Tatiana made a face. She went on with her lunch.
Some
‘Certainly I will beat you.’
Tatiana wrinkled her nose. He felt the soft caress of her ankles. The wide eyes looked at him hard. The lashes came down demurely. ‘Please pay,’ she said. ‘I feel sleepy.’
The train was pulling into Maestre. There was the beginning of the canals. A cargo gondola full of vegetables was moving slowly along a straight sheet of water into the town.
‘But we shall be coming into Venice in a minute,’ protested Bond. ‘Don’t you want to see it?’
‘It will be just another station. And I can see Venice another day. Now I want you to love me. Please, James.’ Tatiana leaned forward. She put a hand over his. ‘Give me what I want. There is so little time.’
Then it was the little room again and the smell of the sea coming through the half-open window and the drawn blind fluttering with the wind of the train. Again there were the two piles of clothes on the floor, and the two whispering bodies on the banquette, and the slow searching hands. And the love-knot formed, and, as the train jolted over the points into the echoing station of Venice, there came the final lost despairing cry.
Outside the vacuum of the tiny room there sounded a confusion of echoing calls and metallic clanging and shuffling footsteps that slowly faded into sleep.
Padua came, and Vicenza, and a fabulous sunset over Verona flickered gold and red through the cracks of the blind. Again the little bell came tinkling down the corridor. They woke. Bond dressed and went into the corridor and leant against the guard rail. He looked out at the fading pink light over the Lombardy Plain and thought of Tatiana and of the future.
Nash’s face slid up alongside his in the dark glass. Nash came very close so that his elbow touched Bond’s. ‘I think I’ve spotted one of the oppo, old man,’ he said softly.
Bond was not surprised. He had assumed that, if it came, it would come tonight. Almost indifferently he said, ‘Who is he?’
‘Don’t know what his real name is, but he’s been through Trieste once or twice. Something to do with Albania. May be the Resident Director there. Now he’s on an American passport. “Wilbur Frank.” Calls himself a banker. In No. 9, right next to you. I don’t think I could be wrong about him, old man.’
Bond glanced at the eyes in the big brown face. Again the furnace door was ajar. The red glare shone out and was extinguished.
‘Good thing you spotted him. This may be a tough night. You’d better stick by us from now on. We mustn’t leave the girl alone.’
‘That’s what I thought, old man.’
They had dinner. It was a silent meal. Nash sat beside the girl and kept his eyes on his plate. He held his knife like a fountain pen and frequently wiped it on his fork. He was clumsy in his movements. Half way through the meal, he reached for the salt and knocked over Tatiana’s glass of Chianti. He apologized profusely. He made a great show of calling for another glass and filling it.
Coffee came. Now it was Tatiana who was clumsy. She knocked over her cup. She had gone very pale and her breath was coming quickly.
‘Tatiana!’ Bond half rose to his feet. But it was Captain Nash who jumped up and took charge.
‘Lady’s come over queer,’ he said shortly. ‘Allow me.’ He reached down and put an arm round the girl and lifted her to her feet. ‘I’ll take her back to the compartment. You’d better look after the bag. And there’s the bill. I can take care of her till you come.’
‘Is all right,’ protested Tatiana with the slack lips of deepening unconsciousness. ‘Don’ worry, James, I lie down.’ Her head lolled against Nash’s shoulder. Nash put one thick arm round her waist and manoeuvred her quickly and efficiently down the crowded aisle and out of the restaurant car.
Bond impatiently snapped his fingers for the waiter. Poor darling. She must be dead beat. Why hadn’t he thought of the strain she was going through? He cursed himself for his selfishness. Thank heavens for Nash. Efficient sort of chap, for all his uncouthness.
Bond paid the bill. He took up the heavy little bag and walked as quickly as he could down the crowded train.
He tapped softly on the door of No. 7. Nash opened the door. He came out with his finger on his lips. He closed the door behind him. ‘Threw a bit of a faint,’ he said. ‘She’s all right now. The beds were made up. She’s gone to sleep in the top one. Been a bit much for the girl I expect, old man.’
