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

It was a beautiful day and there was heavy dew on the ground, and in the dew I could see the single track of his footprints leading to where the car had been. A bobolink flew crying across the clearing, and from somewhere in the trees came the dying call of a mourning dove.

The ruins of the motel were black and hideous, and a ghostly wisp of smoke rose straight up into the still air from the remains of the lobby block. I went back into the cabin and had a shower and began briskly to pack my things into my two saddlebags. Then I saw the letter on the dressing table and I went and sat on the bed and read it.

It was written on motel paper from the writing desk. The writing was very clear and even, and he had used a real pen and not a ball-point.

Dear Viv,

You may have to show this to the police, so I will be businesslike. I am on my way to Glens Falls, where I will make a full report to the police after telling the Highway Patrol to get to you immediately. I will also get in touch with Washington and they will almost certainly put Albany in charge of the case. I shall pull every string to see that you are not worried too much and that they let you go on your way after getting your statement. Glens Falls will have my route and the registration number of the car, and they will be able to pick me up, wherever I am, if you need any help or they want to know anything more from me. You won’t be able to get any breakfast so I shall have the Patrol bring you a Thermos of coffee and sandwiches to keep you alive. I would much like to stay with you, if only to see Mr. Sanguinetti! But I very much doubt if he will be turning up this morning. I guess that when he heard nothing from his two strong-arm boys he went like hell to Albany and got on the first plane for the south on his way out to Mexico. I shall tell Washington that that’s my guess and they should be able to pick him up if they get a move on. He should get life for this, or what’s known as “from now on,” or “The Rosary,” in the language we’ve been learning. And now listen. You, and up to a point me, have saved the insurance company at least half a million dollars, and there’ll be a big reward. I’m not allowed to accept rewards by the rules of my job, so there’s no argument about that, even if it weren’t a fact that it was you who took the principal burden of all this and it’s you who are the heroine. So I’m going to make a real issue of this and see that the insurance company does the right thing. And something else. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one or both of those hoodlums wasn’t wanted by the police and has a reward on his head. I’ll see to that too. As for the future, drive very carefully the rest of the way. And don’t have nightmares. These sort of things don’t often happen. Treat it all as just a bad motor accident you were lucky to get out of. And go on being as wonderful as you are. If you ever want me or need any help, wherever you are, you can get me by letter or cable, but not by telephone, c/o Ministry of Defence, Storey’s Gate, London, S.W. 1.

Ever, J.B.

PS. Your tyre pressures are too high for the South.

Remember to take them down.

PPS. Try Guerlain’s “Fleurs des Alpes” instead of Camay!

* * *

I heard the roar of motorcycles coming up the road. When they stopped, there was the brief wail of a siren to announce who they were. I put the letter inside the front of my overalls and pulled up the zip and went out to meet the Law.

They were two state troopers, smart and young and very nice. I’d almost forgotten such people existed. They saluted me as if I was royalty. “Miss Vivienne Michel?” The senior, a lieutenant, did the talking while his Number Two muttered quietly into his radio, announcing their arrival.

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