Bond sat down on Drax’s left.
M. beckoned to a passing waiter. “Coffee and the club brandy,” he said. He took out a thin black cheroot and offered one to Bond who accepted it. Then he picked up the red cards and started to shuffle them.
“Stakes?” asked Drax, looking at M. “One and One? Or more? I’ll be glad to accommodate you up to Five and Five.”
“One and One’ll be enough for me,” said M. “James?”
Drax cut in, “I suppose your guest knows what he’s in for?” he asked sharply.
Bond answered for M. “Yes,” he said briefly. He smiled at Drax. “And I feel rather generous tonight What would you like to take off me?”
“Every penny you’ve got,” said Drax cheerfully. “How much can you afford?”
“I’ll tell you when there’s none left,” said Bond. He suddenly decided to be ruthless. “I’m told that Five and Five is your limit. Let’s play for that.”
Almost before the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. £50 a hundred! £500 side-bets! Four bad rubbers would be double his income for a year. If something went wrong he’d look pretty stupid. Have to borrow from M. And M. wasn’t a particularly rich man. Suddenly he saw that this ridiculous game might end in a very nasty mess. He felt the prickle of sweat on his forehead. That damned benzedrine. And, for him of all people to allow himself to be needled by a blustering loud-mouthed bastard like Drax. And’ he wasn’t even on a job. The whole evening was a bit of a social pantomime that meant less than nothing to him. Even M. had only been dragged into it by chance. And all of a sudden he’d let himself be swept up into a duel with this multi-millionaire, into a gamble for literally all Bond possessed, for the simple reason that the man had got filthy manners and he’d wanted to teach him a lesson. And supposing the lesson didn’t come off? Bond cursed himself for an impulse that earlier in the day would have seemed unthinkable. Champagne and benzedrine! Never again.
Drax was looking at him in sarcastic disbelief. He turned to M. who was still unconcernedly shuffling the cards. “I suppose your guest is good for his commitments,” he said. Unforgivably.
Bond saw the bloods rush up M.’s neck and into his face. M. paused for an instant in his shuffling. When he continued Bond noticed that his hands were quite calm. M. looked up and took the cheroot very deliberately out from between his teeth. His voice was perfectly controlled. “If you mean ‘Am I good for my guest’s commitments’,” he said coldly, “the answer is yes.”
He cut the cards to Drax with his left hand and with his right knocked the ash off his cheroot into the copper ashtray in the corner of the table. Bond heard the faint hiss as the burning ash hit the water.
Drax squinted sideways at M. He picked up the cards. “Of course, of course,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean…” He left the sentence unfinished and turned to Bond. “Right, then,” he said, looking rather curiously at Bond. “Five and Five it is. Meyer,” he turned to his partner, “how much would you like to take? There’s Six and Six to cut up.”
“One and One’s enough for me, Hugger,” said Meyer apologetically. “Unless you’d like me to take some more.” He looked anxiously at his partner.
“Of course not,” said Drax. “I like a high game. Never get enough on, generally. Now then,” he started to deal. “Off we go.”
And suddenly Bond didn’t care about the high stakes. Suddenly all he wanted to do was to give this hairy ape the lesson of his life, give him a shock which would make him remember this evening for ever, remember Bond, remember M., remember the last time he would cheat at Blades, remember the time of day, the weather outside, what he had had for dinner.
For all its importance, Bond had forgotten the Moonraker. This was a private affair between two men.
As he watched the casual downward glance at the cigarette-case between the two hands and felt the cool memory ticking up the card values as they passed over its surface, Bond cleared his mind of all regrets, absolved himself of all blame for what was about to happen, and focused his attention on the game. He settled himself more comfortably into his chair and rested his hands on the padded leather arms. Then he took the thin cheroot from between his teeth, laid it on the burnished copper surround of the ashtray beside him and reached for his coffee. It was very black and strong. He emptied the cup and picked up the balloon glass with its fat measure of pale brandy. As he sipped it and then drank ” again, more deeply, he looked over the rim at M. M. met his eye and smiled briefly.