“How do you like her?” she asked.
Bond let Lolita trot over to the water so that she could drink as well.
“She’s marvelous,” Bond said. “A little shy at first, like most firsttimers, but she became enthusiastic once I took control.”
Tylyn laughed. “That’s what I like! A man who associates riding with sex.”
“Isn’t that what everyone associates it with?”
“Only the right people.” And with that she pulled on the reins. “Let’s go, Commander!” Immediately, the horse bolted from the water and cantered back into the woods.
Bond sighed. “Come on, Lo, we had better go too.” He had to pull on the reins twice to get her to move.
It had grown considerably darker. Bond couldn’t see a thing, but Lolita trotted around the trees using her own sense of guidance.
“Tylyn?” he called.
In the vague distance, he heard Commander whinny.
“Go,” he said to Lolita, urging her forward into the gnarly black and gray maze.
They were foolish to have stayed out past dark, Bond thought. Tylyn should have known better, unless it was her intention for him to follow her somewhere. Could it mean that she was a member of the Union, or that she really liked him?
Bond hoped that it would be the latter.
Commander whinnied again, and Lolita picked up speed. The horse did remarkably well navigating through the obstacles. At one point, she came too close to a tree and skinned her left hindquarter but kept going.
He found Tylyn’s horse riderless, obviously distressed.
“Tylyn?” Bond called.
There was nothing. Just the sounds of the night.
“Tylyn?” he shouted again.
Then he heard the soft moan. It came from a clump of bushes to his left. Bond got off Lolita and tied her to a tree, then approached Commander, who was acting quite skittish.
“Easy, boy,” Bond said soothingly. “Give me your reins …”
The horse hesitated and jumped away from Bond twice before he could get close enough to grab them. Once he did, the horse calmed down and allowed Bond to tie him to a tree next to Lolita.
Bond raced to where the moaning came from and found Tylyn, sitting up, rubbing her face.
“Ohhh,” she said, dazed.
“My God, are you all right? What happened?” Bond knelt beside her, but it was too dark to really see what was wrong with her.
“Commander tripped and I went flying,” she said. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been racing him in the forest after dark. It’s just that he enjoys it so.”
“Are you hurt?”
“My eye hurts, there’s something in it. I can’t get it out. I might have a bruise on my left arm and shoulder, where I landed, but it’s mostly my pride that’s hurt.”
“Can you stand? We should probably get out of here.”
“I think so, it’s just …” she stood and kept rubbing her eye “.… my eye really hurts. I can’t open it. Do you have a flashlight by any chance?”
“Yes,” he said. “Sit down again.” She did so and Bond pulled the camera out of his jacket pocket.
He held it up to her and said, “My camera has special photographic lenses that work with certain kinds of built-in light sources. I’m going to use one on you, all right?”
“Sure, just get that awful thing out of my eye!” It was obvious that she was terribly uncomfortable but doing her best to maintain composure. Her beauty aside, it was Tylyn’s willpower and spirit that continued to impress him.
He looked through the camera and flicked on the light. Tylyn’s face was illuminated in a halo-like circle that centered on her eye. She was squeezing it shut.
“You’re going to have to try and open your eye, Tylyn,” Bond said. “Otherwise I can’t see anything.”
“Oh, all right, damn it,” she said. “Help me, just go slow.”
He put down the camera and used both hands to gently rub her face around her eye. With his fingertips, he gained a hold on the skin surrounding her eye and slowly began to flex his fingers, pulling open her eyelids.
Tylyn cursed like a man.
He held her eye open with his left hand while he reached for the camera with his right. He held it up, flicked on the light and shone it over her eye.
It was teary and red, all right, and Bond immediately saw the cause. In the anterior corner of her eye was a foreign object, a splinter, perhaps.
“Just hold still, Tylyn, I see it,” he said. “You’re going to have to hold your eye open, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, and replaced his fingertips with her own, forcing the eye to stay open.
Bond put the camera in his left hand and removed the heel of his right shoe. The escape materials that Q Branch had provided were about to come in handy once again, for inside the kit was a pair of tweezers. As it was dark and Tylyn was probably in too much pain to notice, Bond retrieved them and focused his attention on her eye. He shone the light into the pupil and examined the retina. He looked up, down, to the sides … she had no Union tattoo.
With a quick and deliberate move, Bond reached into the corner of Tylyn’s eye with the tweezers and grabbed the offending splinter. He pulled it out smoothly and quickly, then surreptitiously replaced the tweezers. Tylyn felt no pain, just an overwhelming sensation of relief.
“Oh, merci beaucoup!” she cried and impulsively threw her arms around him and kissed him once on the mouth. This took both of them by surprise. Then, time seemed to stop as Bond and Tylyn concurrently worked out how they were going to react to that kiss. Should they laugh about it and move on? Should they say nothing? Should they do it again?
Bond leaned in and kissed her longingly, and Tylyn let him do it.
