Favourite. Chapter 11 Part 1

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 11 Part 1

“Do you follow what is happening in France, Mr Reid?”

‘As far as possible, Vivienne. Newspapers don’t often fall into the hands of pilots.

Neville smiled politely at the beautiful dark-haired journalist with the short, progressive haircut.

“And we have been living in terrible fear for the past few months. It was even rumored that troops could land in Paris! Vivienne rolled her eyes in mock fear.

– Heard. We are actively discussing these events because there are many of your compatriots among my colleagues,” Neville said. – Just think, we were in France quite recently, but none of us suspected how deep the crisis was and how much the Algerian events would affect life in your country.

“I was thinking about going from sports journalist to political or even military,” Vivien said coquettishly.

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” Neville replied her tone.

– But our country is so connected to racing: both drivers and circuits and even teams. Imagine if motorsport had lost all this. You can laugh, but we were almost on the verge of civil war.

– Fortunately, everything has been resolved. Your general seems to me an experienced politician and a reliable leader. Hope he solves it. No wonder he got emergency powers.

– Do you think France will be able to keep Algeria?

“Unfortunately, you do it with military means. The secession of the colonies has already gone too far and this process cannot be stopped.

‘But the same can be said of your country, Mr Reid. The colonies are getting smaller.

“But what if it’s for the best?”

– Do you think?

Marcel thought about another correct answer. If it were his will, he would gladly talk only to beautiful women about races and about trifles, but his position and the alarming situation in the world compelled him.

The motley racing caravan escaped the French lands in time before serious turmoil broke out there with a change of power, and moved almost in full force towards the quieter Italian possessions. It’s time for the most famous daily marathon of sports cars. And, of course, Neville did not doubt his participation for a second, no strength and even his powerful boss could force him to abandon one of the most prestigious competitions on the continent. Small, off-challenge races – albeit, but not this one. His friends from the British automobile group were happy to entrust Marcel with a place in the best crew. In addition, he pulled all his partners along, convincing the temporary bosses that he was right. Mr. Carragher only sighed deeply, advised them to return safely, and downed a glass of brandy in one gulp. But in return, the old fox demanded that Neville refuse to participate in an extremely curious venture – a joint race of European and American pilots on an oval track.

“Okay, you’ve got it in your head that you have to run a marathon,” Carragher barked. “It’s kind of a tradition. But on stupid fun with the Yankees, my legs won’t be. And yours too.

“But isn’t it interesting to finally solve the age-old question – whose cars, ours or abroad, are faster,” Neville tried to stop.

“I’ll send Derek to clean it up.” It’s good for him,’ Martin snapped.

Neville grinned sadly to himself, pushed the memories away and continued to talk some nonsense about politics, looking around for support. It just so happened that, as happens in a large company, everyone broke up into small groups and no one paid any attention to them. Tiresome training is over, the start is already tomorrow, so many British marathon participants decided to relax a little before the important event. This time, the gathering of pilots took place in a simple way – they settled in a bulky tent. No official conversations and orchestras, simple snacks and copious drinks on the tables. What else does a normal racer need to relax?

There are not only compatriots around, there are enough French and Germans, even Americans come over, only the hosts did not honor the evening with their presence. After a brief stay of the Germans on the racing throne, the Italians intended to re-establish themselves at the top, and the progress of the British was met with hostility. At first the islanders pushed them into the bodies, and now they kick open wheels on their heels.

Only Pierrot overcame his caution and looked at his colleagues. Here he is in the corner, cradling a glass of whiskey in his hands and smoking shamelessly, without looking, shaking the ashes right on the table.

“That seems to be an interesting thing,” Vivien said.

Marcel breathed a sigh of relief, the set of standard lines had just dried up.

After a short friendly skirmish, Archie made his way to the center of the hall – now he is not just a manager, but the entire director of the racing team in the sports department of the concern, which was represented by Neville and his associates.

“Friends,” he greeted the audience with a somewhat slurred tongue.

In response there were languid bangs.

– I just had a diplomatic conversation with a colleague, – the director nodded to his neighbor – a representative of another no less powerful company. – Of course, they argued whose cars are better. See you hoarse. Who accelerates faster, who is more stable in corners. Who is simply more beautiful. Somewhere we give in, somewhere else. So they got nowhere…

– Not surprising! someone cried impatiently.

“But you are not alone on the track, boys,” came a voice with a German accent.

“So…” Archie was clearly lost.

Let’s have a drink, shall we?

– Not. To end. It doesn’t matter who is faster as long as it’s us, the British. This will be our joint victory,’ Archie finally thought to himself. And delightedly rushed to the table to rinse his parched throat.

