The click of the deck hatch sliding back saved Bond’s temper. Mr Krest was swept from his mind as a naked sunburned girl came down the steps into the saloon. No, she wasn’t quite naked after all, but the pale brown satin scraps of bikini were designed to make one think she was.
“‘Lo, treasure. Where have you been hiding? Long time no see. Meet Mr Barbey and Mr Bond, the fellers who are coming along.” Mr Krest raised a hand in the direction of the girl. “Fellers, this is Mrs Krest. The fifth Mrs Krest. And just in case anybody should get any ideas, she loves Mr Krest. Don’t you, treasure?”
“Oh don’t be silly, Milt, you know I do.” Mrs Krest smiled prettily. “How do you do, Mr Barbey. And Mr Bond. It’s nice to have you with us. What about a drink?”
“Now just a minute, treas. Suppose you let me fix things aboard my own ship, hein?” Mr Krest’s voice was soft and pleasant.
The woman blushed. “Oh yes, Milt, of course.”
“Okay then, just so we know who’s skipper aboard the good ship Wawekrest.” The amused smile embraced them all. “Now then, Mr Barbey. What’s your first name, by the way? Fidele, eh? That’s quite a name. Old Faithful,” Mr Krest chuckled bonhomously. “Well now, Fido, how’s about you and me go upon the bridge and get this little old skiff moving, hein? Mebbe you better take her out into the open sea and then you can set a course and hand over to Fritz. I’m the captain. He’s the mate, and there are two for the engine-room and pantry. All three Germans. Only darned sailors left in Europe. And Mr Bond. First name? James, eh? Well, Jim, what say you practise a bit of that civility and servitude on Mrs Krest. Call her Liz, by the way. Help her fix the canap‚s and so on for drinks before lunch. She was once a Limey too. You can swap yarns about Piccadilly Circus and the Dooks you both know. Okay? Move, Fido.” He sprang boyishly up the steps. “Let’s get the hell outa here.”
When the hatch closed, Bond let out a deep breath. Mrs Krest said apologetically: “Please don’t mind his jokes. It’s just his sense of humour. And he’s a bit contrary. He likes to see if he can rile people. It’s very naughty of him. But it’s really all in fun.”
Bond smiled reassuringly. How often did she have to make this speech to people, try and calm the tempers of the people Mr Krest had practised his ‘sense of humour’ on? He said: “I expect your husband needs a bit of knowing. Does he go on the same way back in America?”
She said without bitterness: “Only with me. He loves Americans. It’s when he’s abroad. You see, his father was a German, a Prussian really. He’s got that silly German thing of thinking Europeans and so on are decadent, that they aren’t any good any more. It’s no use arguing with him. It’s just a thing he’s got.”
So that was it! The old Hun again. Always at your feet or at your throat. Sense of humour indeed! And what must this woman have to put up with, this beautiful girl he had got hold of to be his slave – his English slave? Bond said: “How long have you been married?”
“Two years. I was working as a receptionist in one of his hotels. He owns the Krest Group, you know. It was wonderful. Like a fairy story. I still have to pinch my self sometimes to make sure I’m not dreaming. This, for instance,” she waved a hand at the luxurious room, “and he’s terribly good to me. Always giving me presents. He’s a very important man in America, you know. It’s fun being treated like royalty wherever you go.”
“It must be. He likes that sort of thing, I suppose?”
“Oh yes.” There was resignation in the laugh. “There’s a lot of the sultan in him, He get’s quite impatient if he doesn’t get proper service. He says that when one’s worked very hard to get to the top of the tree one has a right to the best fruit that grows there.” Mrs Krest found she was talking too freely. She said quickly: “But really, what am I saying? Anyone would think we had known each other for years.” She smiled shyly. “I suppose it’s meeting someone from England. But I really must go and get some more clothes on. I was sunbathing on deck.” There came a deep rumble from below-deck amidships. “There. We’re off. Why don’t you watch us leave harbour from the afterdeck, and I’ll come and join you in a minute. There’s so much I want to hear about London. This way.” She moved past him and slid open a door. “As a matter of fact, if you’re sensible, you’ll stake a claim to this for the nights. There are plenty of cushions, and the cabins are apt to get a bit stuffy in spite of the air-conditioning.”