But the girl reached up a swift hand that smelt3 of Guerlain's 'Ode' and put it across his lips. 'I said "no conversation". Take off those clothes. Make love to me. You are handsome and strong. I want to remember what it can be like. Do anything you like. And tell me what you like and what you would like from me. Be rough with me. Treat me like the lowest whore in creation. Forget everything else. No questions. Take me."
An hour later, James Bond slipped out of bed without waking her, dressed by the light of the promenade4 lights filtering between the curtains, and went back to his room.
He showered and got in between the cool, rough French sheets of his own bed and switched off his thinking about her. All he remembered, before sleep took him, was that she had said when it was all over, 'That was heaven, James. Will you please come back when you wake up. I must have it once more.' Then she had turned over on her side away from him and, without answering his last endearments5, had gone to sleep - but not before he had heard that she was crying.
What the hell? All cats are grey in the dark.
True or false?
Bond slept.
At eight o'clock he woke her and it was the same glorious thing again. But this time he thought that she held him to her more tenderly, kissed him not only with passion but with affection. But, after, when they should have been making plans about the day, about where to have lunch, when to bathe, she was at first evasive and then, when he pressed her, childishly abusive.
'Get to hell away from me! Do you hear? You've had what you wanted. Now get out!'
'Wasn't it what you wanted too?'
'No. You're a lousy goddam lover. Get out!'
Bond recognized the edge of hysteria, at least of desperation. He dressed slowly, waiting for the tears to come, for the sheet that now covered her totally to shake with sobs6. But the tears didn't come. That was bad! In some way this girl had come to the end of her tether, of too many tethers. Bond felt a wave of affection for her, a sweeping7 urge to protect her, to solve her problems, make her happy. With his hand on the door-knob he said softly, 'Tracy. Let me help you. You've got some troubles. That's not the end of the world. So have I. So has everyone else.'
The dull cliches fell into the silent, sun-barred room, like clinker in a grate.
'Go to hell!'
In the instant of opening and closing the door, Bond debated whether to bang it shut, to shake her out of her mood, or to close it softly. He closed it softly. Harshness would do no good with this girl. She had had it, somehow, somewhere - too much of it. He went off down the corridor, feeling, for the first time in his life, totally inadequate8.
* * *
(The Bombard thrashed on up river. It had passed the marina and, with the narrowing banks, the current was stronger. The two thugs in the stern still kept their quiet eyes on Bond. In the bows, the girl still held her proud profile into the wind like the figure-head on a sailing ship. In Bond, the only warmth was in his contact with her back and his hand on the haft of his knife. Yet, in a curious way, he felt closer to her, far closer, than in the transports of the night before. Somehow he felt she was as much a prisoner as he was. How? Why? Way ahead the lights of the Vieux Port, once close to the sea, but now left behind by some quirk9 of the Channel currents that had built up the approaches to the river, shone sparsely10. Before many years they would go out and a new harbour, nearer the mouth of the river, would be built for the deep-sea trawlers that served Royale with their soles and lobsters11 and crabs12 and prawns13. On this side of the lights were occasional gaunt jetties built out into the river by private yacht-owners. Behind them were villas14 that would have names like 'Rosalie', 'Toi et Moi', 'Nid Azur' and 'Nouvelle Vague'. James Bond nursed the knife and smelt the 'Ode' that came to him above the stink15 of mud and seaweed from the river banks. His teeth had never chattered16 before. Now they chattered. He stopped them and went back to his memories.)
Normally, breakfast was an important part of Bond's day, but today he had barely noticed what he was eating, hurried through the meal and sat gazing out of his window and across the promenade, chain-smoking and wondering about the girl. He knew nothing positive about her, not even her nationality. The Mediterranean17 was in her name, yet she was surely neither Italian nor Spanish. Her English was faultless and her clothes and the way she wore them were the products of expensive surroundings - perhaps a Swiss finishing school'. She didn't smoke, seemed to drink only sparingly, and there was no sign of drugtaking. There had not even been sleeping pills beside the bed or in her bathroom. She could only be about twenty-five, yet she made love with the fervour and expertness of a girl who, in the American phrase, had 'gone the route'. She hadn't laughed once, had hardly smiled. She seemed in the grip of some deep melancholy18, some form of spiritual accidie that made life, on her own admission, no longer worth living. And yet there were none of those signs that one associates with the hysteria of female neurotics19 - the unkempt hair and sloppy20 make-up, the atmosphere of disarray21 and chaos22 they create around them. On the contrary, she seemed to possess an ice-cold will, authority over herself and an exact idea of what she wanted and where she was going. And where was that? In Bond's book she had desperate intentions, most likely suicide, and last night had been the last fling.
