by Ian Fleming
‘I’m sorry, Vesper,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to then.’
She shook her head, dumb with the storm which had passed through her.
He came and sat beside her and they looked at each other with lingering tenderness as the tide of passion ebbed in their veins.
She leant over and kissed him on the corner of the mouth, then she brushed the black comma of hair back from his damp forehead.
‘My darling,’ she said. ‘Give me a cigarette. I don’t know where my bag is.’ She looked vaguely round the room.
Bond lit one for her and put it between her lips. She took a deep lungful of smoke and let it pour out through her mouth with a slow sigh.
Bond put his arm round her, but she got up and walked over to the window. She stood there with her back to him.
Bond looked down at his hands and saw they were still trembling.
‘It’s going to take some time to get ready for dinner,’ said Vesper still not looking at him. ‘Why don’t you go and bathe? I’ll unpack for you.’
Bond left the bed and came and stood close against her. He put his arms round her and put a hand over each breast. They filled his hands and the nipples were hard against his fingers. She put her hands over his and pressed them into her, but still she looked away from him out of the window. ‘Not now,’ she said in a low voice.
Bond bent and burrowed his lips into the nape of her neck. For a moment he strained her hard to him, then he let her go.
‘All right, Vesper,’ he said.
He walked over to the door and looked back. She had not moved. For some reason he thought she was crying. He took a step towards her and then realized that there was nothing to say between them then.
‘My love,’ he said.
Then he went out and shut the door.
Bond walked along to his room and sat down on the bed. He felt weak from the passion which had swept through his body. He was torn between the desire to fall back full-length on the bed and his longing to be cooled and revived by the sea. He played with the choice for a moment, then he went over to his suitcase and took out white linen bathing-drawers and a dark blue pyjama-suit.
Bond had always disliked pyjamas and had slept naked until in Hong Kong at the end of the war he came across the perfect compromise. This was a pyjama-coat which came almost down to the knees. It had no buttons, but there was a loose belt round the waist. The sleeves were wide and short, ending just above the elbow. The result was cool and comfortable and now when he slipped the coat on over his trunks, all his bruises and scars were hidden except the thin white bracelets on wrists and ankles and the mark of SMERSH on his right hand.
He slipped his feet into a pair of dark-blue leather sandals and went downstairs and out of the house and across the terrace to the beach. As he passed across the front of the house he thought of Vesper, but he refrained from looking up to see if she was still standing at the window. If she saw him, she gave no sign.
He walked along the waterline on the hard golden sand until he was out of sight of the inn. Then he threw off his pyjama-coat and took a short run and a quick flat dive into the small waves. The beach shelved quickly and he kept underwater as long as he could, swimming with powerful strokes and feeling the soft coolness all over him. Then he surfaced and brushed the hair out of his eyes. It was nearly seven and the sun had lost much of its heat. Before long it would sink beneath the further arm of the bay, but now it was straight in his eyes and he turned on his back and swam away from it so that he could keep it with him as long as possible.
When he came ashore nearly a mile down the bay the shadows had already engulfed his distant pyjamas but he knew he had time to lie on the hard sand and dry before the tide of dusk reached him.
He took off his bathing-trunks and looked down at his body. There were only a few traces left of his injuries. He shrugged his shoulders and lay down with his limbs spread out in a star and gazed up at the empty blue sky and thought of Vesper.
His feelings for her were confused and he was impatient with the confusion. They had been so simple. He had intended to sleep with her as soon as he could, because he desired her and also because, and he admitted it to himself, he wanted coldly to put the repairs to his body to the final test. He thought they would sleep together for a few days and then he might see something of her in London. Then would come the inevitable disengagement which would be all the easier because of their positions in the Service. If it was not easy, he could go off on an assignment abroad or, which was also in his mind, he could resign and travel to different parts of the world as he had always wanted.
But somehow she had crept under his skin and over the last two weeks his feelings had gradually changed.
He found her companionship easy and unexacting. There was something enigmatic about her which was a constant stimulus. She gave little of her real personality away and he felt that however long they were together there would always be a private room inside her which he could never invade. She was thoughtful and full of consideration without being slavish and without compromising her arrogant spirit. And now he knew that she was profoundly, excitingly sensual, but that the conquest of her body, because of the central privacy in her, would each time have the sweet tang of rape. Loving her physically would each time be a thrilling voyage without the anticlimax of arrival. She would surrender herself avidly, he thought, and greedily enjoy all the intimacies of the bed without ever allowing herself to be possessed.
Naked, Bond lay and tried to push away the conclusions he read in the sky. He turned his head and looked down the beach and saw that the shadows of the headland were almost reaching for him.
He stood up and brushed off as much of the sand as he could reach. He reflected that he would have a bath when he got in and he absent-mindedly picked up his trunks and started walking back along the beach. It was only when he reached his pyjama-coat and bent to pick it up that he realized he was still naked. Without bothering about the trunks, he slipped on the light coat and walked on to the hotel.