“Archie isn’t a speaker,” Ronald crept up to them.

“If only he prepared a normal car for us, and we’ll forgive his tongue-tied tongue,” Neville assured.

“Yes, there are many people who want to chase us this time,” Ronald agreed.

– And how many crews are involved? asked Vivienne.

‘Fifty or sixty,’ Ronald shrugged.

Not sure?

“Why, Miss?” Easier than peeling pears, beat all competitors and win. Isn’t that so, dear Mr. Reed?

Marcel mumbled something indefinable.

– Monsieur Reid, Monsieur Powell, and how many of them could make you a real competitor? asked Vivienne.

Is this an interview, ma’am? Ronald laughed. – No idea. Within a day, any bucket from the back rows can turn into an opponent. In a marathon, reliability is the most important thing, not speed.

“Ronald is right,” said Neville. – Not a few excellent pilots of the past could not succeed in the “marathon”, although they collected a noble crop of prizes in ordinary races. And vice versa.

‘To the point, mate,’ Ronald nodded. – A few years ago, a peasant was chasing such an inconspicuous, former warrior, in our races I saw him – except when he overtook a circle, and then he forced me to get up. I almost let go of the steering wheel.

– Neville, have you ever won a “marathon”? Vivienne is clearly bored.

“And he’s always unlucky,” Ronald replied for Marcel. – Or the car fails, then it will have an accident. And once the team withdrew its crew from the race. A few hours before the finish. Imagine? And then he was in charge.

– When did your friend crash into the grandstand? Vivien asked.

‘I don’t like to remember this story,’ Marcel sighed.

“And I believe everything will work out for you, Neville,” Vivienne rewarded him with a smile.

Neville pursed his lips in response, and Powell flinched.

– Do you want me to tell you more about the “marathon”, Vivienne? Ronald said.

– I’ll definitely use it.

– Do you have something to drink? And then you come up empty handed.

– Thanks for the moment.

Marcel’s piercing gaze did not conceal another disgruntled grimace on his compatriot’s face.

“We have guests,” Neville said.

Fragrant with amazing aromas, Archie approached them.

– Guys, I’m arguing with this turkey until hoarse. I bet Neville will outrun all your crews, no matter how many you have. And if at least one of you overtakes him, victory is yours.

“First of all, it is bad luck to argue with your own people. Second, it’s just stupid, they have more reliable cars than ours, Neville said irritably.

“And why, I wonder, Marcel’s crew?” Ronald frowned.

“He’s the fastest pilot,” Archie guilelessly blurted out, ignoring Ronald’s face twisting as if he’d downed half a bottle of vinegar.

“By the way, last year we all covered for Marcel, and what happened to it”, Ronald was now like a child who was unexpectedly told that he didn’t get all the sweets.

– I heard the word – dispute – by the way, Carbone joined them. – What are we talking about?

“We share the victory cup together,” Neville explained.

– To what? Pierrot chuckled. ‘It’s clearly mine. Gentlemen of the Britons, there is a much more pressing question. Where to get whisky? There is one porter on the tables. As the son of a sunny peninsula, I chronically can’t stand it. These sour meats are just right for sipping alone in the rain and fog mood.

Concerned about the insult to national feelings, Archie the Italian began to recklessly describe the virtues of a foamy drink, and Ronald, trying to catch Vivien’s eye, did not reach the goal and escaped.

“So how about an interview, Mr Reed?” asked Vivienne softly.

– Utilities? Marcel was surprised. – I’d rather find a clean glass and a splash of wine. Such an evening. Take a break from work. You’ll see me in the paddock tomorrow and I’ll be sure to give you time between races.

Let’s run away, shall we? Vivien moved closer to his ear, Neville felt hot breath and delicious perfume.

Neville looked at the girl in astonishment.

– What are we supposed to do here? And you will enlighten me about all the intricacies of the pilot’s work.

Yes something like that. Such attention is certainly flattering, but there is a limit to everything.

‘I’m sorry, Vivien, but I have to brighten up the evening with my colleagues. And I only give interviews during the day and in the boxes. Oh sorry. I’m such an old fashioned pilot.

Neville looked into the girl’s eyes, burning with rage. Well, sorry, beauty, if you can, of course. All the joys of the bachelor life of a successful racer will sooner or later get boring. He is not a sailor who reaches the port city after many months of sailing. Yes, and about Evie should not be forgotten. And while the form of their relationship is shrouded in mystery, the relationship itself hasn’t disappeared.

== To be continued…