He looked down at the little white car that was now not far from his in the parking lot. Somehow he must stick close to her, watch over her, at least until he was satisfied that his deadly conclusions were wrong. As a first step, he rang down to the concierge23 and ordered a drive-yourself Simca Aronde. Yes, it should be delivered at once and left in the parking lot. He would bring his international driving licence and green insurance card down to the concierge who would kindly24 complete the formalities.
Bond shaved and dressed and took the papers down and returned to his room. He stayed there, watching the entrance and the little white car until 4.30 in the afternoon. Then, at last, she appeared, in the black and white striped bathing-wrap, and Bond ran down the corridor to the lift. It was not difficult to follow her as she drove along the promenade and left her car in one of the parking lots, and it was also no problem for the little anonymous25 2CV Citroen that followed Bond.
And then had been set up the train of the watchers and the watched which was now drawing to its mysterious climax26 as the little Bombard thrashed its way up the River Royale under the stars.
What to make of it all? Had she been a witting or unwitting bait? Was this a kidnapping? If so, of one or of both? Was it blackmail27? The revenge of a husband or another lover? Or was it to be murder?
Bond was still raking his mind for clues when the helmsman turned the Bombard in a wide curve across the current towards a battered28, skeletal jetty that projected from the muddy bank into the stream. He pulled up under its lee, a powerful flashlight shone down on them out of the darkness, a rope clattered29 down and the boat was hauled to the foot of muddy wooden steps. One of the thugs climbed out first, followed by the girl, the white bottom of her bathing dress lascivious30 below Bond's coat, then Bond, then the second thug. Then the Bombard backed quickly away and continued up river, presumably, thought Bond, to its legitimate31 mooring32 in the Vieux Port.
There were two more men, of much the same build as the others, on the jetty. No words were spoken as, surrounded, the girl and Bond were escorted up the small dust road that led away from the jetty through the sand dunes33. A hundred yards from the river, tucked away in a gully between tall dunes, there was a glimmer34 of light. When Bond got nearer he saw that it came from one of those giant corrugated35 aluminium36 transport-trucks that, behind an articulated driver's cabin, roar down the arterial routes of France belching37 diesel38 smoke and hissing39 angrily with their hydraulic40 brakes as they snake through the towns and villages. This one was a glinting, polished affair. It looked new, but might just be well cared for. As they approached, the man with the flashlight gave some signal, and an oblong of yellow light promptly41 blazed as the caravan-like door in the rear was thrown open. Bond fingered his knife. Were the odds42 in any way within reason? They were not. Before he climbed up the steps into the interior, he glanced down at the numberplate. The commercial licence said, 'Marseille-Rhone. M. Draco. Appareils fiectriques. 397694.' So! One more riddle43!
Inside it was, thank God, warm. A passage-way led between stacked rows of cartons marked with the famous names of television manufacturers. Dummies44? There were also folded chairs and the signs of a disturbed game of cards. This was presumably used as the guard-room. Then, on both sides, the doors of cabins. Tracy was waiting at one of the doors. She held out his coat to him, said an expressionless 'Thank you' and closed the door after Bond had caught a brief glimpse of a luxurious45 interior. Bond took his time putting on his coat. The single man with the gun who was following him said impatiently, 'Allez!' Bond wondered whether to jump him. But, behind, the other three men stood watching. Bond contented46 himself with a mild' Merde a vous!' and went ahead to the aluminium door that presumably sealed off the third and forward compartment47 in this strange vehicle. Behind this door lay the answer. It was probably one man - the leader. This might be the only chance. Bond's right hand was already grasping the hilt of his knife in his trouser pocket. Now he put out his left hand and, in one swirl48 of motion, leaped through, kicked the door shut behind him and crouched49, the knife held for throwing.
Behind him he felt the guard throw himself at the door, but Bond had his back to it and it held. The man, ten feet away behind the desk, within easy range for the knife, called out something, an order, a cheerful, gay order in some language Bond had never heard. The pressure on the door ceased. The man smiled a wide, a charming smile that cracked his creased50 walnut51 of a face in two. He got to his feet and slowly raised his hands. 'I surrender. And I am now a much bigger target. But do not kill me, I beg of you. At least not until we have had a stiff whisky and soda52 and a talk. Then I will give you the choice again. OK?'