At that moment his mind was made up.
24 ....... ‘FRUIT DÉFENDU’
WHEN HE got back to his room he was touched to find all his belongings put away and in the bathroom his toothbrush and shaving things neatly arranged at one end of the glass shelf over the washbasin. At the other end was Vesper’s toothbrush and one or two small bottles and a jar of face-cream.
He glanced at the bottles and was surprised to see that one contained nembutal sleeping pills. Perhaps her nerves had been more shaken by the events at the villa than he had imagined.
The bath had been filled for him and there was a new flask of some expensive pine bath-essence on a chair beside it with his towel.
‘Vesper,’ he called.
‘Yes?’
‘You really are the limit. You make me feel like an expensive gigolo.’
‘I was told to look after you. I’m only doing what I was told.’
‘Darling, the bath’s absolutely right. Will you marry me?’
She snorted. ‘You need a slave, not a wife.’
‘I want you.’
‘Well, I want my lobster and champagne, so hurry up.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Bond.
He dried himself and dressed in a white shirt and dark blue slacks. He hoped that she would be dressed as simply and he was pleased when, without knocking, she appeared in the doorway wearing a blue linen shirt which had faded to the colour of her eyes and a dark red skirt in pleated cotton.
‘I couldn’t wait. I was famished. My room’s over the kitchen and I’ve been tortured by the wonderful smells.’
He came over and put his arm round her.
She took his hand and together they went downstairs out on to the terrace where their table had been laid in the light cast by the empty dining-room.
The champagne which Bond had ordered on their arrival stood in a plated wine-cooler beside their table and Bond poured out two full glasses. Vesper busied herself with a
delicious home-made liver paté and helped them both to the crisp French bread and the thick square of deep yellow butter set in chips of ice.
They looked at each other and drank deeply and Bond filled their glasses again to the rim.
While they ate Bond told her of his bathe and they talked of what they would do in the morning. All through the meal they left unspoken their feelings for each other, but in Vesper’s eyes as much as in Bond’s there was excited anticipation of the night. They let their hands and their feet touch from time to time as if to ease the tension in their bodies.
When the lobster had come and gone and the second bottle of champagne was half-empty and they had just ladled thick cream over their ‘fraises des bois’, Vesper gave a deep sigh of contentment.
‘I’m behaving like a pig,’ she said happily. ‘You always give me all the things I like best. I’ve never been so spoiled before.’ She gazed across the terrace at the moonlit bay. ‘I wish I deserved it.’ Her voice had a wry undertone.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bond surprised.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose people get what they deserve, so perhaps I do deserve it.’
She looked at him and smiled. Her eyes narrowed quizzically.
‘You really don’t know much about me,’ she said suddenly.
Bond was surprised by the undertone of seriousness in her voice.
‘Quite enough,’ he said laughing. ‘All I need until tomorrow and the next day and the next. You don’t know much about me for the matter of that.’ He poured out more champagne.
Vesper looked at him thoughtfully.
‘People are islands,’ she said. ‘They don’t really touch. However close they are, they’re really quite separate. Even if they’ve been married for fifty years.’
Bond thought with dismay that she must be going into a ‘vin triste’. Too much champagne had made her melancholy. But suddenly she gave a happy laugh. ‘Don’t look so worried.’ She leaned forward and put her hand over his. ‘I was only being sentimental. Anyway, my island feels very close to your island tonight.’ She took a sip of champagne.
Bond laughed, relieved. ‘Let’s join up and make a peninsula,’ he said. ‘Now, directly we’ve finished the strawberries.’
‘No,’ she said, flirting. ‘I must have coffee.’
‘And brandy,’ countered Bond.
The small shadow had passed. The second small shadow. This too left a tiny question-mark hanging in the air. It quickly dissolved as warmth and intimacy enclosed them again.
When they had had their coffee and Bond was sipping his brandy, Vesper picked up her bag and came and stood behind him.
‘I’m tired,’ she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He reached up and held it there and they stayed motionless for a moment. She bent down and lightly brushed his hair with her lips. Then she was gone and a few seconds later the light came on in her room.
Bond smoked and waited until it had gone out. Then he followed her, pausing only to say good night to the proprietor and his wife and thank them for the dinner. They exchanged compliments and he went upstairs.
It was only half-past nine when he stepped into her room from the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
The moonlight shone through the half-closed shutters and lapped at the secret shadows in the snow of her body on the broad bed.
Bond awoke in his own room at dawn and for a time he lay and stroked his memories.
Then he got quietly out of bed and in his pyjama-coat he crept past Vesper’s door and out of the house to the beach.
The sea was smooth and quiet in the sunrise. The small pink waves idly licked the sand. It was cold, but he took off his jacket and wandered naked along the edge of the sea to the point where he had bathed the evening before, then he walked slowly and deliberately into the water until it was just below his chin. He took his feet off the bottom and sank, holding his nose with one hand and shutting his eyes, feeling the cold water comb his body and his hair.
