"Smith, Guy N - Blood Circuit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

'You're putting the ball in your own court, Mark. I know you could win for me. So do you.'

The hell I could, Slade sweated at the idea. Already too much was coming back to him. The roar of bunching cars, the smell of oil, smouldering rubber, all adding up to one thing in his mind - fear!

'Sorry, Lee.' He was surprised at the ease with which he too, resorted to familiarity. 'Nothing doing. I'm sorry. But that's the way it is. I'll never drive again.'

'The money will be better than Seamark's.'

'Money doesn't bother me any more.'

'Nor a chance to beat Seamark?'

He hesitated. 'I don't give a damn for Seamark, whether they win or lose is immaterial to me. I wish you luck, though, and luck does play a large part in it. By the way, why did Chris Fogg quit the Seamark team?'

That's not really for me to say. I wish you hadn't asked.'

Then let me tell you. He didn't want to be part of certain things which were going on. Things that go on in one helluva tot of teams, only they're a hundred times worse at Seamark.'

'You said it, not me.'

'Right enough, but I've yet to find a team that's one hundred per cent on the level. Money and power breed corruption.'

'You won't change your mind?'

'No, I'm sorry. I'm not racing again. By the way, you still haven't told me how you found me.'

'I don't think it's really that important, is it?'

'No. I guess not really.'

As he hung up Slade's eyes focused on the photograph of Yvonne. A thought crossed his mind. He asked himself a question. No, there couldn't be any tie-up. Two totally different types.

He decided to go upstairs to bed. The sofa was too cramped, and suddenly he realised that he needed an awful lot of sleep, something else he had to catch up on.

Tomorrow he would do something about getting that phone taken out.

Another bright clear day. Slade awoke earlier than on the previous morning, and a glance at his watch showed him that it was just after eight o'clock. He felt totally relaxed, refreshed, a comparatively new experience for him. He was adapting faster than he had anticipated. The slight headache which had plagued him yesterday was gone, too.

He contemplated a lie-in. There was nothing to get up for. He changed his mind. It would be a sure way to bring the headache back again.

He sat up, then swung his legs to the floor. The cool of the early morning was invigorating to his naked body. He never slept in pyjamas. That was akin to going to bed in a suit, in his opinion.

Slowly he dressed, then went downstairs and made some coffee. Somehow this morning everything seemed different. It was hard to define. An enthusiasm, but for what? There was nothing that needed to be done urgently. Except to instruct the disconnection of the telephone, of course. That must be treated as a priority. His train of thought led to Lee Hammerton. An unsolved mystery, vague recollections of a photograph in an old magazine. He had a feeling that there was a deeper reason behind her telephone call. In that case it was something that he would never learn. Stern was right in what he had said. One got through wives like sets of tyres. A harsh comparison, but it was true.

He admired Lee Hammerton for what she was doing. An awful lot of people would not take kindly to an unsponsored team, especially one owned by a female. She probably wouldn't even make her mark at Riverside. Seamark would qualify somehow; a combination of cash and a top driver. They wouldn't chance it with Martin. They had the money to lure the best. Another Mark Slade, another puppet.

Nothing would have pleased Slade more than to learn that this Hammerton girl's car had finished ahead of Seamark's. Just wishful thinking, though, there was no way. Slade wouldn't drive for her, not at any price. He had made his decision, and he wasn't going back on it. He couldn't. His ability had gone with his nerve. It wouldn't be fair to either her or to himself. There would be nothing more that Seamark and Stern would like better than to see him come in last at Riverside in the Hammerton car. Sheer degradation. It had always been his intention, even in the early days, to quit if he ever got to the very top. Go out on the crest of the wave, take his title with him. Too many tried to carry on. It was hard getting to the peak, but a damned sight harder staying there. Slade's was a sort of compromise, a near-miss. People would forget him. They wouldn't remember him for his decline, the crumbling of a fallen idol. He wondered if Yvonne still thought about him. She was bound to, but in a neutral sort of way. 'A guy I once knew. Was married to.'

Slade went outside. He had not wished to succumb to nostalgia. The air was cold in his lungs, like an iced drink swigged too hastily.