Favourite. Chapter 9 Part One

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 9 Part One

“How fast do race cars go, Mr. Reed?”

“About two hundred and eighty miles an hour on the straight,” Neville replied courteously.

– This much! Mrs. Mulligan looked diligently around her eyes—a pretty, middle-aged lady in an intricate long evening gown, breathtakingly expensive even for Neville, who was inexperienced in such things.

– A few decades ago, and three hundred and twenty for fireballs was not the limit – said Marcel.

Why aren’t today’s cars even faster?

– Few people can afford to build such powerful cars, and competition is necessary in races, so the organizers try to equalize the rights of all participants with the help of regulations.

– I suppose at speed you do not have time to see anything, everything merges into one continuous strip?

‘Not at all, that’s a delusion,’ Marcel smiled a little. – Everything can be considered perfectly – people, trees and buildings.

The delicate silhouette of a waiter with a tray floated silently out of the darkness. Well, don’t disappear the same good? Neville picked up his glass and sipped the champagne. Mrs. Mulligan casually dismissed the garcon with a wave of her hand.

“How do you like it, Mr. Reed?”

– Fully.

– Too much gas. Cheap. Might as well not be saved. It is not often that the best racers in the world drop in on us”, the interlocutor gave Marcel a languid look. – You should visit the Karoo. This is a mountainous area where berries are grown that give life to fortified wines.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time,” Neville said. Our stay here is very limited.

The existence of a successful racing driver sometimes really resembles a nineteenth century novel. Expensive outfits, sparkling diamonds, small talk, a real orchestra, delicious treats, graceful dances. In honor of the guests who arrived, the organizers arranged a lavish feast right on the shores of the Indian Ocean. And now the racers, their leaders and the cream of the crop of the local establishment moved calmly across the vast expanse, generously illuminated with colored garlands, caressing the ear with music, the sound of coastal waves and fine conversation. Neville felt a little out of sorts as he packed hastily, he didn’t think he would need a tuxedo at all. Unlike most men, he wore a plain white suit and caught interested glances more often than expected.

“How about a wheel-to-wheel fight?” A familiar voice sounded nearby.

This is, of course, Mr. Botterill. Funny gentleman of advanced years. A big fan of auto racing, a successful businessman and a former amateur pilot, he fell in love with Neville with all his heart, brought down a whole cascade of different stories and facts and did not leave him all evening. Once Neville listened with interest to the interlocutor, but then he began to get tired of the endless stream of information.

– It’s racing. Without a fight, nowhere,” Neville replied.

“Am I the only one, or is Mr Eddington calling you?” asked Mrs. Mulligan.

‘Wait,’ said Botteril. “How often do you get into fights with rivals, Neville?”

– Rarely. After all, everyone understands the danger of contact at such a speed. When one car hits another with a wheel, it’s scary.

‘No words,’ Botteril nodded. Fifty-five June. Terrible day for all motorsports. So many human victims. unhappy spectators. Did you enter that race?

“Don’t bother our guest with nonsense,” the shrewd Mulligan noted the change in Neville’s face. – Why ruin the holiday, right?

Neville smiled subdued in response to another knowing look from his companion.

– Does it happen that one pilot deliberately provokes a collision? Botteril did not calm down. – When I spoke, what daredevils did not come across!

“Of course, in the heat of the moment, all sorts of things happen, but nobody intentionally gets into a collision,” said Neville.

– But then one can waver and give in.

– It’s not fair to me.

– You think?

– If I knew that someone is acting like that on purpose, I wouldn’t shake his hand.

“Are you that principled, Neville?” Mulligan asked. – They themselves claimed it was racing.

“That’s why,” Neville snapped. “We race at the highest level. The speed is high, as is the responsibility. Everyone must understand that he is not only risking his own life, but also that of his rival, Mrs. Mulligan.

“Call me Annette,” the interlocutor smiled benevolently.

Marcel in the spotlight! Who would have doubted?! Quincy approached them. An impeccable tuxedo, a snow-white shirt, a neat parting of graying hair, an elegant cane. That’s really who felt like a fish in water at the reception.

“You have a great pilot, Mr. Quincy,” Annette smiled charmingly at the team owner.

You haven’t seen him on the track yet! Swift and swift as an eagle, Quincy boasted.

How did you get the courage to use such a risky model? Botteril joined the conversation.

“We have no fear when Neville is with us,” Quincy waved his hand. He is a real British lion.

“Today is a white lion,” Mulligan laughed, pleased with the joke.

“I explained why without a tuxedo,” Neville began to justify himself.

“Come on, you did a great job. Good move, Neville. So only the best of the best has the right to break the rules.

Yeah, fuck off with that tuxedo. Everything is to blame for his carelessness in economic matters. Didn’t think to contact the rental company.

