Nobody Lives for Ever

3

SUKIE

‘James Bond!’ The delight seemed genuine enough, but with beautiful women you could never be sure.

‘In the flesh,’ he said as he moved closer. For the first time he really saw her eyes: large, brown with violet flecks, oval, and set off by naturally long, curling lashes. They were eyes, he thought, that could be the undoing or the making of a man. His own flicked down to the full, firm curve of her breasts under the well-fitting leather. She stuck out her lower lip, to blow hair from her forehead, as she had done the day before.

‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’ Her wide mouth tilted in a warm smile. ‘I’m so glad. I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly yesterday.’ She bobbed a mock curtsey. ‘Mr Bond, I might even owe you my life. Thank you very much. I mean very much.’

He moved to one side of the reception desk so that he could watch her and at the same time keep an eye on the main doors. Instinctively, he felt danger close at hand. Danger by being close to Sukie Tempesta, perhaps.

Outside the commotion was still going on. There were police among the crowd and the sound of sirens floated down from the main street and the church above. Bond knew he needed his back against a wall all the time now. She asked him what was going on, and when he told her she shrugged.

‘It’s commonplace where I spend most of my time. In Rome, murder is a fact of life nowadays, but somehow you don’t expect it here in Switzerland.’

‘It’s commonplace anywhere.’ Bond tried his most charming smile. ‘But what are you doing here, Miss Tempesta – or is it Mrs, or even Signora?’

She wrinkled her nose prettily and raised her eyebrows. ‘Principessa, actually – if we have to be formal.’

Bond lifted an eyebrow. ‘Principessa Tempesta.’ He dropped his head in a formal bow.

‘Sukie,’ she said with a wide smile, the large eyes innocent, yet with a tiny tinge of mockery. ‘You must call me Sukie, Mr Bond. Please.’

‘James.’

‘James.’ And at that moment the padrone came bustling up to complete her booking. As soon as he saw the title on the registration form everything changed to a hand-wringing, bowing comedy, causing Bond to smile wryly.

‘You haven’t yet told me what you’re doing here,’ he continued, over the hotel keeper’s effusions.

‘Could I do that over dinner? At least I owe you that.’

Her hand touched his forearm and he felt the natural exchange of static. Warning bells rang in his head. No chances, he thought, don’t take chances with anybody, particularly anyone you find attractive.

‘Dinner would be very pleasant,’ he replied before once more asking what she was doing here on Lake Maggiore.

‘My little motor car has broken down. There’s something very wrong, according to the garage here – which probably means all they’ll do is change the plugs. But they say it’s going to take days.’

‘And you’re heading for?’

‘Rome, naturally.’ She blew at her hair again.

‘What a happy coincidence.’ Bond gave another bow. ‘If I can be of service . . .’

She hesitated briefly. ‘Oh, I’m sure you can. Shall we meet for dinner down here in half an hour?’

‘I’ll be waiting, Principessa.’

He thought he saw her nose wrinkle and her tongue poke out like a naughty schoolgirl as she turned to follow the padrone to her room.

In the privacy of his own room, Bond telephoned London again, to tell them about Cordova. He had the scrambler on, and as an afterthought asked them to run a check on both the Interpol computer and their own, on the Principessa Sukie Tempesta. He also asked the Duty Officer if they had any information about the BMW’s owner, Herr Tempel of Freiburg. Nothing yet, he was told, but some material had been sent to M that afternoon.

‘You’ll hear soon enough if it’s important. Have a nice holiday.’

Very droll, thought Bond as he packed away the scrambler, a CC500 which can be used on any telephone in the world and allows only the legitimate receiving party to hear the caller en clair. Each CC500 has to be individually programmed so that eavesdroppers can hear only indecipherable sounds, even if they tap in with a compatible system. It was now standard Service practice for all officers out of the country, on duty or leave, to carry a CC500, and the access codes were altered daily.

There were ten minutes to spare before he was due to meet Sukie, though Bond doubted she would be on time. He washed quickly, rubbing cologne hard into face and hair, and then put on a blue cotton jacket over his shirt. He went quickly downstairs and out to the car. There was still a great deal of police activity in the churchyard, and he could see that a crime team had set up lights where Cordova’s body had been discovered.

Inside the car he waited for the courtesy lights to go out before he pressed the switch on the main panel, revealing the hidden compartment below. He checked the 9mm ASP and buckled its compact holster in place underneath his jacket, then secured the baton holster to his belt. Whatever was going on around him was dangerous. At least two lives had already been lost – probably more – and he did not intend to end up as the next cadaver.

To his surprise, Sukie was already at the bar when he got back into the hotel.