Bond rose to his full height. He smiled back. He couldn't help it. The man had such a delightful53 face, so lit with humour and mischief54 and magnetism55 that, at least in the man's present role, Bond could no more have killed him than he could have killed, well, Tracy.
There was a calendar hanging on the wall beside the man. Bond wanted to let off steam against something, anything. He said,' September the sixteenth,' and jerked his right hand forward hi the underhand throw. The knife flashed across the room, missed the man by about a yard, and stuck, quivering, half-way down the page of the calendar.
The man turned and looked inquisitively56 at the calendar. He laughed out loud. 'Actually the fifteenth. But quite respectable. I must set you against my men one of these days. And I might even bet on you. It would teach them a lesson.'
He came out from behind his desk, a smallish, middle-aged57 man with a brown, crinkled face. He was dressed in the sort of comfortable dark blue suit Bond himself wore. The chest and the arms bulged58 with muscle. Bond noticed the fullness of the cut of the coat under the arm-pits. Built for guns? The man held out a hand. It was warm and firm and dry. 'Marc-Ange Draco is my name. You have heard of it?'
'No.'
'Aha! But I have heard of yours. It is Commander James Bond. You have a decoration called the CMG. You are a member, an important member, of Her Majesty's Secret Service. You have been taken off your usual duties and you are on temporary assignment abroad.' The impish face creased with delight.'Yes?'
James Bond, to cover his confusion, walked across to the calendar, verified that he had in fact pierced the fifteenth, pulled out the knife and slipped it back in his trouser pocket. He turned and said, 'What makes you think so?'
The man didn't answer. He said, 'Come. Come and sit down. I have much to talk to you about. But first the whisky and soda. Yes?' He indicated a comfortable armchair across the desk from his own, put in front of it a large silver box containing various kinds of cigarettes, and went to a metal filing cabinet against the wall and opened it. It contained no files. It was a complete and compact bar. With efficient, housekeeperly movements he took out a bottle of Pinchbottle Haig, another of I. W. Harper's Bourbon, two pint59 glasses that looked like Waterford, a bucket of ice cubes, a siphon of soda and a flagon of iced water. One by one he placed these on the desk between his chair and Bond's. Then, while Bond poured himself a stiff Bourbon and water with plenty of ice, he went and sat down across the desk from Bond, reached for the Haig and said, looking Bond very directly in the eye, 'I learned who you are from a good friend in the Deuxieme in Paris. He is paid to give me such information when I want it. I learned it very early this morning. I am in the opposite camp to yourself - not directly opposite. Let us say at a tangent on the field.' He paused. He lifted his glass. He said with much seriousness, 'I am now going to establish confidence with you. By the only means. I am going once again to place my life in your hands.'
He drank. So did Bond. In the filing cabinet, in its icebox, the hum of the generator60 broke in on what Bond suddenly knew was going to be an important moment of truth. He didn't know what the truth was going to be. He didn't think it was going to be bad. But he had an instinct that, somehow, perhaps because he had conceived respect and affection for this man, it was going to mean deep involvement for himself.
The generator stopped.
The eyes in the walnut face held his.
'I am the head of the union Corse.'
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1
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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3
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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4
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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6
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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7
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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8
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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9
quirk
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| n.奇事，巧合；古怪的举动 | |
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10
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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11
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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12
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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13
prawns
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| n.对虾，明虾( prawn的名词复数 ) | |
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14
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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15
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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16
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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17
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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18
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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19
neurotics
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| n.神经官能症的( neurotic的名词复数 )；神经质的；神经过敏的；极为焦虑的 | |
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20
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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21
disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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22
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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23
concierge
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| n.管理员；门房 | |
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24
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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25
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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26
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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27
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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28
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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29
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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30
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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31
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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32
mooring
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| n.停泊处；系泊用具，系船具；下锚v.停泊，系泊（船只）(moor的现在分词) | |
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33
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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34
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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35
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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36
aluminium
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| n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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37
belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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38
diesel
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| n.柴油发动机，内燃机 | |
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39
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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40
hydraulic
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| adj.水力的；水压的，液压的；水力学的 | |
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41
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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42
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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43
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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44
dummies
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| n.仿制品( dummy的名词复数 )；橡皮奶头；笨蛋；假传球 | |
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45
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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46
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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47
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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48
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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49
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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51
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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52
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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53
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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54
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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55
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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56
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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57
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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58
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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59
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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60
generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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