“Where is your venerable husband, Mrs. Mulligan?” Quincy asked. “My partner, Mr. Thorndike, urged me to discuss certain points with him.

“He’s all about business,” Annette sighed. – Figures, reports, tables. The life of a banker is pure boredom and dullness. Balls don’t interest him. As well as racing. He recently left on a business trip to Pietermaritzburg.

– What a pity! And Mr. Longman? I had dinner at his restaurant yesterday. Oysters are just great. I wanted to pay him my respects personally.

Botteril snorted indignantly. He wanted to talk about racing. And only about racing.

Marcel took the opportunity to blurt out:

‘I’ll leave you alone for a while, gentlemen. Mrs. Mulligan, my respects.

And he slipped away before no one had a chance to come to their senses. You need to catch your breath a little. From dark words the language is already confused. But his loneliness did not last long.

Here’s Reid! Hidden in the corner!

Marcel turned slowly – two dark places nearby immediately turned into his colleagues. Ronald Powell and Piero Carbone have been teammates for a while, but also rivals.

-Champagne? Neville asked. – You have to turn your head a little, and in an instant a warning guy appears.

– Whiskey. I have heartburn from the champagne,’ said Carbone, beckoning the waiter with a slight nod and giving him instructions.

Marcel noted that Pierrot seemed to have had enough time to sample the variety of drinks that were presented in abundance on the tables by generous hosts.

“I thought you were used to him as a regular guest at parties,” Marcel used to tease the Italian.

“My parents dragged me through my childhood,” Carbone shrugged. “Then I got serious about bobsledding and had a legitimate chance to dodge tricks.

– And here it feels like Buckingham Palace. If it weren’t for the heat, who would have thought we were in Africa,’ Neville remarked.

“This is your dominion, the British,” said Carbone. ‘You English know how to impose your own rules.

“Come on, Pierrot,” Powell said reassuringly. Have you seen Johannesburg? Real New York, full of skyscrapers, modern buildings and business centers, and this is just the beginning. We are in the richest country on the continent. Is it bad that they live according to Western regulations? And the track? The new circuit will offer many European opportunities.

Carbone finally got what he wanted, and eagerly snatched from the tray a glass half-filled with amber liquid.

“You forgot that by Western standards only part of the local population lives, the white people,” Piero took a large gulp. – What about the majority? And for them, their hospitals, beaches, places on the bus. As well as separate restaurants and cinemas. If there is money of course.

“But the point is not to violate the rights of black citizens, but simply to separate them,” Powell noted cautiously. – The goal is to preserve the traditions of each race, because prohibitions and restrictions apply to everyone.

– Do you believe in it yourself? Carbon sniffed.

“Look at the United States of America, the cradle of democracy, and think the same thing,” Powell said.

“But not in the same form and not everywhere.

– And how long have you been such a fighter for the rights of the oppressed? Powell peered.

– Staggering over the world, I look around, unlike you, – Carbone waved again. – And you can’t see anything outside the autodrome.

Do you know how much injustice there is in the world? Ronald sighed. “We have not had time to recover even a little after the war, while the politicians are again clinking their weapons. How would the Suez crisis have ended if everything had not been decided by the world? France for some reason climbed into Indochina. All world powers managed to intervene in the Korean War. For me, the local regime is not the greatest evil.

“By the way, our country does not support the policies of the local authorities and refuses to supply them with weapons,” Neville tried to soften the dialogue.

“Only in words,” Carbone snapped. “For some reason no one cuts economic ties. A good thing: the best times of your empire, it seems, are long in the past.

– You can condemn the regimes in the colonies as you like, but they stopped the wars between the tribes. We don’t know which is better yet,” Powell blurted out fiercely.

– The policy of double standards. How you love the English, – replied Carbone.

– May I remind you what happened in Italy during the war? Marcel couldn’t resist.

“By the way, my father actively helped our resistance during the German occupation,” said Carbone.

– And a few years before that he carried the Duce in his arms? Powell peered.

– It was such a time. Everyone believed in the Duce. After all, our regime was not even close to that of the Fuhrer.

“Why should we now be responsible for the actions of politicians, race our affairs,” Neville retreated, the discussion shifting to too dangerous a level.

Carbone was clearly thinking more critically about the answer now, but it was clear from his face that nothing occurred to him, and he angrily demanded more whiskey from the wordless shadow in the bow tie.

Delighted, Powell began to talk about the young ladies who had gathered nearby in a merry flock. With kind tact, of course. Like Neville, Ronald came from an ordinary, albeit wealthy family, where aristocratic roots were in no way intertwined. But in recent years, they have unwittingly picked up good manners – after all, the position obliges.

== To be continued…