THE BADDEST VILLAINS - James Bond Edition. Ian Fleming
kissed him hard and clumsily on the lips. He put his arms round her and crushed her to him, his heart pounding. She said breathlessly at his ear, ‘The Chinese dress felt strange. Anyway, you told that woman we were married.’
Bond’s hand was on her left breast. Its peak was hard with passion. Her stomach pressed against his. Why not? Why not? Don’t be a fool! This is a crazy time for it. You’re both in deadly danger. You must stay cold as ice to have any chance of getting out of this mess. Later! Later! Don’t be weak.
Bond took his hand away from her breast and put it round her neck. He rubbed his face against hers and then brought his mouth round to hers and gave her one long kiss.
He stood away and held her at arm’s length. For a moment they looked at each other, their eyes bright with desire. She was breathing fast, her lips parted so that he could see the glint of teeth. He said unsteadily, ‘Honey, get into that bath before I spank you.’
She smiled. Without saying anything she stepped down into the bath and lay at full length. She looked up. The fair hair on her body glittered up through the water like golden sovereigns. She said provocatively, ‘You’ve got to wash me. I don’t know what to do. You’ve got to show me.’
Bond said desperately, ‘Shut up, Honey. And stop flirting. Just take the soap and the sponge and start scrubbing. Damn you! This isn’t the time for making love. I’m going to have breakfast.’ He reached for the door handle and opened the door. She said softly, ‘James!’ He looked back. She was sticking her tongue out at him. He grinned savagely back at her and slammed the door.
Bond went into the dressing-room and stood in the middle of the floor and waited for his heart to stop pounding. He rubbed his hands over his face and shook his head to get rid of the thought of her.
To clear his mind he went carefully over both rooms looking for exits, possible weapons, microphones – anything that would add to his knowledge. There were none of these things. There was an electric clock on the wall which said eight-thirty and a row of bells beside the double bed. They said, Room Service, Coiffeur, Manicurist, Maid. There was no telephone. High up in a corner of both rooms was a small ventilator grille. Each was about two feet square. Useless. The doors appeared to be of some light metal, painted to match the walls. Bond threw the whole weight of his body against one of them. It didn’t give a millimetre. Bond rubbed his shoulder. The place was a prison – an exquisite prison. It was no good arguing. The trap had shut tight on them. Now the only thing for the mice to do was to make the most of the cheese.
Bond sat down at the breakfast table. There was a large tumbler of pineapple juice in a silver-plated bowl of crushed ice. He swallowed it down and lifted the cover off his individual hot-plate. Scrambled eggs on toast, four rashers of bacon, a grilled kidney and what looked like an English pork sausage. There were also two kinds of hot toast, rolls inside a napkin, marmalade, honey and strawberry jam. The coffee was boiling hot in a large Thermos decanter. The cream smelled fresh.
From the bathroom came the sound of the girl crooning ‘Marion’. Bond closed his ears to the sound and started on the eggs.
Ten minutes later, Bond heard the bathroom door open. He put down his toast and marmalade and covered his eyes with his hands. She laughed. She said, ‘He’s a coward. He’s frightened of a simple girl.’ Bond heard her rummaging in the cupboards. She went on talking, half to herself. ‘I wonder why he’s frightened. Of course if I wrestled with him I’d win easily. Perhaps he’s frightened of that. Perhaps he’s really not very strong. His arms and his chest look strong enough. I haven’t seen the rest yet. Perhaps it’s weak. Yes, that must be it. That’s why he doesn’t dare take his clothes off in front of me. H’m, now let’s see, would he like me in this?’ She raised her voice. ‘Darling James, would you like me in white with pale blue birds flying all over me?’
‘Yes, damn you,’ said Bond through his hands. ‘Now stop chattering to yourself and come and have breakfast. I’m getting sleepy.’
She gave a cry. ‘Oh, if you mean it’s time for us to go to bed, of course I’ll hurry.’
There was a flurry of feet and Bond heard her sit down opposite. He took his hands down. She was smiling at him. She looked ravishing. Her hair was dressed and combed and brushed to kill, with one side falling down the side of the cheek and the other slicked back behind her ear. Her skin sparkled with freshness and the big blue eyes were alight with happiness. Now Bond loved the broken nose. It had become part of his thoughts of her and it suddenly occurred to him that he would be sad when she was just an immaculately beautiful girl like other beautiful girls. But he knew it would be no good trying to persuade her of that. She sat demurely, with her hands in her lap below the end of a cleavage which showed half her breasts and a deep vee of her stomach.
Bond said severely, ‘Now, listen, Honey. You look wonderful, but that isn’t the way to wear a kimono. Pull it up right across your body and tie it tight and stop trying to look like a call girl. It just isn’t good manners at breakfast.’
‘Oh, you are a stuffy old beast.’ She pulled her kimono an inch or two closer. ‘Why don’t you like playing? I want to play at being married.’
‘Not at breakfast time,’ said Bond firmly. ‘Come on and eat up. It’s delicious. And anyway, I’m filthy. I’m going to shave and have a bath.’ He got up and walked round the table and kissed the top of her head. ‘And as for playing, as you call it, I’d rather play with you than anyone in the world. But not now.’ Without waiting for her answer he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
Bond shaved and had a bath and a shower. He felt desperately sleepy. Sleep came to him in waves so that from time to time he had to stop what he was doing and bend his head down between his knees. When he came to brush his teeth he could hardly do it. Now he recognized the signs. He had been drugged. In the coffee or in the pineapple juice? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. All he wanted to do was lie down on the tiled floor and shut his eyes. Bond weaved drunkenly to the door. He forgot that he was naked. That didn’t matter either. Anyway the girl had finished her breakfast. She was in bed. He staggered over to her, holding on to the furniture. The kimono was lying in a pile on the floor. She was fast asleep, naked under a single sheet.
Bond gazed dreamily at the empty pillow beside her head. No! He found the switches and turned out the lights. Now he had to crawl across the floor and into his room. He got to his bed and pulled himself on to it. He reached out an arm of lead and jabbed at the switch on the bed-light. He missed it. The lamp crashed to the floor and the bulb burst. With a last effort Bond turned on his side and let the waves sweep over his head.
The luminous figures on the electric clock in the double room said nine-thirty.
At ten o’clock the door of the double room opened softly. A very tall thin figure was silhouetted against the lighted corridor. It was a man. He must have been six feet six tall. He stood on the threshold with his arms folded, listening. Satisfied, he moved slowly into the room and up to the bed. He knew the way exactly. He bent down and listened to the quiet breathing of the girl. After a moment he reached up to his chest and pressed a switch. A flashlight with a very broad diffused beam came on. The flashlight was attached to him by a belt that held it above the breast bone. He bent forward so that the soft light shone on the girl’s face.
The intruder examined the girl’s face for several minutes. One of his hands came up and took the sheet at her chin and softly drew the sheet down to the end of the bed. The hand that drew down the sheet was not a hand. It was a pair of articulated steel pincers at the end of a metal stalk that disappeared into a black silk sleeve. It was a mechanical hand.
The man gazed for a long time at the naked body, moving his chest to and fro so that every corner of the body came under the light. Then the claw came out again and delicately lifted a corner of the sheet from the bottom of the bed and drew it back over the girl. The man stood for another moment gazing down at the sleeping face, then he switched off the torch on his chest and moved quietly away across the room to the open door through which Bond was sleeping.
The man spent longer beside Bond’s bed. He scrutinized every line, every