Free The Way to Dusty Death by Alistair MacLean Page A

damned if I’ll lay out a fortune like that — are highly sensitive people. Sensitive to public opinion, that is. The only reason they paint the names of their damned products on the outside of our cars is that the public will go out and buy those same damned products. They’re not benefactors of racing except purely incidentally: they are simply advertisers. An advertiser wants to reach the biggest market. Ninety-nine point repeater nine per cent of that market lies outside the racing world and it doesn’t matter a damn if they know nothing about what goes on inside the racing world. It’s what they believe that matters. And they believe that Harlow still stands alone. So, Harlow gets the best and newest car. If he doesn’t, the public lose their faith in Harlow, in Coronado and in the advertisers, and not necessarily in that order.’
    ‘Ah, well. The days of miracles may not yet He behind us. After all, he hasn’t been observed or known to take a drink in the past twelve days. Maybe he’s going to surprise us all. And there’s only two days to go to the Italian Grand Prix.’
    ‘So why did he have those two bottles of scotch which you removed from his room only an hour ago?’
    ‘I could say he was trying to test his moral fibre but I don’t think you would believe it.’
    ‘Would you?’
    ‘Frankly, James, no.’ Dunnet relapsed into another period of gloom from which he emerged to say: ‘Any word from your agents in the south, James?’
    ‘Nothing. I’m afraid, Alexis, I’ve just about given up hope. Fourteen weeks now since Marie disappeared. It’s too long, it’s just too long. Had there been an accident, I would have heard. Had there been foul play, then I’m sure I would have heard. Had I been kidnap and ransom-well, that’s ridiculous, of course I would have heard. She’s just vanished. Accident, boating-I don’t know.’
    ‘And we’ve talked so often about amnesia.’
    ‘And I’ve told you so often, without immodesty, that no one as well known as Marie MacAlpine, no matter what her mental trouble, could go missing so long without being picked up.’
    ‘I know. Mary’s taking that pretty badly now, isn’t she?’
    ‘Especially in the past twelve days. Harlow. Alexis, we broke her heart — sorry, that’s quite unfair — I broke her heart in Austria. If I’d known how far she was gone — ah, but I’d no option.’
    Taking her to the reception tonight?’
    ‘Yes. I insisted. To take her out of herself, that’s what I tell myself— or is it just to ease my conscience? Again, I don’t know. Maybe I’m making another mistake.’
    ‘It seems to me that that young fellow Harlow has a great deal to answer for. And this is his last chance, James? Any more crazy driving, any more fiascos, any more drinking - then it’s the chopper? That’s it?’
    ‘That’s entirely it.’ MacAlpine nodded in the direction of the revolving entrance doors. Think we should tell him now?’
    Dunnet looked in the direction indicated. Harlow was walking across the Carrara-marbled flags. He was still clad in his customarily immaculate white racing overalls. A young and rather beautiful young girl at the desk smiled at him as he passed by. Harlow flicked her an expressionless glance and the smile froze. He continued on his way across the vast lobby and such is the respect that men accord the gods when they walk the earth that a hundred conversations died as he passed by. ‘Harlow seemed unaware of the presence of any of them, for he looked neither to left nor to right, but it was a safe assumption that those remarkable eyes missed nothing, an assumption borne out by the fact that, apparently without noticing them, he veered direction towards where MacAlpine and Dunnet sat. MacAlpine said: ‘No scotch or menthol, that’s for sure. Otherwise, he’d avoid me like the plague.’
    Harlow stood before them. He said, without any inflection of irony or sarcasm : ‘Enjoying the quiet even-fall,