They emerged from the forest an hour later, after the sun was well on its way to the other side of the world. Their clothes were disheveled and there were twigs in their hair, but there was no other damning evidence of what had occurred between them. They had wrapped themselves in a blanket that Tylyn had kept fastened to her saddle, and there on the ground, they had made noisy, animalistic love. For her, it was a catharsis of sorts, as she had been mostly celibate since her separation. For Bond, it was the culmination of an intense desire that he had felt since he had first become aware of Tylyn’s existence.
As they approached the house in silence, walking their horses and holding hands, Bond wondered again if he should take this any further. For one thing, he was being dishonest with her. He was no journalist. He would have to come clean, tell her what he really did for a living. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to do that.
They had salade niçoise and wine by candlelight in her home, where they sat at a round table in the dining room and looked out of large French windows at a garden that was barely illuminated by the outdoor bulbs. A mixed-breed dog and a tabby cat sat quietly in the room with them, eyeing the couple intensely. Tylyn had put on a Billie Holiday CD, and it created a pleasant, mellow mood.
They spoke of horses, of how her business with them barely turned a profit but that she enjoyed it so much that she could never abandon it.
“I raise horses for riding schools, mostly. I sell them in France and some in Spain, too. I won’t sell to racers, I’m not sure I like that,” she said. “And never to circuses unless I personally know the people in charge of the animals.”
“Why do you want to act, Tylyn? You have so much already,” Bond said. “Your horses, your clothing company, your modeling career …”
She laughed. “I know, I know, it isn’t as if I have nothing to do all day long. Why does anyone want to act? It’s a thrill. It’s a new direction. I’m ready for new directions.” She sighed. “And tomorrow it all begins.”
“What time do you have to be in Monte Carlo?”
“Pretty early. I’ll be up before the sun.”
“Then I shouldn’t stay and keep you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, starting. She put out a hand and laid it
on his. “Don’t go. Please?”
Bond looked into her magnificent eyes. He knew, as did she, that something had happened—not just the physical pleasure that they had experienced in the woods—but an awakening, the opening of private doors that were rarely unlocked. Poetry and mythology had cast labels on the phenomenon throughout history: “love at first sight,” “finding one’s soul mate,” or “falling head over heels.” Bond never set much store by such romantic notions, but he did know that there was something palpable between them.
Bond turned his hand over, took hers and said, “I hope you’re not on the rebound from your husband.”
She shook her head. “I’m not. Well, maybe I am. I don’t know. You’re not the first man I’ve slept with since we separated. You’re not the first man I’ve slept with since we were married.” For the first time since he had met her, Tylyn allowed Bond to glimpse her vulnerability. She said soberly, “Léon was not good for me. At first I thought he was, and the first couple of years were happy. But he has his dark side, you see. Me, I always look on the light side of life, whereas he always looks on the black side. I was more of a possession to him than a wife. And I think he always wanted to get his hands on my family’s money, even though he knew he couldn’t get near it.”
“Did you have a prenuptial agreement?” Bond asked.
“Yes, and the deal was that he got nothing. He knew from the beginning that my money would always be my money. He never had a problem with that. He wouldn’t get anything unless …”
“Unless what?”
“Well, unless I died or something. Then he would inherit it all. But after we’re divorced, that’s no longer a consideration.”
Bond said nothing. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
“I guess I’m not the marrying type,” she said. “I’m too much like one of those horses out there. I like to ride with the wind and go wherever it takes me.”
“You can say that again. I’ve seen it up close!”
She looked at him hard. “Have you ever been married?”
Bond was always reserved when it came to talking about that chapter of his life but this time the question threw him more than usual. She must have seen the walls go up, for she immediately said, “I’m sorry. That’s none of my—”
“Yes, once,” he replied. “It was another time, another place.”
She nodded. “I suppose you have to talk about my marriage in your article?” she asked softly after a pause.
Oh yes, the article. How was he going to get around that?
“I don’t have to mention it at all,” he said.
“Good, because if you’ll keep it off the record, I’ll tell you something.”
“You have my word.”
She took a sip of wine, then said, “I’m going to divorce Léon. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Don’t you think he has a pretty good idea that you will?”
“He’s deluded,” she said. “He believes that the separation is indeed a trial one, and that we’ll be back together as soon as filming starts. He probably cast me just so he could keep some kind of hold on me, but I’m going to prove to him, and to the world, that I’m quite independent now. I’m not going to say anything until after filming is completed, but he’s going to have to give me a wide berth over the next few weeks. In fact …” She looked at Bond with inspiration in her eyes. “Will you come and visit me on the set?”
“You really want me to?”
“Yes! Oh, it would help my cause enormously, you see. Léon will see that I am not his wife any more and it will make my decision to divorce him that much easier for him to swallow. Will you?”
Bond smiled. “I might.”
“I can see that I’m just going to have to persuade you,” she said, standing and pulling on his hand.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s time for dessert.”
“Dessert? Where?”
“In my bedroom,” she said, leading him out of the room.
Bond woke to the sensation of a soft weight on his legs. He shifted beneath the sheets and saw that Tylyn’s tabby cat was sitting on his thighs, on top of the covers.
