“Years ago,” said Bond, surprised. “Why?”
“There’s a line there I often think of,” she said. “It says, ‘Oh, Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool of tears? I am very tired of swimming about here, oh Mouse.’ Remember? Well, I thought you were going to tell me the way out. Instead of that you ducked me in the pool. That’s why I got upset.” She glanced up at him. “But I guess you didn’t mean to hurt.”
Bond looked quietly at her mouth and then kissed her hard on the lips.
She didn’t respond, but broke away, and her eyes were laughing again. She linked her arm high up in his and turned towards the open doors that led to the lift. “Take me down,” she said. “I must go and rewrite my face, and anyway I want to spend a long time dressing the business for sale.” She paused and then put her mouth close up to his ear. “In case it interests you, James Bond,” she said softly. “I’ve never what you’d call’slept with a man’ in my life.” She tugged at his arm. “And now come on,” she said brusquely. “And anyway it’s time you went and had a Hot Domestic. I suppose that’s part of the subject-language you’ll be wanting me to pick up. You subject-people surely do write up the craziest things in your bathrooms.”
Bond took her to her cabin and then went on to his and had a ‘Hot Salt’ bath followed by a ‘Cold Domestic’ shower. Then he lay on his bed and smiled to himself over some of the things she had said, and thought of her lying in her bath looking at the forest of bath-taps and thinking how crazy the English were.
There was a knock on the door and his steward came in with a small tray which he placed on the table.
“What the hell’s that?” said Bond.
“Just come up from the chef, Sir,” said the Steward and went out and closed the cabin door.
Bond slipped off the bed and went over and examined the contents of the tray. He smiled to himself. There was a quarter bottle of Bellinger, a chafing dish containing four small slivers of steak on toast canapés, and a small bowl of sauce. Beside this was a pencilled note which said ‘This Sauce Béarnaise has been created by Miss T. Case without my assistance,’ Signed ‘The Chef.
Bond filled a glass with champagne and spread a lot of the Béarnaise on a piece of the steak and munched it carefully. Then he went to the telephone.
“Tiffany?”
He heard the low delighted laugh at the other end.
“Well, you can certainly make wonderful Sauce Béarnaise…”
He put the receiver back on its cradle.
23
THE JOB COMES SECOND
IT is an intoxicating moment in a love-affair when, for the first time, in a public place, in a restaurant or a theatre, the man puts his hand down and lays it on the thigh of the girl and when she slips her hand over his and presses the man’s hand against her. The two gestures say everything that can be said. All is agreed. All the pacts are signed. And there is a long minute of silence during which the blood sings. It was eleven o’clock and there was-only a scattering of people left in the corners of the Veranda Grill, There was a soft sighing from the moonlit sea outside as the great liner scythed the black meadow of the Atlantic and, in the stern, only the slightest lope in her stride indicated a long soft swell, the slow, twelve-a-minute heart-beat of a sleeping ocean, to the two people sitting close together behind the pink-shaded light.
The waiter came with the bill and their hands separated. But now there was all the time in the world and no need for reassurance from words or contact, and the girl laughed happily up into Bond’s face as the waiter drew out the table and they walked towards the door.
They got into the lift for the Promenade Deck. “And now what, James?” said Tiffany. “I’d like some more coffee, and a Stinger made with white Crème de Menthe, while we listen to the Auction Pool. I’ve heard so much about it and we might make a fortune.”