He strode, not to the door through which they had entered from the hallway, but to a smaller exit which stood in the right-hand wall between high pine bookcases. They discovered that the door led to a short, brilliantly lit, passage, then in turn to narrow stairs which ran down some fourteen feet under the house. There were corridors to left and right and the walls were hung with both Chinese and American Indian art. Brokenclaw took them past the first bisecting corridors and stopped at a door which he opened, standing back to allow his guests to enter a large suite of rooms furnished in almost overpowering modern luxury.
The main room contained a large leisure complex which took up almost an entire wall – a large screen TV, stereo equipment and video machine set into shelves which appeared to have been sculpted rather than built, the shelves and equipment all in a light grey which reflected the general decor of the entire room, light greys and whites. There were soft leather armchairs, a large glass table, the thick, tinted glass resting on two long drums of marble. Everything from cushions to the telephone were what is known as state-of-the-art – a term which made Bond wince, but he winced easily at many other cumbersome assaults on the English language, such as ‘at this moment in time’ or ‘take on board’, and appalling new words like ‘mindset’.
The bedroom was decorated in the same shades, but here they took on an almost feminine lushness. A tall four-poster, hung with lace and frills, matched the gauze-thin curtains falling in swirls almost from the ceiling to the floor. Their luggage was placed neatly on folding racks near a long walk-in closet which took up an entire wall. Underfoot it felt as though you might have to cut your way through the carpet with a machete. The bathroom, which Brokenclaw showed them with some pride, was marble and gold with a massive whirlpool bath as the centrepiece.
Chi-Chi gasped.
‘I designed this guest suite myself,’ Brokenclaw purred, ‘like many other things in this house. The refrigerator is well stocked and there is fresh fruit on the table there. Now I trust you will sleep well. When you wake, simply press nine on any of the telephones and order what you will.’
Bond followed him into the main room, and at the door Brokenclaw smiled his friendly all-embracing beam. ‘If you require any stimulation,’ he came close, his voice dropping to a whisper, ‘just press the button marked M on the bed console. It unveils a superb set of mirrors over the bed.’ He winked, and, for a moment, the proud face became that of a lecherous schoolboy.
When the door was closed, Bond walked around examining the TV and stereo equipment, then, as though he had suddenly had a thought, he went over to the telephone and ripped a sheet from its small message pad. At the big glass table, he swiftly scribbled a note, taking it straight through to Chi-Chi who he found had started to experiment with the many bottles of scents, bath oils and the like. He pursed his lips, handing the slip of paper to her. ‘Just a note regarding the cameras. We’ll have to ask Mr Lee about them in the morning.’
She nodded after reading it, then tore it up and flushed it away in the bathroom, giving him a look as if to say, ‘I’m not a fool, not even a trained fool.’
Bond nodded, and they began to talk of the imagined journey from China to Hong Kong, then of the arrival in New York and their time with Myra.
‘What a highly strung girl she is.’ Chi-Chi was starting to undress. ‘As highly strung as I will be if I don’t get some rest. I’m going to take a shower and go straight to bed, darling, or I’ll be no good for anything in the morning.’
Bond nodded. ‘I’ll go and take a quick brandy, then join you.’
‘There’s to be no joining tonight, my dear!’ Chi-Chi gave him a coquettish look that spoke volumes. ‘And isn’t Mr Lee a nice man? No wonder Beijing Hsia thinks so well of him,’ she played to the hidden microphones, and went on undressing as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Bond’s note had warned her of possible son et lumière. Brokenclaw Lee, he thought, was the kind of man who would have a room wired not only as a safety precaution, but also to amuse the voyeuristic traits in his own make-up.
‘Magnificent man,’ he answered, sweeping the bedroom with his eyes, trying to figure where the cameras were hidden. Then he went into the main room, poured himself a liberal glass of brandy and sat down in one of the comfortable leather armchairs. Bond was a man who detested all the phoney mumbo-jumbo that sometimes goes on when you order brandy in restaurants. The business of warming vast glasses had nothing to do with the taste of good brandy.
He allowed the liquid to stay in his mouth for a second before swallowing the first sip. It always did him good, focused the mind. At this moment all he could think of was Dr Johnson’s famous remark, ‘Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy’. Well, Bond did not aspire to be a hero, it was just something that came with the job.
He took ten minutes over the drink, his eyes lazily inspecting the main room for signs of hidden cameras, not that it would be much use nowadays with the advent of fibre-optics, but his main concern was keeping the ASP 9mm hidden when he undressed.
Back in the bedroom, Chi-Chi seemed to have dealt with her shower in record time, for she appeared to be fast asleep, bundled cosily in the bed, all the lights off except for a dimmed reading lamp on the side left unoccupied.
He tiptoed through to the bathroom, removing his jacket and at the same time extracting the automatic. Covering it with the clothing, he placed it carefully on one of the pair of bathroom chairs. Swiftly he stripped, showered, dried himself and put on the towelling robe that hung ready for him. A chute was set into the wall with a notice telling guests to put any washing into it. The clean laundry would be returned within an hour. He also caught sight of a piece of torn paper lying by one of the soap dishes. The paper had a swiftly scrawled message on it which he did not stop to read.
He picked up his clothes and carried them back to the bedroom, slipping the pistol into the robe pocket under cover of the clothing which he now carefully hung on a patent press. He then unpacked his shaving gear and took it, with his soiled clothing, back into the bathroom, dumping the clothes into the chute. In doing so, he palmed the note and swiftly read it.
Chi-Chi had written—
I will stay awake for one hour, then wake you. We can do one hour on and one off to be sure of no nasty surprises. Don’t be cross about the pillows. I read about it once. I think it’s called ‘bundling’. Love xx
He smiled to himself, disposed of the note, then went back into the bedroom and took off the robe, placing it on the bed so that the pocket with the automatic was close, then slid between the covers.
Chi-Chi had placed three pillows down the centre of the bed, separating them. He wondered where she had read about bundling. As he recalled, it was an old custom in Wales and, he thought, New England. In houses where a courting couple could find no corner to be alone to discuss their future, their families would allow them to use the one large bed for an hour or two – fully dressed – with the bed divided by a long, and usually solid, bolster to prevent matters from going too far.
He fell asleep almost immediately. Chi-Chi woke him gently after what appeared to have been about five minutes. He lay in the dark, glancing at the illuminated face of his watch from time to time, but – unusual for him – sleep had overtaken him. But now he was awake and alert, not knowing what might have happened during the hours of darkness.