The James Bond Anthology

‘No,’ said Vesper. ‘They just left me in an armchair. They drank and played cards – “belotte” I think it was from what I heard – and then they went to sleep. I suppose that was how SMERSH got them. They bound my legs and put me on a chair in a corner facing the wall and I saw nothing of SMERSH. I heard some odd noises. I expect they woke me up. And then what sounded like one of them falling off his chair. Then there were some soft footsteps and a door closed and then nothing happened until Mathis and the police burst in hours later. I slept most of the time. I had no idea what had happened to you, but,’ she faltered, ‘I did once hear a terrible scream. It sounded very far away. At least, I think it must have been a scream. At the time I thought it might have been a nightmare.’

‘I’m afraid that must have been me,’ said Bond.

Vesper put out a hand and touched one of his. Her eyes filled with tears.

‘It’s horrible,’ she said. ‘The things they did to you. And it was all my fault. If only …’

She buried her face in her hands.

‘That’s all right,’ said Bond comfortingly. ‘It’s no good crying over spilt milk. It’s all over now and thank heavens they let you alone.’ He patted her knee. ‘They were going to start on you when they’d got me really softened up,’ (softened up is good, he thought to himself). ‘We’ve got a lot to thank SMERSH for. Now, come on, let’s forget about it. It certainly wasn’t anything to do with you. Anybody could have fallen for that note. Anyway, it’s all water over the dam,’ he added cheerfully.

Vesper looked at him gratefully through her tears. ‘You really promise?’ she asked. ‘I thought you would never forgive me. I … I’ll try and make it up to you. Somehow.’ She looked at him.

Somehow? thought Bond to himself. He looked at her. She was smiling at him. He smiled back.

‘You’d better look out,’ he said. ‘I may hold you to that.’

She looked into his eyes and said nothing, but the enigmatic challenge was back. She pressed his hand and rose. ‘A promise is a promise,’ she said.

This time they both knew what the promise was.

She picked up her bag from the bed and walked to the door.

‘Shall I come tomorrow?’ She looked at Bond gravely.

‘Yes, please, Vesper,’ said Bond. ‘I’d like that. Please do some more exploring. It will be fun to think of what we can do when I get up. Will you think of some things?’

‘Yes,’ said Vesper. ‘Please get well quickly.’

They gazed at each other for a second. Then she went out and closed the door and Bond listened until the sound of her footsteps had disappeared.

22 | THE HASTENING SALOON

From that day Bond’s recovery was rapid.

He sat up in bed and wrote his report to M. He made light of what he still considered amateurish behaviour on the part of Vesper. By juggling with the emphasis, he made the kidnapping sound much more Machiavellian than it had been. He praised Vesper’s coolness and composure throughout the whole episode without saying that he had found some of her actions unaccountable.

Every day Vesper came to see him and he looked forward to these visits with excitement. She talked happily of her adventures of the day before, her explorations down the coast and the restaurants where she had eaten. She had made friends with the chief of police and with one of the directors of the Casino and it was they who took her out in the evening and occasionally lent her a car during the day. She kept an eye on the repairs to the Bentley which had been towed down to coachbuilders at Rouen, and she even arranged for some new clothes to be sent out from Bond’s London flat. Nothing survived from his original wardrobe. Every stitch had been cut to ribbons in the search for the forty million francs. The Le Chiffre affair was never mentioned between them. She occasionally told Bond amusing stories of Head of S.’s office. She had apparently transferred there from the W.R.N.S. And he told her of some of his adventures in the Service.

He found he could speak to her easily and he was surprised.

With most women his manner was a mixture of taciturnity and passion. The lengthy approaches to a seduction bored him almost as much as the subsequent mess of disentanglement. He found something grisly in the inevitability of the pattern of each affair. The conventional parabola – sentiment, the touch of the hand, the kiss, the passionate kiss, the feel of the body, the climax in the bed, then more bed, then less bed, then the boredom, the tears and the final bitterness – was to him shameful and hypocritical. Even more he shunned the ‘mise-en-scène’ for each of these acts in the play – the meeting at a party, the restaurant, the taxi, his flat, her flat, then the week-end by the sea, then the flats again, then the furtive alibis and the final angry farewell on some doorstep in the rain.

But with Vesper there could be none of this.