So, thought Bond. That explained the curious mixture the girl was – the kind of wild «lady» that was so puzzling in her. What a complex of bloods and temperaments! Corsican English. No wonder he hadn’t been able to define her nationality.
«My wife died ten years ago» – Marc-Ange held up his hand, not wanting sympathy – «and I had the girl’s education finished in Switzerland. I was already rich and at that time I was elected Capu, that is chief, of the Union, and became infinitely richer – by means, my dear Commander, which you can guess but need not inquire into. The girl was – how do you say? – that charming expression, ‘the apple of my eye’, and I gave her all she wanted. But she was a wild one, a wild bird, without a proper home, or, since I was always on the move, without proper supervision. Through her school in Switzerland, she entered the fast international set that one reads of in the newspapers – the South American millionaires, the Indian princelings, the Paris English and Americans, the playboys of Cannes and Gstaad. She was always getting in and out of scrapes and scandals, and when I remonstrated with her, cut off her allowance, she would commit some even grosser folly – to spite me, I suppose.» He paused and looked at Bond and now there was a terrible misery in the happy face. «And yet all the while, behind her bravado, the mother’s side of her blood was making her hate herself, despise herself more and more, and as I now see it, the worm of self-destruction had somehow got a hold inside her and, behind the wild, playgirl facade, was eating away what I can only describe as her soul.» He looked at Bond. «You know that this can happen, my friend – to men and to women. They burn the heart out of themselves by living too greedily, and suddenly they examine their lives and see that they are worthless. They have had everything, eaten all the sweets of life at one great banquet, and there is nothing left. She made what I now see was a desperate attempt to get back on the rails, so to speak. She went off, without telling me, and married, perhaps with the idea of settling down. But the man, a worthless Italian called Vicenzo, Count Giulio di Vicenzo, took as much of her money as he could lay his hands on and deserted her, leaving her with a girl child. I purchased a divorce and bought a small chateau for my daughter in the Dordogne and installed her there, and for once, with the baby and a pretty garden to look after, she seemed almost at peace. And then, my friend, six months ago, the baby died – died of that most terrible of all children’s ailments, spinal meningitis.»
There was silence in the little metal room. Bond thought of the girl a few yards away down the corridor. Yes. He had been near the truth. He had seen some of this tragic story in the calm desperation of the girl. She had indeed come to the end of the road!
Marc-Ange got slowly up from his chair and came round and poured out more whisky for himself and for Bond. He said, «Forgive me. I am a poor host. But the telling of this story, which I have always kept locked up inside me, to another man, has been a great relief.» He put a hand on Bond’s shoulder. «You understand that?»
«Yes. I understand that. But she is a fine girl. She still has nearly all her life to live. Have you thought of psychoanalysis? Of her church? Is she a Catholic?»
«No. Her mother would not have it. She is Presbyterian. But wait while I finish the story.» He went back to his chair and sat down heavily. «After the tragedy, she disappeared. She took her jewels and went off in that little car of hers, and I heard occasional news of her, selling the jewels and living furiously all over Europe, with her old set. Naturally I followed her, had her watched when I could, but she avoided all my attempts to meet her and talk to her. Then I heard from one of my agents that she had reserved a room here, at the Splendide, for last night, and I hurried down from Paris» – he waved a hand – «in this, because I had a presentiment of tragedy. You see, this was where we had spent the summers in her childhood and she had always loved it. She is a wonderful swimmer and she was almost literally in love with the sea. And, when I got the news, I suddenly had a dreadful memory, the memory of a day when she had been naughty and had been locked in her room all afternoon instead of going bathing. That night she had said to her mother, quite calmly, ‘You made me very unhappy keeping me away from the sea. One day, if I get really unhappy I shall swim out into the sea, down the path of the moon or the sun, and go on swimming until I sink. So there!’ Her mother told me the story and we laughed over it together, at the childish tantrum. But now I suddenly remembered again the occasion and it seemed to me that the childish fantasy might well have stayed with her, locked away deep down, and that now, wanting to put an end to herself, she had resurrected it and was going to act on it. And so, my dear friend, I had her closely watched from the moment she arrived. Your gentlemanly conduct in the casino, for which» – he looked across at Bond – «I now deeply thank you, was reported to me, as of course were your later movements together.» He held up his hand as Bond shifted with embarrassment. «There is nothing to be ashamed of, to apologize for, in what you did last night. A man is a man and, who knows? – but I shall come to that later. What you did, the way you behaved in general, may have been the beginning of some kind of therapy.»
Bond remembered how, in the Bombard, she had yielded when he leaned against her. It had been a tiny reaction, but it had held more affection, more warmth, than all the physical ecstasies of the night. Now, suddenly he had an inkling of why he might be here, where the root of the mystery lay, and he gave an involuntary shudder, as if someone had walked over his grave.
Marc-Ange continued, «So I put in my inquiry to my friend from the Deuxieme, at six o’clock this morning. At eight o’clock he went to his office and to the central files and by nine o’clock he had reported to me fully about you – by radio. I have a high-powered station in this vehicle.» He smiled. «And that is another of my secrets that I deliver into your hands. The report, if I may say so, was entirely to your credit, both as an officer in your Service, and, more important, as a man – a man, that is, in the terms that I understand the word. So I reflected. I reflected all through this morning. And, in the end, I gave orders that you were both to be brought to me here.» He made a throw-away gesture with his right hand. «I need not tell you the details of my instructions. You yourself saw them in operation. You have been inconvenienced. I apologize. You have perhaps thought yourself in danger. Forgive me. I only trust that my men behaved with correctness, with finesse.»
Bond smiled. «I am very glad to have met you. If the introduction had to be effected at the point of two automatics, that will only make it all the more memorable. The whole affair was certainly executed with neatness and expedition.»
Marc-Ange’s expression was rueful. «Now you are being sarcastic. But believe me, my friend, drastic measures were necessary. I knew they were.» He reached to the top drawer of his desk, took out a sheet of writing-paper and passed it over to Bond. «And now, if you read that, you will agree with me. That letter was handed in to the concierge of the Splendide at 4.30 this afternoon for posting to me in Marseilles, when Teresa went out and you followed her. You suspected something? You also feared for her? Read it, please.»
Bond took the letter. He said, «Yes. I was worried about her. She is a girl worth worrying about.» He held up the letter. It contained only a few words, written clearly, with decision.
Dear Papa,
I am sorry, but I have had enough. It is only sad because tonight I met a man who might have changed my mind. He is an Englishman called James Bond. Please find him and pay him 20,000 New Francs which I owe him. And thank him from me.