‘Like a dutiful woman, I didn’t order anything while I waited.’

‘I prefer dutiful women.’

Bond slid on to the bar stool next to her, turning it slightly so that he had a clear view of anyone coming through the big glass doors at the front. ‘What will you drink?’

‘Oh no, tonight’s on me. In honour of your saving my honour, James.’

Again her hand lightly brushed his arm, and he felt the same electricity. Bond capitulated.

‘I know we’re in Ticino, where they think grappa is good liquor. Still, I’ll stick to the comic drinks. A Campari soda, if I may.’

She ordered the same, then the padrone bustled over with the menu. It was very alla famiglia, very semplice, he explained. It would make a change, Bond said, and Sukie asked him to order for them both. He said he would be difficult and change the menu around a little, starting with the Melone con kirsch, though he asked them to serve his without the kirsch. Bond disliked any food soused in alcohol.

‘For the entree there’s really only one dish, pasta excepted, in these parts, you’ll agree?’

‘The coscia di agnello?’

She smiled as he nodded. In the north these spiced chops were known as ‘lamm-Gigot’. Here, among the Ticinese, they were less delicate in taste, but made delicious by the use of much garlic. Like Bond, Sukie refused any vegetables, but accepted the plain green salad which he also ordered, together with a bottle of Frecciarossa Bianco, the best white wine they appeared to supply. Bond had taken one look at the champagnes and pronounced them undrinkable, but ‘probably reasonable for making a dressing’, at which Sukie laughed. Her laugh was, Bond thought, the least attractive thing about her, a little harsh, maybe not entirely genuine.

When they were seated Bond wasted no time in offering to help her on her journey.

‘I’m leaving for Rome in the morning. I’d be very pleased to give you a lift. That is, if the Principe won’t be offended at a commoner bringing you home.’

She gave a little pout. ‘He’s in no position to be offended. Principe Pasquale Tempesta died last year.’

‘I’m sorry, I . . .’

She gave a dismissive wave of the right hand. ‘Oh, don’t be sorry. He was eighty-three. We were married for two years. It was convenient, that’s all.’ She did not smile, or try to make light of it.

‘A marriage of convenience?’

‘No, it was just convenient. I like good things. He had money; he was old; he needed someone to keep him warm at night. In the Bible, didn’t King David take a young girl – Abishag – to keep him warm?’

‘I believe so. My upbringing was rather Calvinistic, but I do seem to recall the Lower Fourth sniggering over that story.’

‘Well, that’s what I was, Pasquale Tempesta’s Abishag, and he enjoyed it. Now I enjoy what he left me.’

‘For an Italian you speak excellent English.’

‘I should. I am English. Sukie’s short for Susan.’ There was the smile again, and then the laugh, a little more mellow this time.

‘You speak excellent Italian then.’

‘And French, and German. I told you that yesterday, when you were trying to ask subtle questions, to find out about me.’

She reached forward, putting out a hand to cover his as it lay on the table beside his glass.

‘Don’t worry, James, I’m not a witch. But I can spot nosey questions. Comes from the nuns, then living with Pasquale’s people.’

‘Nuns?’

‘I’m a good convent-educated girl, James. You know about girls who’ve been educated in convents?’

‘A fair amount.’

She gave another little pout. ‘I was pretty well brainwashed. Daddy was a broker – all very ordinary: home counties; mock Tudor house; two cars; one scandal. Daddy was caught out with some funny cheques and got five years in an open prison. Collapse of stout family. I’d just finished at the convent, and was all set to go to Oxford. That was out, so I answered an ad in The Times for a nanny, with a mound of privileges, to an Italian family of good birth: Pasquale’s son, as it happened. It’s an old title, like all the surviving Italian nobility, but with one difference. They still have property and money.’

The Tempestas had taken the new English nanny into the family as one of their own. The old man, the Principe, had become a second father to her. She became very fond of him, so when he proposed a marriage – which he described as comodo as opposed to comodita – Sukie saw a certain wisdom in taking up the offer. Yet even in that she showed shrewdness, careful to ensure that the marriage would in no way deprive Pasquale’s two sons of their rightful inheritance.

‘It did, to some extent, but they’re both wealthy and successful in their own right, and they didn’t object. You know old Italian families, James. Papa’s happiness, Papa’s rights, respect for Papa . . .’

Bond asked how the two sons had achieved success, and she hesitated for a fraction too long before going on airily.

‘Oh, business. They own companies and that kind of thing – and, yes, James, I’ll take you up on your offer of a ride to Rome. Thank you.’

