“Do they eat boiled vegetables for lunch?”
“Yes, and they drink carrot juice and prune juice.”
“We won’t get on, then. I won’t sink lower than conch chowder.”
She looked at him curiously. “You seem to know a lot about Nassau.”
“You mean about conch being an aphrodisiac? That’s not only a Nassau idea. It’s all over the world where there are conchs.”
“Is it true?”
“Island people have it on their wedding night. I haven’t found it to have any effect on me.”
“Why?” She looked mischievous. “Are you married?”
“No.” Bond smiled across into her eyes. “Are you?”
“No.”
Then we might both try some conch soup some time and see what happens.”
“That’s only a little better than the millionaires. You’ll have to try harder.”
The drinks came. The girl stirred hers with a finger, to mix in the brown sediment of Worcester sauce, and drank half of it. She reached for the carton of Dukes, broke it open, and slit a packet with her thumbnail. She took out a cigarette, sniffed it cautiously, and lit it with Bond’s lighter. She inhaled deeply and blew out a long plume of smoke. She said doubtfully, “Not bad. At least the smoke looks like smoke. Why did you say you were such an expert on giving up smoking?”
“Because I’ve given it up so often.” Bond thought it time to get away from the small talk. He said, “Why do you talk such good English? Your accent sounds Italian.”
“Yes, my name’s Dominetta Vitali. But I was sent to school in England. To the Cheltenham Ladies College. Then I went to RADA to learn acting. The English kind of acting. My parents thought that was a ladylike way to be brought up. Then they were both killed in a train crash. I went back to Italy to earn my living. I remembered my English but”—she laughed without bitterness—“I soon forgot most of the rest. You don’t get far in the Italian theater by being able to walk about with a book balanced on your head.”
“But this relative with the yacht.” Bond looked out to sea. “Wasn’t he there to look after you?”
“No.” The answer was curt. When Bond made no comment she added, “He’s not exactly a relative, not a close one. He’s a sort of close friend. A guardian.” “Oh, yes.”
“You must come and visit us on the yacht.” She felt that a bit of gush was needed. “He’s called Largo, Emilio Largo. You’ve probably heard. He’s here on some kind of a treasure hunt.”
“Really?” Now it was Bond’s turn to gush. “That sounds rather fun, Of course I’d like to meet him. What’s it all about? Is there anything in it?”
“Heaven knows. He’s very secretive about it. Apparently there’s some kind of a map. But I’m not allowed to see it and I have to stay ashore when he goes off prospecting or whatever he does. A lot of people have put up money for it, sort of shareholders. They’ve all just arrived. As we’re going in a week or so, I suppose everything’s ready and the real hunt’s going to start any moment now.”
“What are the shareholders like? Do they seem sensible sort of people? The trouble with most treasure hunts is that either someone’s been there before and sneaked off with the treasure or the ship’s so deep in the coral you can’t get at it.”
“They seem all right. Very dull and rich. Terribly serious for something as romantic as treasure hunting. They seem to spend all their time with Largo. Plotting and planning, I suppose. And they never seem to go out in the sun or go bathing or anything. It’s as if they didn’t want to get sunburned. As far as I can gather, none of them have ever been in the tropics before. Just a typical bunch of stuffy businessmen. They’re probably better than that. I haven’t seen much of them. Largo’s giving a party for them at the Casino tonight.”
“What do you do all day?”
“Oh, I fool around. Do a bit of shopping for the yacht. Drive around in the car. Bathe on other people’s beaches when their houses are empty. I like underwater swimming. I’ve got an aqualung and I take one of the crew out or a fisherman. The crew are better. They all do it.”