Tylyn’s side of the bed was empty, but there was a note on the pillow. Bond moved, nudging the cat to jump off the bed. He sat up and read the note.
“Dear James, make yourself comfortable. Ask Chantal for anything. I’ve left my mobile number. I hope to see you soon. Kisses, Tylyn.”
Naked, he slipped out of bed and found his clothes on a chair across the room. Once he was dressed, he left the bedroom and found his way to the dining room, where Chantal was already laying out breakfast for him: a feast of fresh scrambled eggs, a plate of assorted fruit, and yogurt. It couldn’t get any better than that.
After thanking Chantal profusely, Bond got in his car and left Tylyn’s home. He drove east, toward Monte Carlo.
All he could think about were the sounds she had made last night in bed.
Put her out of your mind! he willed himself. His usual method of detachment that normally protected his heart from the tumultuous hazards of romance was simply not working this time. Could this be love?
Whatever it was, he thought, he was hooked. The pursuit was on.
FIFTEEN
THE CASINO
TYLYN HAD CHECKED INTO THE HOTEL DE PARIS IN MONTE CARLO IN THE morning. She spent three hours in the spa, swimming pool and beauty salon, then had something to eat. She was preparing for the press reception that afternoon when there was a knock on the door of her suite.
“Who is it?” she asked in French.
“Léon.”
She frowned and sighed. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you for a minute. May I come in?”
Shaking her head, Tylyn put on one of the hotel’s terry cloth robes over her underwear, unlocked the door, and opened it. Essinger stepped inside, and kissed her on both cheeks. She returned the greeting, but only perfunctorily. He was dressed sharply in a silk white shirt with full, puffy sleeves, opened at the neck. His black trousers were tight around his buttocks.
“You look like one of the three musketeers,” Tylyn said.
“Rather pirate-like, don’t you think?” he asked, smiling. “I thought it fitted with the theme of our movie.” He set a shopping bag on a table.
“What do you want? I’m busy getting ready.”
“We have another press conference in Nice tomorrow before we set sail for Corsica.”
“Oh, no, Léon, do we have to?”
“You’re required by contract to do publicity, darling, so, yes, you have to. And … I’d like you to accompany me.”
She shook her head. “I’ll go, but I’m not accompanying you, Léon. We had an agreement. This is strictly business, this movie. You wanted me in it, and I wanted to be in it, and I’m working for you, but I’m no longer living with you.”
He tried to grab her arm and pull her toward him. “But Tylyn—”
She broke free and walked away from him. “No ‘buts’, Léon. Where is the press conference tomorrow?”
“At the harbor, in front of our cruise ship. After the conference, we set sail.”
“All right, I’ll be there. Now go away.”
He went to her and tried to take her into his arms. “Tylyn, don’t be this way.”
She turned to him and said, “Léon, how many chances did I give you? How many times did I say, ‘if you don’t change I’m going to leave’? How many times have you been caught with some young girl in your bed?”
“You’re no saint, either, Tylyn. I seem to remember catching you as well.”
“No, I’m not a saint, but I’m not a liar. And I don’t hit my lovers,” she said, rubbing her cheek. There was no longer a mark there, but the memory of it would remain with her always.
“Tylyn, I have changed,” Essinger pleaded. “When we’re together again, after the separation, you’ll see.”
“Oh, Léon …” She was te
mpted to tell him that she had no intention of getting back together, but it just wasn’t the right time. “Please go.”
“I see,” Essinger said, releasing her. “You have another lover, is that it?” She recognized the change in the tone of his voice. It meant trouble.
“What are you talking about?”
Essinger went over to the shopping bag he had brought, reached inside, and pulled out a new copy of Paris Match. He turned to a page and showed her.
There were shots of the Indecent Exposure fashion show in Paris, including several flattering ones of Tylyn. Down at the bottom of the page was a photograph of her and Bond, leaving the museum. Bond had his face covered with his hand so that it was difficult to identify him. The caption read, “New Romance in Store for Tylyn?”
“Who is this man?” Essinger asked.
“Just someone I met. He’s a journalist, for God’s sake, Léon,” she said. “He’s with an English magazine. We had an interview scheduled and we went out for lunch to talk. It was arranged by my manager.”
Essinger wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her.
“You’ll probably get your own chance to meet him,” she continued. “I’ve invited him to the set. He’s doing an extensive article.”
“The set?” Essinger snapped. “All press of that sort must be cleared through Dana in publicity!”
“Then he’ll come as my guest!” Tylyn said. “Now get out!”
“I think you should stay away from him,” Essinger said.
“You can’t tell me what to do any more, Léon.”
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “Listen to me, you little—OWW!”
Tylyn snapped her knee into his groin. He let her go and doubled up, falling onto the couch.
“I’m sorry, Léon,” she said. “You seem only to understand things when they’re directed at your wallet or at your genitals. Now, I’m going back into the bedroom to finish getting ready. As soon as you’ve recovered, please let yourself out.”
With that, she left him in agony. After the door slammed shut, Essinger muttered to himself, “You’ll get what’s coming to you, you just wait and see.”
Never Dream Of Dying Page 14
