Outside, on the beach he sat down near the surf, wrapped in thought as he was lulled by the noise of the sea. He thought of all the years he had spent living in secret yet enjoying everything that his hedonistic life had to offer.
What had he become, he asked himself. Was he just a killing machine? Did his superiors let him get away with all kinds of excesses both on and off missions because they understood the kind of strain his work produced? He knew that some people turned a blind eye to certain aspects of his way of life, just as he knew that they paid him more than most of the regular officers of the Secret Intelligence Service.
He went back over so much of his life that he wondered if he were getting maudlin about things, like a drunk ready to cry into his beer.
He really had to snap out of this, it was not doing any good.
Natalya came barefoot across the sand, turning her face towards the sea breeze as she stood close to him. Presently she reached down and tousled his hair, but he did not move, and even seemed unaware of her presence until she spoke, squatting on the sand next to him.
“Janus was your friend, wasn’t he?” he asked.
“Several lifetimes ago, yes.
“And now he is your enemy. So tomorrow you’ll go and kill him.
It’s that simple, yes?”
“Yes.” She drew in breath through her nostrils.
The sound made him look at her and he saw the anger in her eyes.
“No, James. No, it’s not that easy.” She tried to get up from the sand, but he grabbed her arm and drew her back to him.
“I hate you,’ she spat like an angry cat. “I hate you. I hate all of you. Your kind’ve caused so much grief all over the world, with your guns and your instruments of death.” She began hitting at him, pummelling his chest He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as her fighting became less violent and she began to cry softly. “So many of my friends,’ she sobbed. “My friends, members of my family. So many have died because of people like you.
“There have to be people like me.” He hugged her close.
“I do a necessary job. If I didn’t do it, someone else would.
I simply have to level things off so that one day there will be some true kind of peace in the world.” After a while, her sobbing stopped, and he helped her to her feet. Together they walked back to the house.
Inside, the air was cooled by two overhead fans; the lights were turned down to a pleasant dusk-like glow; the stereo was playing the late Miles Davis’ evergreen “Sketches of Spain’: the soft lush sound of the waves breaking on the beach outside counterpointing the music.
They stood close together, all senses merging, hands touching, their nostrils gathering up the pleasant smell of island flowers combining with faintly aromatic scents of the dish, which Bond had set to cook slowly in the kitchen.
When he kissed her, he tasted the aftermath of sweet fruit. When she kissed him back, her tongue sliced into his mouth, caressing the inside of his cheeks, coming away with the slight tang of the champagne he had sipped less than an hour before.
He took her by the hand and she followed him, eyes downcast as though she were completely innocent of men, which would have been a lie. In front of the bed they slowly undressed each other. She wore no bra under her T-shirt, and only the flimsiest garment was revealed as her skirt dropped to the floor.
She gave a little giggle and whispered, “More romantic than the schoolgirl pants, eh?”
“And softer on the skin.” The little white froth of nylon fell to the floor and she stepped forward, yanking at his belt and stripping the thin lightweight pants from his legs.
In the distance, she seemed to hear her mother, flustered, Natalya have you no shame when, years ago, she had caught her with a local boy.
She allowed him to turn her and lift her onto the bed.
He slid quietly on top of her, taking his weight on his forearms, and Natalya suddenly sucked in air as her hands enfolded him.
Embracing him with her fingers, she pulled him to her lips and kissed him, then pushed him back so that his manhood lay across her belly.
She felt his hands slide under her buttocks, pressing, stroking and kneading them as he bent his mouth to kiss first one breast and then the other. Her hands guided him down and he slid into her, thick and long so that she lifted her buttocks in his hands and let out a sharp breath of pleasure.
They had become one person, locked and moving slowly through the wonder of that great pleasure only woman can give to man, and man to woman.
Both of them had dreamed of nights like this from the first moment of meeting though neither would have ever admitted it, as they found the rhythm, lost it, then discovered a natural movement belonging only to them. Two people, locked as one.
She murmured something as he thrust deep into her a Russian expression for loving he thought - then their mouths closed on each other and they were swept away in that dance which neither ever wanted to end. Yet eventually it reached its peak in a kind of explosion and cleansing, sweeping them to the shore of some place beyond this planet, far from their previous experience.
In the sweat-soaked, pulsing, exhausting moment, their eyes locked, so they both knew that should this be the last time either was consumed in passion it did not matter, for they had tasted everything possible, good, lasting and memorable in physical love.
Later, in the afterglow, she clung to him.
“James. ?” Her voice husky.
“Yes?”
“On the train. When you told them to kill me, that I meant nothing to you, did you mean that?”
“Of course.
She propped herself on one elbow and looked at him, lines of concern raking across her brow.
Then Bond laughed. “Natalya, my darling girl, it’s a basic rule.
Always call their bluff.” She grabbed a pillow and swung at him with it, almost shouting, her voice high and full of joy -“You lying devil, James.” He fended off the pillow and drew her back to him for a long kiss which seemed to go on until their lungs reached bursting point.
Presently, she asked him if he knew this island well.
“Why?”
“Oh, I just had a feeling that you knew where you were going when we were out driving this afternoon.
He lay, silent for a moment. “I know it,’ he said softly.
“In some ways I have reason to hate it, but now there is a new reason for me to love it.”
“Something sad happened to you here?”
“Something I shouldn’t talk about, I’m afraid.” Once more a long pause.
“There was a woman, she said, bluntly. “It’s OK, James.
I’m not jealous about what happened before we met.”
“Yes,’ he heard the tiny kink in the back of his throat.
“Yes, there was a woman. She’s alive, but she may never walk again. We were dealing with a very bad man.”
“As bad as Ourumov?”
“On a scale of one to ten they’d come out about equal.” More silence and the foam surfing up the beach.
“Kiss me again, James. Please. Please take me again.
Who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.
His hands stroked her body, legs, thighs, belly, breasts, neck and shoulders. “This is the island I really want to know,’ he whispered.
“Then get to know it,’ she said. “And to hell with tomorrow.
They came in very low off the sea, crossing the coast and cruising just above the jungle. The lush greenery below looked impenetrable, but they could occasionally glimpse the odd small clearing. There was no sign of life.
“Turn ten degrees south and hold bearing one-eightfour.” Natalya had navigated all the way and brought them in right on track. She was just the kind of girl with whom Bond could have happily spent the rest of his life - smart, plenty of initiative, that sixth sense they called intuition, full of loyalty and a ferocious courage. She was not just a very attractive face and body, but a woman he could trust In a very short time, she had come to trust him.