The Formula One paddock is a poseur's heaven. Few places rival this peripatetic global village green as somewhere to see and be seen, and the big players in the sport - egotists almost to a man - love it.

Strangely, however, one of the principal characters was conspicuous by his absence yesterday. In normal circumstances - though Formula One is far from normal these days - Max Mosley, the president of the FIA, is one of the biggest beasts, standing his ground, giving interviews, pressing the flesh, making sure that he is seen on television and snapped by the numerous photographers.

Mosley particularly likes the Monaco race weekend. He lives in the Principality, and enjoys playing his part in the hullabaloo at the circuit and taking part in the scene around the harbour, where the beautiful people go to play and billions of pounds of super-yachts sit bobbing on their moorings ready for five days of partying.

But Mosley's stock has taken a dramatic tumble over the past seven weeks since the News of the World published lurid allegations about his penchant for sado-masochistic bondage sessions with prostitutes, and he was being backward about coming forward yesterday. The game in the paddock on a beautiful early summer's day on the Côte d'Azur was Formula One's version of Where's Wally? Where was Max?

No one wants to miss what promises to be a classic piece of Formula One theatre when Mosley steps out of the shadows for the first time to show his face and revel in his newfound infamy as the man who will bend to the whips of women of the night, but not to calls throughout motor racing and the wider world of motoring for him to stand down as head of the world governing body of motor sport.

The sense of expectation has been building throughout the past weeks, while Mosley has been given the cold shoulder by the authorities in Bahrain, Spain, Israel and Turkey. His decision to appear in Monaco is highly controversial, with the royal palace making clear that Prince Albert II does not wish to be seen with him and the Formula One teams doing their best to avoid having their key players photographed with him.

So the game went on all day, with phantom sightings here and there and, in one surreal cameo, a member of the public with a sense of humour and a megaphone shouted to anyone who would listen near the Swimming Pool chicane: “Be careful, be careful, Max is coming, Max is coming.” At one point during the long vigil in the sun, there was a frisson through the crowd. Was Mosley on the way? “No,” came the reply. “It's only a group of drivers.” Felipe Massa and Kimi Raikkonen, of Ferrari, duly ambled past.

In the absence of Mosley, it was left to Richard Woods, the FIA's official spokesman, who has endured, with manful stoicism, one of the hardest assignments in the short and glorious history of spin-doctoring over recent weeks, to fill in the gaps. According to Woods, yesterday was business as usual for Mosley, who was said to be holding meetings all day at “race control” and would appear in public at a time of his choosing.

Woods, an urbane but ruthless street-fighter whose relentless behind-the-scenes machinations have been a key ingredient of Mosley's years at the FIA, said: “He's a bit busy.” According to Woods, Mosley will be in meetings throughout the weekend, but may turn up in the paddock today.

“Let's see which way the wind blows,” Woods said innocently as the flags and ensigns fluttered around the harbour. He added that Mosley would be joining the throng on the grid on Sunday, even though the official spokesman at the palace has indicated that Mosley has agreed not to do this. “I imagine he'll go on the grid, I can't see any reason why not,” Woods said.

Mosley's reappearance, if and when it comes, follows a sharp attack on him by Bernie Ecclestone, the Formula One commercial rights holder. He told The Times that Mosley's recent attempts to portray his personal fight for survival as a wider battle for the future of the FIA in the face of attack by Ecclestone would not wash. Ecclestone warned Mosley that he would fight to protect his interests if Mosley declares war on him. “I sincerely hope that it isn't a declaration of war because if that's what the message should be, then we'll defend ourselves,” Ecclestone said of a letter sent by Mosley to the heads of the FIA member clubs last week.

Mosley's future is scheduled to be decided by the FIA at an extraordinary general meeting in Paris on June 3. The worry for him, and Woods, is what Ecclestone, a wily operator and persuasive lobbyist, will be doing until then.