The Way To Dusty Death Part 8

Harlow hesitated, made as if to speak, shrugged, turned and walked away. Dunnet said in a low voice: 'You're not taking him to the course doctor?'

'I'm taking him to see a friend of mine. An optometrist of note but many other things besides. All I want him to do is a little job for me, a job I couldn't get done in privacy and secrecy on the track.'

'Dunnet said quietly, almost sadly : 'A blood sample?'

'Just one positive blood sample.'

'And that will be the end of the road for Grand Prix's superstar?'

The end of the road.'

For a person who might well have good reason for believing he had reached the end of his professional career Harlow, as he sat relaxed in his chair in a hospital corridor, seemed singularly unperturbed. Most unusually for him he was smoking a cigarette, the hand holding the cigarette as steady as if it had been carved from marble. Harlow gazed thoughtfully at the door at the far end of the corridor.

Behind that door MacAlpine, his face registering a combination of disbelief and consternation, looked at the man seated across the desk from him, a benign and elderly bearded doctor in s.h.i.+rt sleeves.

MacAlpine said: 'Impossible. Quite impossible. You mean to tell me there is no no alcohol in his blood?' alcohol in his blood?'

'Impossible or not, I mean what I say. An experienced colleague has just carried out a double-check. He has no more alcohol in his blood than you would find in that of a life-long abstainer.'

MacAlpine shook-his head. 'Impossible,' he repeated. 'Look, Professor, I have proof -'

To us long-suffering doctors nothing is impossible. The speed with which different individuals metabolize alcohol varies beyond belief. With an obviously extremely fit young man like your friend outside-'

'But his eyes! You saw his eyes. Bleary, bloodshot -'

'There could be half a dozen reasons for that.'

'And the double vision?'

'His eyes seem normal enough. How well he is seeing it's hard to say yet. There exists always the possibility that the eyes themselves are sound enough but that some damage may have been done to an optical nerve.' The doctor stood up. 'A spot check is not enough. I'd need a series of tests, a battery of tests. Unfortunately, not now - I'm already overdue at the theatre. Could he-come along about seven this evening?'

MacAlpine said he could, expressed his thanks and left. As he approached Harlow, he looked at the cigarette in his hand, then at Harlow, then back at the cigarette but said nothing. Still in silence, the two men left the hospital, got into MacAlpine's Aston and drove back in the direction of Monza.

Harlow broke the silence. He said mildly: 'As the princ.i.p.al concerned, don't you think you should tell me what the doctor said?'

MacAlpine said shortly: 'He's not sure. He wants to carry out a series of tests. The first is at seven o'clock tonight.'

Still mildly, Harlow said : 'I hardly think that will be necessary.'

MacAlpine glanced at him in brief speculation. 'And what's that meant to mean?'

There's a lay-by half a kilometre ahead. Pull in, please. There's something I want to say. '

At seven o'clock that evening, the hour when Harlow was supposed to be in hospital, Dunnet sat in MacAlpine's hotel room. The atmosphere was funereal. Both men had large gla.s.ses of scotch in their hands.

Dunnet said: 'Jesus! Just like that? He said his nerve was gone, he knew he was finished and could he break his contract?'

'Just like that. No more beating about the bush, he said. No more kidding - especially kidding himself. G.o.d knows what it cost the poor devil to say so.'

'And the scotch?'

MacAlpine sampled his own and sighed heavily, more in sadness than weariness. 'Quite humorous about it, really. Says he detests the d.a.m.ned stuff and is thankful for a reason never to touch it again.'

It was Dunnet's turn to have recourse to his scotch. 'And what's going to happen to your poor devil now? Mind you, James, I'm not overlooking what this has cost you -you've lost the best driver in the world. But right now I'm more concerned about Johnny.'

'Me, too. But what to do? What to do?'

The man who was the subject of all this concern was displaying a remarkable amount of unconcern. For a man who was the central figure in the greatest fall from grace in the history of motor racing, Johnny Harlow seemed most extraordinarily cheerful. As he adjusted his tie before the mirror in his room he whistled, albeit slightly tunelessly, to himself, breaking off occasionally to smile at some private thought. He shrugged into his jacket, left his room, went down to the lobby, took an orangeade from the bar and sat down at a nearby table. Before he was even able to sip his drink Mary came and sat beside him. She took one of his hands in both of hers.

'Johnny!' she said. 'Oh, Johnny!' 'Harlow gazed at her with sorrowful eyes.

She went on : 'Daddy just told me. Oh, Johnny, what are we going to do?'

'We?'

She gazed at him for long seconds without speaking, looked away and said : to lose my two best friends in one day.' There were no tears in her eyes but there were tears in her voice.

'Your -two -what do you mean?'

'I thought you knew.' Now the tears were trickling down her cheeks. 'Henry's got bad heart trouble. He has to go.'

'Henry? Dear, oh dear, oh dear.' Harlow squeezed her hands and gazed off into the middle distance. 'Poor old Henry. I wonder what will happen to him?'

'Oh, that's all right.' She sniffed. 'Daddy's keeping him on in Ma.r.s.eilles.'

