Pete waited in the lobby as they were taken up to their room. Together they went into the famous Regency Grill, where they could have been eating in the heart of London – the menu was more British than most of the hotel restaurants in the capital of the U.K., but by the same token it also included the best of Jewish food.
They talked like any old friends meeting for the first time in a couple of years, and Pete Natkowitz made certain that Flicka was not left out. It was not until they were about to leave that Pete said quietly, "She's in suite 510. I can provide any help you might need, if she wants to go back to London with you. A very beautiful lady, and her companions are equally exciting."
"Companions?" Bond queried.
"Couple of girls she's traveling with. They seem to be very close, but they're a pair of stunners."
Natkowitz gave Flicka his charming smile, and a promise to call them in the morning.
"I think we should try her straightaway." Bond explained that, with the limited time they had available, it might be best to see what Lady Tarn could add to the information they already had in their possession. "If she feels under any threat from Max, she might like to know that she has our support."
Flicka simply grunted as they got into the lift, and Bond stood back to let two young women – a blonde and a brunette – into the cage. As the doors closed, he took a quick look in the direction of the two girls; there was something inexplicably familiar about them. They were dressed in a similar manner in stylishly designed pant suits, one in gray, the other scarlet, and both with white silk shirts. It was only when they all walked out of the lift on the fifth floor that he saw the bandaged hand on the blonde.
At the same moment, the brunette spoke in a low, husky voice. "How nice to see you, Mr. Bond. We thought we'd never meet again."
"But we have," the blonde added. "And with the lovely Flicka as well."
Flicka's mouth dropped open as the truth hit her.
"It's really us," said Cuthbert.
"In the flesh and in our true personas. You didn't even guess that we were girls, did you? I'm Anna – my proper name as well – and this is Cathy. We presume you've come to visit our boss, Trish Nuzzi. Well, just step this way. She's going to be so excited."
"Almost as excited as us," chimed Cathy. "We've all been absolutely dying to see you again, haven't we, Anna?"
"Going out of our minds." Anna gave a tinkling little giggle.
11 – Trish Nuzzi
"Just wait while I open the door." Cathy, in her new role, slid the oblong plastic security key into its slot, waited until the light changed from red to green, then opened the door to 510, walked in, and called,
"Trish, we're back, and we've brought some nice old playmates to see you."
Anna came in behind them, closing the door, calling, "Trish, where are you? We've got a lovely surprise."
She came out of the bathroom, and even the usually sanguine Flicka gave an audible gasp. They had both seen many photographs of Trish Nuzzi's dazzling face and figure – indeed, who had not? – from the days when she was a top model before her marriage to Sir Max Tarn. To see this gorgeous creature in the flesh was a different matter altogether, as both Bond and Flicka could affirm from Cambridge.
She wore a silver evening minidress with a diamond choker, but at first sight all they took in were the famous legs, long and incredible, reaching up forever and a day, for she was around six feet tall, Though enviously slim, she was beautifully proportioned, with a nut-brown tan, and that other great attribute, the thick long black hair that had been a trademark in the old days.
Then they saw her face.
What had once been called both elfin and gamine by a hundred fashion journalists must still have been there under the livid bruises, and the obviously broken nose, for it was as though someone had used her features as a punching bag. When she spoke, there were traces of nasality, and a slight tremor.
"So?" She glanced from Anna to Cathy and back again, not even trying to meet Bond's or Flicka's eyes.
"This is the Mr. Bond, and Fredericka von Grüsse. We told you about them. They're friends. In fact, I think Mr. Bond's probably a knight in shining armor."
Trish gave a kind of lopsided smile. "Mr. Bond I have already met and talked with. Fräulein von Grüsse I've only seen from a distance. It's nice to see you again, Mr. Bond, and good to meet you…" She nodded in Flicka's direction. "Forgive my state of physical dishabille, and please call me Trish."
"You've talked to…?" Anna began, then lapsed into silence.
"Just a minute." Bond had stepped over to Anna, his hand taking her undamaged wrist, gripping like a steel trap. "The last time I saw you – dressed as a very unpleasant thug – you were arguing with this lady's husband outside Hall's Manor. You wanted to come up to the room in which you'd left Fräulein von Grüsse and myself. You were very clear about your intentions. You wanted to come up to finish us off. You made bizarre men, the pair of you, and I do prefer you as women – if that's what you are?"
"Of course we're women," Cathy almost spat at him. "We did the other thing for Trish here."
"Including trying to kill us?"
Under his tight hold, with her arm strained behind her back, Anna let out a little groan. "We were trying to let you go," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Cathy was coming back to tell you what was really going on. We had the handcuff keys. Tarn would only have let us come up to you if we said it was to kill you. You've no -"
"She's telling the truth." Trish Nuzzi nodded, and he saw that it even hurt her to speak. There was some wiring on her jaw on the inside of her mouth. "She's being honest with you. It was all done for me. They persuaded Max that it would be a good idea to get you both out of the way. He was reluctant, but finally allowed them to stay behind in Cambridge. Please, they're telling the truth."
Unwillingly, Bond let go of the wrist. "Why should I trust you? Any of you?"
"Sit down. Please." Trish Nuzzi gestured to the chairs and a long sofa. "Cath, get a bottle of champagne and we'll have a drink. I'm in need of it, the painkillers are wearing off, and I can't take any more for a couple of hours." The grimace on her face was evidence enough that she was not acting.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, one hand rising to indicate her face.
"Who do you think?" She gave a cynical little laugh and patted the place next to her on the sofa. Flicka gave a long sound, as though clearing her throat, and indicated one of the comfortable easy chairs. Bond raised one eyebrow at her as she cut in front of him and seated herself next to Trish.
As he sat down, his eyes caught Anna's; she had been glowering at him. Now she gave a little knowledgeable smile, then glowered again, touching her hair. "Wigs," she snapped. "Wigs for us both until our hair grows again."
"I prefer you with real eyebrows as well," Bond said, straight-faced.
"And you." Anna made an obscene gesture as Cathy came back into the room with an ice bucket in which rested a bottle of Dom Perignon, and glasses.
"Who?" He turned to Trish again.
"I asked who do you think?"
"Your husband?"
"Part of it. Max likes to inflict pain, but he leaves the real bone breaking to that bastard Connie Spicer."
"Then this isn't something new? Sir Max has a penchant for battering you?"
"It's one of the reasons I brought Cathy and Anna into the marriage."