The five-mile promenade1 of Royale-les-Eaux, backed by trim lawns emblazoned at intervals3 with tricolour beds of salvia, alyssum and lobelia, was bright with nags4 and, on the longest beach in the north of France, the gay bathing tents still marched prettily5 down to the tide-line in big, money-making battalions6. Music, one of those lilting accordion7 waltzes, blared from the loudspeakers around the Olympic-size piscine and, from time to time, echoing above the music, a man's voice announced over the public address system that Philippe Bertrand, aged8 seven, was looking for his mother, that Yolande Lefevre was waiting for her friends below the dock at the entrance, or that a Madame Dufours was demanded on the telephone. From the beach, particularly from the neighbourhood of the three playground enclosures -'Joie de Vivre', 'Helio' and 'Azur' - came a twitter of children's cries that waxed and waned9 with the thrill of their games and, farther out, on the firm sand left by the now distant sea, the shrill10 whistle of the physical-fitness instructor11 marshalled his teenagers through the last course of the day.
It was one of those beautiful, naive12 seaside panoramas13 for which the Brittany and Picardy beaches have provided the setting - and inspired their recorders, Boudin, Tissot, Monet - ever since the birth of plages and bains de mer more than a hundred years ago.
To James Bond, sitting in one of the concrete shelters with his face to the setting sun, there was something poignant14, ephemeral about it all. It reminded him almost too vividly15 of childhood - of the velvet16 feel of the hot powder sand, and the painful grit17 of wet sand between young toes when the time came for him to put his shoes and socks on, of the precious little pile of sea-shells and interesting wrack18 on the sill of his bedroom window ('No, we'll have to leave that behind, darling. It'll dirty up your trunk!'), of the small crabs19 scuttling20 away from the nervous fingers groping beneath the seaweed in the rock-pools, of the swimming and swimming and swimming through the dancing waves - always in those days, it seemed, lit with sunshine - and then the infuriating, inevitable21 'time to come out'. It was all there, his own childhood, spread out before him to have another look at. What a long time ago they were, those spade-and-bucket days! How far he had come since the freckles22 and the Cadbury milk-chocolate Flakes23 and the fizzy lemonade! Impatiently Bond lit a cigarette, pulled his shoulders out of their slouch and slammed the mawkish24 memories back into their long-closed file. Today he was a grown-up, a man with years of dirty, dangerous memories - a spy. He was not sitting in this concrete hideout to sentimentalize.about a pack of scrubby, smelly children on a beach scattered25 with bottle-tops and lolly-sticks and fringed by a sea thick with sun-oil and putrid26 with the main drains of Royale. He was here, he had chosen to be here, to spy. To spy on a woman.
The sun was getting lower. Already one could smell the September chill that all day had lain hidden beneath the heat. The cohorts of bathers were in quick retreat, striking their little camps and filtering up the steps and across the promenade into the shelter of the town where the lights were going up in the cafes. The announcer at the swimming-pool harried27 his customers: 'Allo! Allo! Fermeture en dix minutes! A dix-huit heures, fermeture de la piscine!' Silhouetted28 in the path of the setting sun, the two Bombard rescue-boats with flags bearing a blue cross on a yellow background were speeding northwards for their distant shelter up-river in the Vieux Port. The last of the gay, giraffe-like sand-yachts fled down the distant water-line towards its corral among the sand dunes29, and the three agents cyclistes in charge of the car-parks pedalled away through the melting ranks of cars towards the police station in the centre of the town. In a matter of minutes the vast expanse of sand - the tide, still receding30, was already a mile out - would be left to the seagulls that would soon be flocking in their hordes32 to forage33 for the scraps34 of food left by the picnickers. Then the orange ball of the sun would hiss35 down into the sea and the beach would, for a while, be entirely36 deserted37, until, under cover of darkness, the prowling lovers would come to writhe38 briefly39, grittily in the dark corners between the bathing-huts and the sea-wall.
On the beaten stretch of sand below where James Bond was sitting, two golden girls in exciting bikinis packed up the game of Jokari which they had been so provocatively40 playing, and raced each other up the steps towards Bond's shelter. They flaunted41 their bodies at him, paused and chattered42 to see if he would respond, and, when he didn't, linked arms and sauntered on towards the town, leaving Bond .wondering why it was that French girls had more prominent navels than any others. Was it that French surgeons sought to add, even in this minute respect, to the future sex-appeal of girl babies?
And now, up and down the beach, the lifeguards gave a final blast on their horns to announce that they were going off duty, the music from the piscine stopped in mid-tune and the great expanse of sand was suddenly deserted.
