long been accustomed to the fact that racing is life for his son, and he has long been solving problems in this life alone. Neville smiled apologetically and pulled the phone closer. Let’s try to recruit an innovator who came up with a crazy idea – to put the engine behind the pilot. What is another risky business for him?!

– East London? It’s almost at the end of the world. Have you gone crazy? Swim there forever! – Will Thomson, the head of the stable of the same name, argued with flair.

“There’s only six thousand miles between us,” Neville grinned.

– Can you imagine how much it will cost?

“They will pay for the road for me and the car. In addition, they promise good prize money.

So they have to be earned.

“I’d like a car and some mechanics,” Neville insisted.

“Yes, I understand…” Will sighed.

– Agree, such an opportunity is practically for nothing.

– But we did not go anywhere and did not really modernize the car. I have no idea how a jet fuel car will behave. Without testing, it’s insane.

– At the same time I see what your baby is capable of.

“Is it necessary to trudge to no one knows where to do this?”

“We’re racers, Willie.

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and Neville even began to wonder if the line had been disconnected. Finally, Thomson said firmly:

“That’s right, Neville, but I’m also a businessman. I sell racing cars. We wanted to calmly prepare for April, and even May. We have good ideas, in the new season I want to reach a qualitatively different level. And a trip to Africa doesn’t fit into my plans. The chance of success is negligible, but what if it fails? What is being advertised for my business?

Have you started thinking about advertising? I didn’t expect that from you,’ Neville said bitterly. – Is it true that when making a racing car you calculated the profit first? You quickly turned into a greedy businessman! Let others win, of course, but it is unprofitable for us to take risks! Let’s start with the second phase. Or from the third. But know that we will surrender the first round to the Italians without a fight, we will not see any luck for the green cars. After all, we are compatriots. Am I asking too much?!

“Don’t be ashamed of me,” a disgruntled voice sounded over the phone.

– So? Do you want to help? Marcel asked, satisfied with the result.

“I’ll help you,” Will said with a sigh. – There is an option, and we will test my car, and in case of failure I will not lose face, and you will try to take points from the Italians.

– Is it possible? Marcel was surprised.

– Oddly enough, yes. I know one person, out of this world, who will like your offer,” Will answered enigmatically.

– South Africa? asked Mr. Quincey. – I served in those parts, in the thirty-ninth, in the air regiment, a fun time, albeit a scary one.

Marcel introduced his interlocutor vividly. He must now be imposingly smoking a cigar. Anthony Quincey is a man no longer the first youth, but always cheerful and fit, with an impeccable attitude, a born gentleman of an old British family, his family owns the largest woodworking company, and after the Second World War, he himself got involved in motor racing. The Quincy team has been racing for several years, buying chassis from several brands and bringing them to mind themselves, but failed to earn a single point.

Thomson will give me the latest model. Admittedly, it has not been properly tested on new fuel. cunning. He wants to rake in more heat with our hands, but that doesn’t scare you, does it? Quincy laughed out loud.

“It’s not scary,” Neville agreed. “Mr. Quincy, I just need a few reliable mechanics,” Thomson promised to provide the necessary parts and equipment.

“At your service,” Quincy blurted out. But I am also with you. The owner of the team has no right to miss such a magnificent spectacle. I remember my childhood. If you only knew how weird we were at the helm…

When Neville ended the negotiations, instead of legitimate joy, he was seized by uniform panic: he managed to get involved in a real adventure. A low-power car of controversial design. Small private team without the slightest successful performance experience. Unknown trail in unknown Africa. And all this in order to bite off a few points from Monetti?! But it’s too late to retreat – we’ll fight whatever it takes.

== To be continued…