'Ah. Then it's probably all for the best-Henry was getting past it anyway.'

Harlow remained thoughtful for some seconds, apparently lost in deep thought, then clasped Mary's hands with his free one. He said : 'Mary, I love you. Hang on, will you? Back in a couple of minutes.'

One minute later Harlow was in MacAlpine's room. Dunnet was there and he had the appearance of a man who was with difficulty keeping his anger under control. MacAlpine was clearly highly distressed. He shook his head many times.

He said: 'Not at any price. Not under any circ.u.mstances. No, no, no. It's just not on. One day the world champion, the next trundling a lumbering transporter all over the place. Why, man, you'd be the laughing stock of Europe.'

'Maybe.' Harlow's voice was quiet, without bitterness. 'But not half as much a laughing stock as I'd be if people knew the real reason for my retiral, Mr. MacAlpine.'

'Mr. MacAlpine? Mr. MacAlpine? I'm always James to you, my boy. Always have been:'- 'Not any more, sir. You could explain about my so-called double vision, say that I've been retained as a specialist adviser. What more natural? Besides, you do do need a transporter driver. need a transporter driver.

MacAlpine shook his head in slow and complete' finality. 'Johnny Harlow will never drive any transporter of mine and that's the end of it.'

MacAlpine covered his face with his hands. Harlow . looked at Dunnet who jerked his head towards the door. Harlow nodded and left the room.

Dunnet let some seconds pa.s.s in silence, then he said, picking his words carefully and without emotion : 'And that's the end of me. I'll say goodbye to you, then, James MacAlpine. I've enjoyed every minute of my a.s.signment. Except for the last minute.'

MacAlpine removed his hands, slowly lifted his head and stared at Dunnet in wonderment. He said: 'What on earth do you mean?'

'I mean this. Isn't it obvious? I value my health too much to stay around and feel sick every time I think of what you've done. That boy lives for motor racing, it's the only thing he knows and now he has n& place left in the world to go. And I would remind you, James MacAlpine, that in the s.p.a.ce of four short years the Coronado has been hauled up from the depths of near obscurity and made into the most successful and respected Grand Prix racing car in the world through one thing and one thing only - the incomparable driving genius of that boy to whom you have just shown the door. Not you, James, not you. Johnny Harlow made Coronado. But you can't afford to be a.s.sociated with failure, he's no use to you any more so you drop him into the discard. I hope you sleep well tonight, Mr. MacAlpine. You should do. You have every reason to be proud of yourself.'

Dunnet turned to leave. MacAlpine, with tears in his eyes, spoke softly. 'Alexis.'

Dunnet turned.

MacAlpine said: 'If you ever speak to me like that again I'll break your blasted neck. I'm tired, I'm dead tired, and I want to sleep before dinner. Go tell him he can have any b.l.o.o.d.y job he likes on the Coronado-mine, if he so cares.'

Dunnet said: I've been b.l.o.o.d.y rude. Please accept my apologies. And thank you very much, James.'

MacAlpine smiled faintly. 'Not Mr. MacAlpine?'

'I said thank you, James'.'

Both men smiled at each other. Dunnet left, closing the door with a quiet hand, went down in to the lobby where Harlow and Mary were seated side by side, untouched drinks before them. The aura of profound despondency that overhung their table was almost palpable. Dunnet picked up a drink from the bar, joined Harlow and Mary, smiled broadly, lifted his gla.s.s and said: 'Cheers. Here's to the fastest transporter driver in Europe.'

Harlow left his drink untouched. He said : 'Alexis, I'm in one of my less humorous moods this evening.'

Dunnet said cheerfully: 'Mr. James MacAlpine has had a sudden and complete change of mind and heart. His final words were 'Go and tell him he can have any blasted job he likes on the Coronado-mine, if he so cares.'' Harlow shook his head. Dunnet went on: 'G.o.d's sake, Johnny, I'm not having you on.'

Harlow shook his head again. 'I'm not doubting you, Alexis. I'm just flabbergasted. How on earth did you manage-well, perhaps it's just as well you don't tell me.' He smiled faintly. 'I don't think I really want Mr. MacAlpine's job.'

'Oh, Johnny!' There were tears in her eyes but not tears of sorrow, not in that radiant face. She rose, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Harlow, though slightly startled, was not noticeably embarra.s.sed.

That's my girl,' Dunnet said approvingly. 'A last long farewell to the fastest lorry driver in Europe.'

She stared at him. 'What on earth do you mean?'

The transporter leaves for Ma.r.s.eilles tonight. Someone has to drive it there. This is a job usually reserved for the transporter driver.'

Harlow said: 'My G.o.d! I'd rather overlooked that part of it. Now?'

'As ever was. There appears to be a considerable degree of urgency. I think you'd better see James now.'

Harlow nodded, rose and left for his room where he changed into dark trousers, navy roll-neck sweater and leather jacket. He went to see MacAlpine and found him stretched out on his bed looking ill and pale and little short of positively haggard.