They were half-way through the lamb when the padrone came hurrying forward, excused himself to Sukie, and bent to whisper that there was an urgent telephone call for Bond. He pointed towards the bar, where the telephone was off the hook.

‘Bond,’ he said quietly into the receiver.

‘James, you somewhere private?’ He recognised the voice immediately. It was Bill Tanner, M’s Chief-of-Staff.

‘No. I’m having dinner.’

‘This is urgent. Very urgent. Could you . . . ?’

‘Of course.’ He put down the receiver and went back to the table to make his apologies to Sukie. ‘It won’t take long.’ He told her about May being ill in the clinic. ‘They want me to ring them back.’

In his room he set up the CC500 and called London. Bill Tanner came on the line straight away.

‘Don’t say anything, James, just listen. The instructions are from M. Do you accept that?’

‘Of course.’

He had no alternative if Bill Tanner said he was speaking for the Chief of the Secret Service.

‘You’re to stay where you are and take great care.’ There was anxiety in Tanner’s voice.

‘I’m due in Rome tomorrow, I . . .’

‘Listen to me, James. Rome’s coming to you. You, I repeat you, are in the gravest danger. Genuine danger. We can’t get anyone to you quickly, so you’ll have to watch your own back. But stay put. Understand?’

‘I understand.’ When Bill Tanner spoke of Rome coming to him, he meant Steve Quinn, the Service Resident in Rome. The same Steve Quinn Bond had planned to stay with for a couple of days. He asked why Rome was coming to him.

‘To put you fully in the picture. Brief you. Try to get you out.’ He heard Tanner take a quick breath at the other end of the line. ‘I can’t stress the danger strongly enough, old friend. The Chief suspected problems before you left, but we only got the hard intelligence in the last hour. M has flown to Geneva and Quinn is on his way there to be briefed. Then he will come straight to you. He’ll be with you before lunch. In the meantime, trust nobody. For God’s sake, just stay close.’

‘I’m with the Tempesta girl now. Promised her a ride to Rome. What’s the form on her?’ Bond was crisp.

‘We haven’t got it all, but her connections seem clean enough. Certainly not involved with the Honoured Society. Treat her with care, though. Don’t let her get behind you.’

‘I was thinking of the opposite, as a matter of fact.’ Bond’s mouth moved into a hard smile, tinged with a hint of cruelty.

Tanner told him to keep her at the hotel. ‘Stall her about Rome, but don’t alert her. You really don’t know who are your friends and who your enemies. Rome will give you the full strength tomorrow.’

‘We won’t be able to leave until late morning, I’m afraid,’ he told Sukie, once back at the table. ‘That was a business chum who’s been to see my old housekeeper. He’s passing through here tomorrow morning, and I really can’t miss the chance of seeing him.’

She said it did not matter. ‘I was hoping for a lie-in tomorrow anyway.’ Could he detect an invitation in her voice?

They talked on and had coffee and a fine in the neat dining room, with its red and white checked tablecloths and gleaming cutlery, the two stolid north Italian waitresses attending the diners as though serving writs instead of food.

Sukie suggested they should sit at one of the tables outside the Mirto, but Bond made the excuse that it could be uncomfortable.

‘Mosquitoes and midges tend to congregate around the lights. You’ll end up with that lovely skin blotched. It’s safer indoors.’

She asked what kind of business he was in, and he gave her the usual convincing if vague patter, which she appeared to accept. They talked of towns and cities they both enjoyed, and of food and drink.

‘Perhaps I can take you to dinner in Rome,’ Bond suggested. ‘Without wanting to seem ungrateful, I think we can get something a little more interesting at Papa Giovanni’s or the Augustea.’

‘I’d love it. It’s a change to talk to someone who knows Europe well. Pasquale’s family are very Roman, I’m afraid. They don’t really see much further than the Appian Way.’

Bond found it a pleasant evening, although he had to make some effort to appear relaxed after hearing the news from London. Now he had to get through the night.

They went up together, with Bond offering to escort Sukie to her room. They reached the door, and he had no doubts as to what should happen. She came into his arms easily enough, but when he kissed her she did not respond, but kept her lips closed tight, her body rigid. So, he thought, one of those. But he tried again, if only because he wanted to keep her in sight. This time she pulled away, gently putting her fingers to his mouth.

‘I’m sorry, James. But no.’ There was the ghost of a smile as she said, ‘I’m a good convent girl, remember. But that’s not the only reason. If you’re serious, be patient. Now, goodnight, and thank you for the lovely evening.’

‘I should thank you, Principessa,’ he said with a touch of formality.

He watched as she closed her door, then went slowly to his own room, swallowed a couple of Dexedrine tablets and prepared to sit up all night.