But not quite! A hundred yards out, lying face downwards43 on a black and white striped bathing-wrap, on the private patch of firm sand where she had installed herself an hour before, the girl was still there, motionless, spread-eagled in direct line between James Bond and the setting sun that was now turning the left-behind pools and shallow rivulets44 into blood-red, meandering45 scrawls46 across the middle distance. Bond went on watching her - now, in the silence and emptiness, with an ounce more tension. He was waiting for her to do something - for something, he didn't know what, to happen. It would be more true to say that he was watching over her. He had an instinct that she was in some sort of danger. Or was it just that there was the smell of danger in the air? He didn't know. He only knew that he mustn't leave her alone, particularly now that everyone else had gone.
James Bond was mistaken. Not everyone else had gone. Behind him, at the Cafe de la Plage on the other side of the promenade, two men in raincoats and dark caps sat at a secluded47 table bordering the sidewalk. They had half-empty cups of coffee in front of them and they didn't talk. They sat and watched the blur48 on the frosted-glass partition of the shelter that was James Bond's head and shoulders. They also watched, but less intently, the distant white blur on the sand that was the girl. Their stillness, and their unseasonable clothes, would have made a disquieting49 impression on anyone who, in his turn, might have been watching them. But there was no such person, except their waiter who had simply put them in the category of 'bad news' and hoped they would soon be on their way.
When the lower rim2 of the orange sun touched the sea, it was almost as if a signal had sounded for the girl. She slowly got to her feet, ran both hands backwards50 through her hair and began to walk evenly, purposefully towards the sun and the far-away froth of the water-line over a mile away. It would be violet dusk by the time she reached the sea and one might have guessed that this was probably the last day of her holiday, her last bathe.
James Bond thought otherwise. He left his shelter, ran down the steps to the sand and began walking out after her at a fast pace. Behind him, across the promenade, the two men in raincoats also seemed to think otherwise. One of them briskly threw down some coins and they both got up and, walking strictly51 in step, crossed the promenade to the sand and, with a kind of urgent military precision, marched rapidly side by side in Bond's tracks.
Now the strange pattern of figures on the vast expanse of empty, blood-streaked sand was eerily52 conspicuous53. Yet it was surely not one to be interfered54 with! The pattern had a nasty, a secret smell. The white girl, the bare-headed young man, the two squat55, marching pursuers - it had something of a kind of deadly Grandmother's Steps about it. In the cafe, the waiter collected the coins and looked after the distant figures, still outlined by the last quarter of the orange sun. It smelt56 like police business - or the other thing. He would keep it to himself but remember it. He might get his name in the papers.
James Bond was rapidly catching57 up with the girl. Now he knew that he would get to her just as she reached the water-line. He began to wonder what he would say to her, how he would put it. He couldn't say, 'I had a hunch58 you were going to commit suicide so I came after you to stop you.' 'I was going for a walk on the beach and I thought I recognized you. Will you have a drink after your swim?' would be childish. He finally decided59 to say, 'Oh, Tracy!' and then, when she turned round, 'I was worried about you.' Which would at least be inoffensive and, for the matter of that, true.
The sea was now gunmetal below a primrose60 horizon. A small, westerly offshore61 breeze, drawing the hot land-air out to sea, had risen and was piling up wavelets that scrolled62 in whitely as far as the eye could see. Flocks of herring gulls31 lazily rose and settled again at the girl's approach, and the air was full of their mewing and of the endless lap-lap of the small waves. The soft indigo63 dusk added a touch of melancholy64 to the empty solitude65 of sand and sea, now so far away from the comforting bright lights and holiday bustle66 of 'La Reine de la Cфte Opale', as Royale-les-Eaux had splendidly christened herself. Bond looked forward to getting the girl back to those bright lights. He watched the lithe67 golden figure in the white one-piece bathing-suit and wondered how soon she would be able to hear his voice above the noise of the gulls and the sea. Her pace had slowed a fraction as she approached the water-line and her head, with its bell of heavy fair hair to the shoulders, was slightly bowed, in thought perhaps, or tiredness.
Bond quickened his step until he was only ten paces behind her. 'Hey! Tracy!'
The girl didn't start or turn quickly round. Her steps faltered68 and stopped, and then, as a small wave creamed in and died at her feet, she turned slowly and stood squarely facing him. Her eyes, puffed69 and wet with tears, looked past him. Then they met his. She said dully, 'What is it? What do you want?'
'I was worried about you. What are you doing out here? What's the matter?'
The girl looked past him again. Her clenched70 right hand went up to her mouth. She said something, something Bond couldn't understand, from behind it. Then a voice from very close behind Bond, said softly, silkily, 'Don't move or you get it back of the knee.'
Bond swirled71 round into a crouch72, his gun hand inside his coat. The steady silver eyes of the two automatics sneered73 at him.
