She paused and smiled up at him. “Now it’s your turn again,” she said. “Buy me another drink and then tell me what sort of a woman you think would add to you.”
Bond gave his order to the steward. He lit a cigarette and turned back to her. “Somebody who can make Sauce Béarnaise as well as love,” he said.
“Holy mackerel! Just any old dumb hag who can cook and lie on her back?”
“Oh, no. She’s got to have all the usual things that all women have.” Bond examined her. “Gold hair. Grey eyes. A sinful mouth. Perfect figure. And of course she’s got to make lots of funny jokes and know how to dress and play cards and so forth. The usual things.”
“And you’d marry this person if you found her?”
“Not necessarily,” said Bond. “Matter of fact I’m almost married already. To a man. Name begins with M. I’d have to divorce him before I tried marrying a woman. And I’m not sure I’d want that. She’d get me handing round canapés in an L-shaped drawing-room. And there’d be all those ghastly ‘Yes, you did-no I didn’t’ rows that seem to go with marriage. It wouldn’t last. I’d get claustrophobia and run out on her. Get myself sent to Japan or somewhere.”
“What about children?”
“Like to have some,” said Bond shortly. “But only when I retire. Not fair on the children otherwise. My job’s not all that secure.” He looked into his drink and swallowed it down. “And what about you, Tiffany?” he said to change the subject.
“I guess every girl would like to come home and find a hat on the hall table,” said Tiffany moodily. “Trouble is I’ve never found the right sort of thing growing under the hat. Maybe I haven’t looked hard enough or in the right places. You know how it is when you get in a groove. You get so that you’re quite glad not to look over the edges. In that way I’ve had it good with the Spangs, Always knew where the next meal was coming from. Put some money by. But a girl can’t have friends in that company. You either put up a notice saying ‘No Entry’ or you’re apt to pick up a bad case of round heels. But I guess I’m fed up with being on my own. You know what the chorines say on Broadway? ‘It’s a lonesome wash without a man’s shirt in it’.”
Bond laughed. “Well, you’re out of the groove now,” he said. He looked at her quizzically. “But what about Mister Seraffimo? Those two bedrooms on the Pullman and the champagne supper laid for two…”
Before he could finish, her eyes blazed briefly and she stood up from the table and walked straight out of the bar.
Bond cursed himself. He put some money down on the bill and hurried after her. He caught up with her half way down the Promenade Deck. “Now listen, Tiffany,” he began.
She turned brusquely round and faced him. “How mean can you be?” she said and angry tears glistened on her eyelashes. “Why do you have to spoil everything with an abrasive remark like that? Oh, James,” forlornly she turned to the windows, searching for a handkerchief in her bag. She dabbed her eyes. “You just don’t understand.”
Bond put an arm round her and held her to him. “My darling.” He knew that nothing but the great step of physical love would cure these misunderstandings, but that words and time still had to be wasted. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to know for certain. That was a bad night on the train and that supper-table hurt me much more than what happened later. I had to ask you.”
She looked up at him doubtfully. “You mean that?” she said searching his face. “You mean you liked me already?”
“Don’t be a goose,” said Bond impatiently. “Don’t you know anything about anything?”
She turned away from him and looked out of the window at the endless blue sea and at the handful of dipping gulls that were keeping company with their wonderfully prodigal ship. After a while she said: “You ever read Alice in Wonderland?”