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

marriage work. Slade had had other women, though. Zoe in the States had given him everything that his
physical needs demanded. She would not have made the marital grade, though. He wouldn't have wanted
her, anyway.

His gaze rested on the framed photograph which stood on the oak Welsh-dresser. Yvonne was
twenty-three then. She hadn't changed any, not since the last time he had seen her, eleven months ago.
That was when she had presented him with the ultimatum. Quit racing or else. He couldn't make up his
mind then. Two loves, and he had had to make his choice. Yvonne or Daytona. Maybe he hadn't taken
her seriously. When he returned to England it was too late. She knew all about his affair with Zoe, and
she had put the wheels of divorce proceedings into action right away. No real animosity. Just a woman
who had been hurt deeper than she could stand. Hell, if only he'd lost his nerve earlier. At least he'd still
have a wife. The divorce had gone through; all too easy these days. Time was not on his side. She'd
never disclosed how she had learned about his adultery, but Slade had his own ideas. That bastard Stern.
Seamark, too. They wanted the IROC. It would put Seamark Cruises on the map and to hell with Slade.
He'd get his cut, but only a fraction in comparison with theirs. Probably that was his only small crumb of
satisfaction from opting out. Sure, they'd find another driver, but not of Slade's calibre. They had until
February to sort it out. It was almost worth a visit to the States to watch them lose, maybe not even
qualify at Riverside. Hell, no. He wasn't going to go near a circuit again. It was all over.

He had phoned Yvonne once and told her that he was thinking of quitting. It was too late, though. She
had somebody else. A widower. A bank manager, ten years older than herself. But she also had
something which she had never ever had before. Security. No more weeks, months of loneliness. No
more wondering whether or not her husband would come out of each race alive, trembling every time she
watched the television, rushing to the telephone with anxiety in her heart every time it rang.

Slade was bitter, but he hoped that she would make a go of it. That was the very least he owed her. He
didn't hate the banker. He just envied him.

The day dragged on. There were chores to be done, but they could wait until the morrow, or the day
after. He had all the time in the world now.

Each evening he went and stood in the small conservatory which faced west. From here he had an
unrestricted view of the distant mountains. A setting sun was something comparatively new to him. He
had overlooked it for thirty-three years, taking the elements for granted, his only concern being the
condition of the track before a race. He hated rain more than anything else. It was a killer. He would
never be able to regard it as anything else. Even up here it depressed him.

Yet, the magnificent splendour of those mountain sunsets enthralled him. Something so big, something
beyond the control of mankind. An aura of beauty, a hint of power that was far greater than either Stern
or Seamark. The latter with his multi-million backed company was just as other mortals when it came to
the crunch. Out here they were nothing. These farmers were real men, learning to live with the wind in
their teeth.

Slade stood with the conservatory door open, breathing in the freshness of the mountain air, filling his
lungs, expelling it slowly. Something else which he had missed out on. So natural, so different from the
tearing, whipping winds on a race-track.

The sun sank lower and lower. Soon it would be hidden behind the nearest range of peaks. Already one
or two stars were beginning to twinkle in the cloudless sky. Dusk came so gradually out here. One
scarcely noticed it until it was almost dark, especially a man who had turned his back on an artificial