‘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.