Bond slowly straightened himself. He dropped his hand to his side and the held breath came out between his teeth in a quiet hiss. The two dead-pan, professional faces told him even more than the two silver eyes of the guns. They held no tension, no excitement. The thin half-smiles were relaxed, contented74. The eyes were not even wary75. They were almost bored. Bond had looked into such faces many times before. This was routine. These men were killers76 - pro-killers.
Bond had no idea who these men were, who they worked for, what this was all about. On the theory that worry is a dividend77 paid to disaster before it is due, he consciously relaxed his muscles and emptied his mind of questions. He stood and waited.
'Position your hands behind your neck.' The silky, patient voice was from the south, from the Mediterranean78. It fitted with the men's faces - tough-skinned, widely pored, yellow-brown. Marseillais perhaps, or Italian. The Mafia? The faces belonged to good secret police or tough crooks79. Bond's mind ticked and whirred, selecting cards like an IBM machine. What enemies had he got in those areas? Might it be Blofeld? Had the hare turned upon the hound?
When the odds80 are hopeless, when all seems to be lost, then is the time to be calm, to make a show of authority -at least of indifference81. Bond smiled into the eyes of the man who had spoken. 'I don't think your mother would like to know what you are doing this evening. You are a Catholic? So I will do as you ask.' The man's eyes glittered. Touche! Bond clasped his hands behind his head.
The man stood aside so as to have a clear field of fire while his Number Two removed Bond's Walther PPK from the soft leather holster inside his trouser belt and ran expert hands down his sides, down his arms to the wrists and down the inside of his thighs82. Then Number Two stood back, pocketed the Walther and again took out his own gun.
Bond glanced over his shoulder. The girl had said nothing, expressed neither surprise nor alarm. Now she was standing83 with her back to the group, looking out to sea, apparently84 relaxed, unconcerned. What in God's name was it all about? Had she been used as a bait? But for whom? And now what? Was he to be executed, his body left lying to be rolled back inshore by the tide? It seemed the only solution. If it was a question of some kind of a deal, the four of them could not just walk back across the mile of sand to the town and say polite goodbyes on the promenade steps. No. This was the terminal point. Or was it? From the north, through the deep indigo dusk, came the fast, rattling85 hum of an outboard and, as Bond watched, the cream of a thick bow-wave showed and then the blunt outline of one of the Bombard rescue-craft, the flat-bottomed inflatable rubber boats with a single Johnson engine in the flattened86 stern. So they had been spotted87! By the coastguards perhaps? And here was rescue! By God, he'd roast these two thugs when they got to the harbour police at the Vieux Port! But what story would he tell about the girl?
Bond turned back to face the men. At once he knew the worst. They had rolled their trousers up to the knees and were waiting, composedly, their shoes in one hand and their guns in the other. This was no rescue. It was just part of the ride. Oh well! Paying no attention to the men, Bond bent88 down, rolled up his trousers as they had done and, in the process of fumbling89 with his socks and shoes, palmed one of his heel knives and, hah0 turning towards the boat that had now grounded in the shallows, transferred it to his right-hand trouser pocket.
No words were exchanged. The girl climbed aboard first, then Bond, and lastly the two men who helped the engine with a final shove on the stern. The boatman, who looked like any other French deep-sea fisherman, whirled the blunt nose of the Bombard round, changed gears to forward, and they were off northwards through the buffeting90 waves while the golden hair of the girl streamed back and softly whipped James Bond's cheek.
'Tracy. You're going to catch cold. Here. Take my coat.' Bond slipped his coat off. She held out a hand to help him put it on her. In the process her hand found his and pressed it. Now what the hell? Bond edged closer to her. He felt her body respond. Bond glanced at the two men. They sat hunched91 against the wind, their hands in their pockets, watchful92, but somehow uninterested. Behind them the necklace of lights that was Royale receded93 swiftly until it was only a golden glow on the horizon. James Bond's right hand felt for the comforting knife in his pocket and ran his thumb across the razor-sharp blade.
While he wondered how and when he might have a chance to use it, the rest of his mind ran back over the previous twenty-four hours and panned them for the gold-dust of truth.
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1
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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4
nags
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| n.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的名词复数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的第三人称单数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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7
accordion
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| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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13
panoramas
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| 全景画( panorama的名词复数 )； 全景照片； 一连串景象或事 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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wrack
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| v.折磨；n.海草 | |
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crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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mawkish
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| adj.多愁善感的的；无味的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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38
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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40
provocatively
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41
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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42
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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meandering
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| 蜿蜒的河流，漫步，聊天 | |
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scrawls
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| 潦草的笔迹( scrawl的名词复数 ) | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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eerily
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| adv.引起神秘感或害怕地 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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offshore
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| adj.海面的，吹向海面的；adv.向海面 | |
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scrolled
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| adj.具有涡卷装饰的v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的过去式和过去分词 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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69
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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