The Mercedes was a beautiful thing. Bond pulled his battered grey Bentley up alongside it and inspected it.
It was a Type 300 S, the sports model with a disappearing hood — one of only half a dozen in England, he reflected. Left-hand drive. Probably bought in Germany. He had seen a few of them over there. One had hissed by him on the Munich Autobahn the year before when he was doing a solid ninety in the Bentley. The body, too short and heavy to be graceful, was painted white, with red leather upholstery. Garish for England, but Bond guessed that Drax had chosen white in honour of the famous Mercedes-Benz racing colours that had already swept the board again since the war at Le Mans and the Nurburgring.
Typical of Drax to buy a Mercedes. There was something ruthless and majestic about th
