Their destination was to be a surprise for him. He had not wanted to go back to one of the big hotels in Royale and Vesper said she would find somewhere away from the town. But she insisted on being mysterious about it and only said that she had found a place he would like. He was happy to be in her hands, but he covered up his surrender by referring to their destination as ‘Trou sur Mer’ (she admitted it was by the sea), and lauding the rustic delights of outside lavatories, bed-bugs, and cockroaches.
Their drive was spoiled by a curious incident.
While they followed the coast road in the direction of Les Noctambules, Bond described to her his wild chase in the Bentley, finally pointing out the curve he had taken before the crash and the exact place where the vicious carpet of spikes had been laid. He slowed the car down and leant out to show her the deep cuts in the tarmac made by the rims of the wheels and the broken branches in the hedge and the patch of oil where the car had come to rest.
But all the time she was distrait and fidgety and commented only in monosyllables. Once or twice he caught her glancing in the driving-mirror, but when he had a chance to look back through the rear window, they had just rounded a bend and he could see nothing.
Finally he took her hand.
‘Something’s on your mind, Vesper,’ he said.
She gave him a taut, bright smile. ‘It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. I had a silly idea we were being followed. It’s just nerves, I suppose. This road is full of ghosts.’
Under cover of a short laugh she looked back again.
‘Look.’ There was an edge of panic in her voice.
Obediently Bond turned his head. Sure enough, a quarter of a mile away, a black saloon was coming after them at a good pace.
Bond laughed.
‘We can’t be the only people using this road,’ he said. ‘Anyway, who wants to follow us? We’ve done nothing wrong.’ He patted her hand. ‘It’s a middle-aged commercial traveller in car-polish on his way to Le Havre. He’s probably thinking of his lunch and his mistress in Paris. Really, Vesper, you mustn’t think evil of the innocent.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ she said nervously. ‘Anyway, we’re nearly there.’
She relapsed into silence and gazed out of the window.
Bond could still feel her tenseness. He smiled to himself at what he took to be simply a hangover from their recent adventures. But he decided to humour her and when they came to a small lane leading towards the sea and slowed to turn down it, he told the driver to stop directly they were off the main road.
Hidden by the tall hedge, they watched together through the rear window.
Through the quiet hum of summer noises they could hear the car approaching. Vesper dug her fingers into his arm. The pace of the car did not alter as it approached their hiding-place and they had only a brief glimpse of a man’s profile as a black saloon tore by.
It was true that he seemed to glance quickly towards them, but above them in the hedge there was a gaily painted sign pointing down the lane and announcing ‘L’Auberge du Fruit D‚fendu, crustaces, fritures’. It was obvious to Bond that it was this that had caught the driver’s eye.
As the rattle of the car’s exhaust diminished down the road, Vesper sank back into her corner. Her face was pale.
‘He looked at us,’ she said, ‘I told you so. I knew we were being followed. Now they know where we are.’
Bond could not contain his impatience. ‘Bunkum,’ he said. ‘He was looking at that sign.’ He pointed it out to Vesper.
She looked slightly relieved. ‘Do you really think so?’ she asked. ‘Yes. I see. Of course, you must be right. Come on. I’m sorry to be so stupid. I don’t know what came over me.’
She leant forward and talked to the driver through the partition, and the car moved on. She sank back and turned a bright face towards Bond. The colour had almost come back to her cheeks. ‘I really am sorry. It’s just that . . . it’s that I can’t believe everything’s over and there’s no one to be frightened of any more.’ She pressed his hand. ‘You must think me very stupid.’