Bond drew aside one curtain and opened wide the tall windows and stood, holding the curtains open and looking out across the great boomerang curve of water under the riding moon. The night breeze felt wonderfully cool on his naked body. He looked at his watch. It said two o’clock.
Bond gave a shuddering yawn. He let the curtains drop back into place. He bent to switch off the lights on the dressing-table. Suddenly he stiffened and his heart missed a beat.
There had been a nervous giggle from the shadows at the back of the room. A girl’s voice said, `Poor Mister Bond. You must be tired. Come to bed.’
Chapter Twenty
Black on Pink
Bond whirled round. He looked over to the bed, but his eyes were blind from gazing at the moon. He crossed the room and turned on the pink-shaded light by the bed. There was a long body under the single sheet. Brown hair was spread out on the pillow. The tips of fingers showed, holding the sheet up over the face. Lower down the breasts stood up like hills under snow.
Bond laughed shortly. He leaned forward and gave the hair a soft tug. There was a squeak of protest from under the sheet. Bond sat down on the edge of the bed. After a moment’s silence a corner of the sheet was cautiously lowered and one large blue eye inspected him.
`You look very improper.’ The voice was muffled by the sheet.
`What about you! And how did you get here?’
`I walked down two floors. I live here too.’ The voice was deep and provocative. There was very little accent.
`Well, I’m going to get into bed.’
The sheet came quickly down to the chin and the girl pulled herself up on the pillows. She was blushing. `Oh no. You mustn’t.’
`But it’s my bed. And anyway you told me to.’ The face was incredibly beautiful. Bond examined it coolly. The blush deepened.’
`That was only a phrase. To introduce myself.’
`Well I’m very glad to meet you. My name’s James Bond.’
`Mine’s Tatiana Romanova.’ She sounded the second A of Tatiana and the first A of Romanova very long. `My friends call me Tania.’
There was a pause while they looked at each other, the girl with curiosity, and with what might have been relief. Bond with cool surmise.
She was the first to break the silence. `You look just like your photographs,’ she blushed again. `But you must put something on. It upsets me.’
`You upset me just as much. That’s called sex. If I got into bed with you it wouldn’t matter. Anyway, what have you got on?’
She pulled the sheet a fraction lower to show a quarter-inch black velvet ribbon round her neck. `This.’
Bond looked down into the teasing blue eyes, now wide as if asking if the ribbon was inadequate. He felt his body getting out of control.
`Damn you, Tania. Where are the rest of your things? Or did you come down in the lift like that?’
`Oh no. That would not have been kulturny. They are under the bed.’
`Well, if you think you are going to get out of this room without . . .’
Bond left the sentence unfinished. He got up from the bed and went to put on one of the dark blue silk pyjama coats he wore instead of pyjamas.
`What you are suggesting is not kulturny.’
`Oh isn’t it,’ said Bond sarcastically. He came back to the bed and pulled up a chair beside it. He smiled down at her. `Well I’ll tell you something kulturny. You’re one of the most beautiful women in the world.’
The girl blushed again. She looked at him seriously. `Are you speaking the truth? I think my mouth is too big. Am I as beautiful as Western girls? I was once told I look like Greta Garbo. Is that so?’
`More beautiful,’ said Bond. `There is more light in your face. And your mouth isn’t too big. It’s just the right size. For me, anyway.’
`What is that–“light in the face”? What do you mean?’
Bond meant that she didn’t look to him like a Russian spy. She seemed to show none of the reserve of a spy. None of the coldness, none of the calculation. She gave the impression of warmth of heart and gaiety. These things shone out through the eyes. He searched for a non-committal phrase. `There is a lot of gaiety and fun in your eyes,’ he said lamely.