The mirror of the bay was unbroken except where it seemed a fish had jumped. Under the water he imagined the tranquil scene and wished that Vesper could just then come through the pines and be astonished to see him suddenly erupt from the empty seascape.
When after a full minute he came to the surface in a froth of spray, he was disappointed. There was no one in sight. For a time he swam and drifted and then when the sun seemed hot enough, he came in to the beach and lay on his back and revelled in the body which the night had given back to him.
As on the evening before, he stared up into the empty sky and saw the same answer there.
After a while he rose and walked back slowly along the beach to his pyjama-coat.
That day he would ask Vesper to marry him. He was quite certain. It was only a question of choosing the right moment.
25 ....... ‘BLACK-PATCH’
AS HE walked quietly from the terrace into the half-darkness of the still shuttered dining-room, he was surprised to see Vesper emerge from the glass-fronted telephone booth near the front door and softly turn up the stairs towards their rooms.
‘Vesper,’ he called, thinking she must have had some urgent message which might concern them both.
She turned quickly, a hand up to her mouth.
For a moment longer than necessary she stared at him, her eyes wide.
‘What is it, darling?’ he asked, vaguely troubled and fearing some crisis in their lives.
‘Oh,’ she said breathlessly, ‘you made me jump. It was only … I was just telephoning to Mathis. To Mathis,’ she repeated. ‘I wondered if he could get me another frock. You know, from that girl-friend I told you about. The vendeuse. You see,’ she talked quickly, her words coming out in a persuasive jumble, ‘I’ve really got nothing to wear. I thought I’d catch him at home before he went to the office. I don’t know my friend’s telephone number and I thought it would be a surprise for you. I didn’t want you to hear me moving and wake you up. Is the water nice? Have you bathed? You ought to have waited for me.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ said Bond, deciding to relieve her mind, though irritated with her obvious guilt over this childish mystery. ‘You must go in and we’ll have breakfast on the terrace. I’m ravenous. I’m sorry I made you jump. I was just startled to see anyone about at this hour of the morning.’
He put his arm round her, but she disengaged herself, and moved quickly on up the stairs.
‘It was such a surprise to see you,’ she said, trying to cover the incident up with a light touch.
‘You looked like a ghost, a drowned man, with the hair down over your eyes like that.’ She laughed harshly. Hearing the harshness, she turned the laugh into a cough.
‘I hope I haven’t caught cold,’ she said.
She kept on patching up the edifice of her deceit until Bond wanted to spank her and tell her to relax and tell the truth. Instead he just gave her a reassuring pat on the back outside her room and told her to hurry up and have her bathe.
Then he went on to his room.
That was the end of the integrity of their love. The succeeding days were a shambles of falseness and hypocrisy, mingled with her tears and moments of animal passion to which she abandoned herself with a greed made indecent by the hollowness of their days.
Several times Bond tried to break down the dreadful walls of mistrust. Again and again he brought up the subject of the telephone call, but she obstinately bolstered up her story with embellishments which Bond knew she had thought out afterwards. She even accused Bond of thinking she had another lover.
These scenes always ended in her bitter tears and in moments almost of hysteria.
Each day the atmosphere became more hateful.
It seemed fantastic to Bond that human relationships could collapse into dust overnight and he searched his mind again and again for a reason.
He felt that Vesper was just as horrified as he was and, if anything, her misery seemed greater than his. But the mystery of the telep
hone conversation which Vesper angrily, almost fearfully it seemed to Bond, refused to explain was a shadow which grew darker with other small mysteries and reticencies.
Already at luncheon on that day things got worse.
After a breakfast which was an effort for both of them, Vesper said she had a headache and would stay in her room out of the sun. Bond took a book and walked for miles down the beach. By the time he returned he had argued to himself that they would be able to sort the problem out over lunch.
Directly they sat down, he apologized gaily for having startled her at the telephone booth and then he dismissed the subject and went on to describe what he had seen on his walk. But Vesper was distrait and commented only in monosyllables. She toyed with her food and she avoided Bond’s eyes and gazed past him with an air of preoccupation.
When she had failed once or twice to respond to some conversational gambit or other, Bond also relapsed into silence and occupied himself with his own gloomy thoughts.
All of a sudden she stiffened. Her fork fell with a clatter on to the edge of her plate and then noisily off the table on to the terrace.
Bond looked up. She had gone as white as a sheet and she was looking over his shoulder with terror in her face.
Bond turned his head and saw that a man had just taken his place at a table on the opposite side of the terrace, well away from them. He seemed ordinary enough, perhaps rather sombrely dressed, but in his first quick glance Bond put him down as some business man on his way along the coast who had just happened on the inn or had picked it out of the Michelin.
‘What is it, darling?’ he asked anxiously.
