Ian Fleming. The Spy Who Loved Me. James Bond #10

“Have one? Senior Service. I suppose it’ll have to be Chesterfields from now on.” His mouth turned slightly down as he smiled.

“No, thanks. Not now. After I’ve done the cooking.”

“By the way, what’s your name? You’re Canadian aren’t you?”

“Yes, from Quebec. But I’ve been in England the last five years or so. I’m Vivienne Michel. My friends call me Viv.”

“How in God’s name did you manage to get into this fix? Those are a couple of the toughest hoodlums I’ve seen in years. And Troy’s a bad town—sort of a gangster suburb to Albany. The thin one’s just finished a long stretch in jail, or I’ll eat my hat. The other looks like the worst kind of psycho. How did it happen?”

I told him, in short bursts between the cooking, and cutting out all but the essentials. He listened quietly and without comment. Music was still coming from the radio, but the two gangsters were sitting silently watching us, so I kept my voice low. When I had finished, I said, “But is it true that you’re a policeman?”

“Not quite. But I’m in that sort of business.”

“You mean a detective?”

“Well, sort of.”

“I knew it!”

He laughed. “How?”

“Oh, I don’t know. But you look, kind of—kind of dangerous. And that was a gun you took out of your bag, and ammunition. Are you”—I was embarrassed, but I needed to know—”are you official? I mean from the Government?”

He smiled reassuringly. “Oh, yes. Don’t worry about that. And they know me in Washington. If we get out of this all right, I’m going to go after those two.” His eyes were cold again. “I’m going to see they get roasted for what they did to you.”

“You do believe me?”

“Of course. Every word. But what I can’t make out is what they’re up to. They seem to have acted as if they knew they were safe to do anything they liked with you. And now they seem quite calm about me having got into the act. I don’t like it. Have they had any drinks? Do they smoke?”

“No. Neither of them.”

“I don’t like that either. It’s only pros that don’t.”

I had finished cooking his supper and I put it up on the counter. He ate as if he was really hungry. I asked him if it was all right. He said it was wonderful, and I felt warm inside. What a fantastic bit of luck, this man, and just this man, coming so magically out of the blue! I felt humble about it. It was so much a miracle. I swore to myself to say my prayers that night, the first time for years. I hovered about him slavishly, offering him more coffee, some jam to finish his toast with. Finally he laughed tenderly at me. “You’re spoiling me. Here, I’m sorry. I forgot all about it. It’s time for your cigarette. You’ve earned the whole easeful.” He lit it with a Ronson, gunmetaled like his case. My hand touched his, and I felt a small shock pass down my body. I suddenly found I was trembling. I quickly took the dishes and began washing them. I said, “I haven’t earned anything. It’s so wonderful you’re here. It’s an absolute miracle.” My voice choked and I felt stupid tears coming. I brushed the back of my hand across my eyes. He must have seen, but he pretended not to have.

Instead he said cheerfully, “Yes. It was a stroke of luck. At least I hope so. Can’t count the chickens yet. Tell you what. We’ve got to sit these two hoodlums out. Wait until they make a move, go to bed or something. Would you like to hear just how I came to turn up tonight? It’ll all be in the papers in a day or two. The story. Only I won’t be mentioned. So you must promise to forget my side of the thing. It’s all nonsense, really. These regulations. But I have to work under them. All right? It might take your mind off your troubles. They seem to have been pretty powerful ones.”

I said gratefully, “Yes, please tell me. And I promise. Cross my heart.”

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