Fidele Barbey said equably: “That’s my uncle, Gaston. The rest of the family doesn’t approve. It’s made quite a hole in the family fortune.”
“Family fortune, eh?” Mr Krest winked at Bond. “What’s it in? Cowrie-shells?”
“Not exactly.” Fidele Barbey was not used to Mr Krest’s brand of rudeness. He looked mildly embarrassed. “Though we made quite a lot out of tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl about a hundred years ago when there was a rage for these things. Copra’s always been our main business.”
“Using the family bastards as labour, I guess. Good idea. Wish I could fix something like that in my home circle.” He looked across at his wife. The rubber lips turned still further down. Before the next gibe could be uttered, Bond had pushed his chair back and had gone out into the well-deck and pulled the door shut behind him.
Ten minutes later, Bond heard feet coming softly down the ladder from the boat-deck. He turned. It was Liz Krest. She came over to where he was standing in the stern. She said in a strained voice: “I said I’d go to bed. But then I thought I’d come back here and see if you’d got everything you want. I’m not a very good hostess, I’m afraid. Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping out here?”
“I like it. I like this kind of air better than the canned stuff inside. And it’s rather wonderful to have all those stars to look at. I’ve never seen so many before.”
She said eagerly, grasping at a friendly topic: “I like Orion’s Belt and the Southern Cross the best. You know, when I was young, I used to think the stars were really holes in the sky. I thought the world was surrounded by a great big black sort of envelope, and that outside it the universe was full of bright light. The stars were just holes in the envelope that let little sparks of light through. One gets terribly silly ideas when one’s young.” She looked up at him, wanting him not to snub her.
Bond said: “You’re probably quite right. One shouldn’t believe all the scientists say. They want to make everything dull. Where did you live then?”
“At Ringwood in the New Forest. It was a good place to be brought up. A good place for children. I’d like to go there again one day.”
Bond said: “You’ve certainly come a long way since then. You’d probably find it pretty dull.”
She reached out and touched his sleeve. “Please don’t say that. You don’t understand – ” there was an edge of desperation in the soft voice – “I can’t bear to go on missing what other people have – ordinary people. I mean,” she laughed nervously, “you won’t believe me, but just to talk like this for a few minutes, to have someone like you to talk to, is something I’d almost forgotten.” She suddenly reached for his hand and held it hard. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to do that. Now I’ll go to bed.”
The soft voice came from behind them. The speech had slurred, but each word was carefully separated from the next. “Well, well. Whadya know? Necking with the underwater help!”
Mr Krest stood framed in the hatch to the saloon. He stood with his legs apart and his arms upstretched to the lintel above his head. With the light behind him he had the silhouette of a baboon. The cold, imprisoned breath of the saloon rushed out past him and for a moment chilled the warm night air in the well-deck. Mr Krest stepped out and softly pulled the door to behind him.
Bond took a step towards him, his hands held loosely at his sides. He measured the distance to Mr Krest’s solar plexus. He said: “Don’t jump to conclusions, Mr Krest. And watch your tongue. You’re lucky not to have got hurt so far tonight. Don’t press your luck. You’re drunk. Go to bed.”
“Oho! Listen to the cheeky feller.” Mr Krest’s moon-burned face turned slowly from Bond to his wife. He made a contemptuous, Hapsburg-lip grimace. He took a silver whistle out of his pocket and whirled it round on its string. “He sure don’t get the picture, does he, treasure? You ain’t told him that those Heinies up front ain’t just for ornament?” He turned back to Bond. “Feller, you move any closer and I blow this just once. And you know what? It’ll be the old heave-ho for Mr goddam Bond” – he made a gesture towards the sea – “over the side. Man overboard. Too bad. We back up to make a search and you know what, feller? Just by chance we back up into you with those twin screws. Would you believe it! What lousy bad luck for that nice feller Jim we were all getting so fond of!” Mr Krest swayed on his feet. “Dya get the photo, Jim? Okay, so let’s all be friends again and get some shut eye.” He reached for the lintel of the hatch and turned to his wife. He lifted his free hand and slowly crooked a finger. “Move, treasure. Time for bed.”