The James Bond Anthology

‘Oh Milt.’ Liz Krest’s eyes were anxious. She had read the signs. ‘How can you bring that up? You know it was only something casual I said about the comic sections of the papers. Of course I don’t agree with what James says. Anyway, it was only a joke, wasn’t it, James?’

‘That’s right,’ said Bond. ‘Like when Mr Krest said England had nothing but ruins and a queen.’

Mr Krest’s eyes were still on the girl. He said softly: ‘Shucks, treasure. Why are you looking so nervous? ’Course it was a joke.’ He paused. ‘And one I’ll remember, treasure. One I’ll sure remember.’

Bond estimated that by now Mr Krest had just about one whole bottle of various alcohols, mostly whisky, inside him. It looked to Bond as if, unless Mr Krest passed out, the time was not far off when Bond would have to hit Mr Krest just once very hard on the jaw.

Fidele Barbey was now being given the treatment. ‘These islands of yours, Fido. When I first looked them up on the map I thought it was just some specks of fly-dirt on the page.’ Mr Krest chuckled. ‘Even tried to brush them off with the back of my hand. Then I read a bit about them and it seemed to me my first thoughts had just about hit the nail on the head. Not much good for anything, are they, Fido? I wonder an intelligent guy like you doesn’t get the hell out of there. Beachcombing ain’t any kind of a life. Though I did hear one of your family had logged over a hundred illegitimate children. Mebbe that’s the attraction, eh, feller?’ Mr Krest grinned knowingly.

Fidele Barbey said equably: ‘That’s my uncle, Gaston. The rest of the family doesn’t approve. It’s made quite a hole in the family fortune.’

‘Family fortune, eh?’ Mr Krest winked at Bond. ‘What’s it in? Cowrie-shells?’

‘Not exactly.’ Fidele Barbey was not used to Mr Krest’s brand of rudeness. He looked mildly embarrassed. ‘Though we made quite a lot out of tortoiseshell and mother-of-pearl about a hundred years ago when there was a rage for these things. Copra’s always been our main business.’

‘Using the family bastards as labour, I guess. Good idea. Wish I could fix something like that in my home circle.’ He looked across at his wife. The rubbery lips turned still further down. Before the next gibe could be uttered, Bond had pushed his chair back and had gone out into the well-deck and pulled the door shut behind him.

Ten minutes later, Bond heard feet coming softly down the ladder from the boat-deck. He turned. It was Liz Krest. She came over to where he was standing in the stern. She said in a strained voice: ‘I said I’d go to bed. But then I thought I’d come back here and see if you’d got everything you want. I’m not a very good hostess, I’m afraid. Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping out here?’

‘I like it. I like this kind of air better than the canned stuff inside. And it’s rather wonderful to have all those stars to look at. I’ve never seen so many before.’

She said eagerly, grasping at a friendly topic: ‘I like Orion’s Belt and the Southern Cross the best. You know, when I was young, I used to think the stars were really holes in the sky. I thought the world was surrounded by a great big black sort of envelope, and that outside it the universe was full of bright light. The stars were just holes in the envelope that let little sparks of light through. One gets terribly silly ideas when one’s young.’ She looked up at him, wanting him not to snub her.

Bond said: ‘You’re probably quite right. One shouldn’t believe all the scientists say. They want to make everything dull. Where did you live then?’

‘At Ringwood in the New Forest. It was a good place to be brought up. A good place for children. I’d like to go there again one day.’

Bond said: ‘You’ve certainly come a long way since then. You’d probably find it pretty dull.’

She reached out and touched his sleeve. ‘Please don’t say that. You don’t understand – ’ there was an edge of desperation in the soft voice – ‘I can’t bear to go on missing what other people have – ordinary people. I mean,’ she laughed nervously, ‘you won’t believe me, but just to talk like this for a few minutes, to have someone like you to talk to, is something I’d almost forgotten.’ She suddenly reached for his hand and held it hard. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to do that. Now I’ll go to bed.’

The soft voice came from behind them. The speech had slurred, but each word was carefully separated from the next. ‘Well, well. Whadya know? Necking with the underwater help!’

Mr Krest stood framed in the hatch to the saloon. He stood with his legs apart and his arms upstretched to the lintel above his head. With the light behind him he had the silhouette of a baboon. The cold, imprisoned breath of the saloon rushed out past him and for a moment chilled the warm night air in the well-deck. Mr Krest stepped out and softly pulled the door to behind him.