Bond said angrily, «Shut up, Marc-Ange. If you think I’ll accept a million pounds from you or from anyone else you’re mistaken. I don’t want my life to be ruined. Too much money is the worst curse you can lay on anyone’s head. I have enough. Tracy has enough. It will be fun saving up to buy something we want but can’t quite afford. That is the only kind of money to have – not quite enough.»
Marc-Ange said furiously, «You have been drinking. You are drunk. You don’t understand what you are saying. What I am giving you is only a fifth of my fortune. You understand? It means nothing to me. Tracy is used to having whatever she wants. I wish it to remain so. She is my only child. You cannot possibly keep her on a Civil Servant’s pay. You have got to accept!»
«If you give me any money, I swear I will pass it on to charity. You want to give your money away to a dogs’ home? All right. Go ahead!»
«But James» – Marc-Ange was now pleading – «what will you accept from me? Then a trust fund for any children you may have. Yes?»
«Even worse. If we have children, I will not have this noose hung round their heads. I didn’t have any money and I haven’t needed it. I’ve loved winning money gambling because that is found money, money that comes out of the air like a great surprise. If I’d inherited money, I’d have gone the way of all those playboy friends of Tracy’s you complained about so much. No, Marc-Ange.» Bond drained his Steinhager decisively. «It’s no good.»
Marc-Ange looked as if he would burst into tears. Bond relented. He said, «It’s very kind of you, Marc-Ange, and I appreciate it from the heart. I’ll tell you what. If I swear to come to you if either of us ever needs help, will that do?
There may be illnesses and things. Perhaps it would be nice if we had a cottage in the country somewhere. We may need help if we have children. Now. How about that? Is it a bargain?»
Marc-Ange turned doubtful, dogs’ eyes on Bond. «You promise? You would not cheat me of helping you, adding to your happiness when you allow me to?»
Bond reached over and took Marc-Ange’s right hand and pressed it. «My word on it. Now come on, pull yourself together. Here comes Tracy. She’ll think we’ve been having a fight.»
«So we have,» said Marc-Ange gloomily. «And it is the first fight I have ever lost.»
27. All the Time in the World
«I DO.»
James Bond said the words at ten-thirty in the morning of a crystal-clear New Year’s Day in the British Consul General’s drawing-room.
And he meant them.
The Consul General had proved himself, as British Consuls so often do, to be a man of efficiency and a man with a heart. It was a holiday for him and, as he confessed, he should have been recovering from a New Year’s Eve hangover. And he had shaved many days off the formal period of notice, but that, he explained, he had occasionally, and improperly, risked in his career if there were exceptional circumstances such as the imminent death of either party. «You both look healthy enough,» he had said when they first visited him together, «but that’s a nasty cut on your head, Commander Bond, and the Countess is perhaps looking a little pale. And I have taken the precaution of obtaining special dispensation from the Foreign Secretary, which I may say, to my surprise, was immediately forthcoming. So let’s make it New Year’s Day. And come to my home. My wife is hopelessly sentimental about these occasional jobs I have to do, and I know she’d love to meet you both.»
The papers were signed, and Head of Station M, who had agreed to act as Bond’s best man and who was secretly longing to write a sensational note to the head of his London Section about all this, produced a handful of confetti and threw most of it over Marc-Ange, who had turned up in a «cylindre» and a full suit of very French tails with, surprisingly, two rows of medals of which the last, to Bond’s astonishment, was the Fling’s Medal for foreign resistance-fighters.
«I will tell you all about it one day, my dear James,» he had said in answer to Bond’s admiring inquiry. «It was tremendous fun. I had myself what the Americans call ‘a ball’. And» – his voice sank to a whisper and he put one finger along his brown, sensitive nose – «I confess that I profited by the occasion to lay my hands on the secret funds of a certain section of the Abwehr, But Herkos Odonton, my dear James! Herkos Odonton! Medals are so often just the badges of good luck. If I am a hero, it is for things for which no medals are awarded. And» – he drew lines with his fingers across his chest – «there is hardly room on the breast of this ‘frac’, which, by the way, is by courtesy of the excellent Galeries Barbes in Marseilles, for all that I am due under that heading.»
The farewells were said and Bond submitted himself, he swore for the last time, to Marc-Ange’s embraces, and they went down the steps to the waiting Lancia. Someone, Bond suspected the Consul’s wife, had tied white ribbons from the corners of the wind-screen to the grill of the radiator, and there was a small group of bystanders, passers-by, who had stopped, as they do all over the world, to see who it was, what they looked like.
The Consul General shook Bond by the hand. «I’m afraid we haven’t managed to keep this as private as you’d have liked. A woman reporter came on from the Munchener lllustrierte this morning. Wouldn’t say who she was. Gossip-writer, I suppose. I had to give her the bare facts., She particularly wanted to know the time of the ceremony, if you can call it that, so that they could send a camera-man along. At least you’ve been spared that. All still tight, I suppose. Well, so long and the best of luck.»
Tracy, who had elected to «go away» in a dark-grey Tyroler outfit with the traditional dark-green trimmings and stag’s-horn buttons, threw her saucy mountaineer’s hat with its gay chamois’ beard cockade into the back seat, climbed in, and pressed the starter. The engine purred and then roared softly as she went through the gears down the empty street. They both waved one hand out of a window and Bond, looking back, saw Marc-Ange’s «cylindre» whirling up into the air. There was a small flutter of answering hands from the pavement and then they were round the corner and away.
When they found the Autobahn exit for Salzburg and Kufstein, Bond said, «Be an angel and pull in to the side, Tracy. I’ve got two things to do.»
She pulled in on to the grass verge. The brown grass of winter showed through the thin snow. Bond reached for her and took her in his arms. He kissed her tenderly. «That’s the first thing, and I just wanted to say that I’ll look after you, Tracy. Will you mind being looked after?»
She held him away from her and looked at him. She smiled. Her eyes were introspective. «That’s what it means being Mr and Mrs, doesn’t it? They don’t say Mrs and Mr. But you need looking after too. Let’s just look after each other.»
«All right. But I’d rather have my job than yours. Now. I simply must get out and take down those ribbons. I can’t stand looking like a coronation. D’you mind?»
She laughed. «You like being anonymous. I want everyone to cheer as we go by. I know you’re going to have this car sprayed grey or black as soon as you get a chance. That’s all right. But nothing’s going to stop me wearing you like a flag from now on. Will you sometimes feel like wearing me like a flag?»
«On all holidays and feast days.» Bond got out and removed the ribbons. He looked up at the cloudless sky. The sun felt warm on his face. He said, «Do you think we’d be too cold if we took the roof down?»
«No, let’s. We can only see half the world with it up. And it’s a lovely drive from here to Kitzbühel. We can always put it up again if we want to.»
Bond unscrewed the two butterfly nuts and folded the canvas top back behind the seats. He had a look up and down the Autobahn. There was plenty of traffic. At the big Shell station on the roundabout they had just passed, his eye was caught by a bright-red open Maserati being tanked up. Fast job. And a typical sporty couple, a man and a woman in the driving-seat – white dust-coats and linen helmets buttoned under the chin. Big dark-green talc goggles that obscured most of the rest of the faces. Usual German speedsters’ uniform. Too far away to see if they were good-looking enough for the car, but the silhouette of the woman wasn’t promising. Bond got in beside Tracy and they set off again down the beautifully landscaped road.