MacAlpine said: I I have to admit, Johnny, that the reason for my decision is based largely on self-interest. Tweedledum and Tweedledee, good mechanics though they are, couldn't drive a wheel-barrow. Jacobson has already left for Ma.r.s.eilles to make loading arrangements for the morning. It's asking a lot, I know, but I must have number four, the new X car and the spare engine at the Vignolles test track by noon tomorrow - we have the track for two days only. A lot of driving, I know, and you'll have only a few hours' sleep, if that. You'll have to start loading in Ma.r.s.eilles by 6 a.m.' have to admit, Johnny, that the reason for my decision is based largely on self-interest. Tweedledum and Tweedledee, good mechanics though they are, couldn't drive a wheel-barrow. Jacobson has already left for Ma.r.s.eilles to make loading arrangements for the morning. It's asking a lot, I know, but I must have number four, the new X car and the spare engine at the Vignolles test track by noon tomorrow - we have the track for two days only. A lot of driving, I know, and you'll have only a few hours' sleep, if that. You'll have to start loading in Ma.r.s.eilles by 6 a.m.'

Tine. Now what shall I do with my own car?'

'Ah! The only transporter driver in Europe with his own Ferrari. Alexis will take my Aston while I, personally, will drive your rusty old bucket of bolts to Vignolles tomorrow. Then you'll have to take it to our Ma.r.s.eilles garage and leave it there. For keeps, I'm afraid.'

'I understand, Mr. MacAlpine.'

'Mr. MacAlpine, Mr. MacAlpine. Are you sure this is what you want to do, Johnny?'

'Never surer, sir.'

Harlow went down to the lounge to find that Mary and Dunnet were no longer there. He went upstairs again, found Dunnet in his room and asked: 'Where's Mary?'

'Gone for a walk.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y chilly evening to go for a walk.'

'I don't think she's in any condition to feel the cold,' Dunnet said drily. 'Euphoria, I believe they call it. Seen the old boy?'

'Yes. The old boy, as you call him, really is becoming an old boy. He's put on five years in the last six months.'

'More like ten years. Understandable with his wife vanis.h.i.+ng just like that. Maybe if you'd lost someone to whom you've been married for twenty-five years -'

'He's lost more than that.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I don't even know myself. His nerve, his self-confidence, his drive, his will to fight and -win.' Harlow smiled. 'Some time this week we'll give him those lost ten years back again.'

'You're the most incredibly arrogant, self-confident b.a.s.t.a.r.d I've ever known,' Dunnet said admiringly. When Harlow made no reply, he shrugged and sighed. 'Well, to be a world champion I suppose you have to have some little belief in yourself. And now what?'

'Off. On my way out I'll pick up from the the hotel safe this little bauble that I'm going to deliver to our friend in the rue St Pierre - seems a d.a.m.ned sight safer than trying to walk to the Post Office. How about having a drink in the bar and seeing if anyone's interested in me ?' hotel safe this little bauble that I'm going to deliver to our friend in the rue St Pierre - seems a d.a.m.ned sight safer than trying to walk to the Post Office. How about having a drink in the bar and seeing if anyone's interested in me ?'

'Why should they be? They have the right ca.s.sette - or think they have, which amounts to the same thing.'

'That's as maybe. But it's just possible that the un- un-G.o.dly might change their minds when they see me taking this envelope from the hotel safe, rip it open, throw the envelope away,' examine the ca.s.sette and stick it in my pocket. They know they've been fooled once. You can bet your life that they'll be more than prepared to believe that they've been fooled twice.'

For long seconds Dunnet stared at Harlow in total disbelief. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. He said: This isn't just asking for trouble. This is ordering your own pine box.'

'Only the best of oak for world champions. With gold-plated handles. Come on.'

They went down the stairs together. Dunnet turned off towards the bar while Harlow went to the desk. As Dunnet's eyes roved round the lobby, Harlow asked for and received his envelope, opened it, extracted the ca.s.sette and examined it carefully before putting it in an inside pocket of his leather jacket. As he turned away from the desk, Dunnet wandered up almost casually and said in a quiet voice. Tracchia. His eyes almost popped out of his head. He almost ran to the nearest phone booth.'

Harlow nodded, said nothing, pa.s.sed through the swing doors, then 'halted as his way was barred by a leather-coated figure. He said: 'What are you doing here, Mary? It's bitterly cold.'

'I just wanted to say goodbye, that's all.'

'You could have said goodbye inside.'

'I'm a very private person.'

'Besides, you'll be seeing me again tomorrow. In Vignolles.'

Will I, Johnny? Will I?'

'Tsk! Tsk! Someone else who doesn't believe I can drive. '

'Don't try to be funny, Johnny, because I'm not feeling that way. I'm feeling sick. I've this awful feeling that something dreadful is going to happen. To you.'

Harlow said lightly: 'It's this half-Highland blood of yours. Fey is what they call it. Having the second sight. If it's any consolation to you the second-sighters have an almost perfect 100 per cent record of failure.'

'Don't laugh at me, Johnny.' There were tears in her voice.

He put an arm round her shoulders.