Then they saw the man going down, trailing blood and entrails. Anya sucked in her breath in horror. Bond fired the second rocket and tore a hole in the steel netting. But was it wide enough? There was only one way to find out, made doubly dangerous by the fact that Bond dared not accelerate in case he upset the delicate balance of the damaged steering. Fighting to keep the car steady, he headed for the narrow opening. Another frogman appeared directly in his path but there was no deviation. As the man held out his weapon to shoot Bond drove the wedge nose of the Lotus into him and propelled him backwards draped over the bonnet of the car like a rag doll. His face was so close that Bond could see the terror in the man’s eyes. Then he was pushed back into the wire so that the severed strands ripped the wetsuit from his back like sharpened claws and once again the water turned red with blood. The grip of the wire tightened around the Lotus as it thrust deeper into the breach, and Bond could sec that the strands were thick as a man’s thumb.
Dry-mouthed, he opened the throttle as far as he dared and listened to the nerve-shredding screech of the wire as it slowly scraped along the roof of the car. Beside him, Anya sat tight-lipped, waiting, as he was, for the missile that would come gliding out of the inky blackness behind them. Inch by painstaking inch the Esprit moved forward seeming to carry the whole fence with it and then - Boom! Another depth charge. Another series of surging shock waves. Bond closed his eyes and clapped his hands to his ears to deaden the pain. Then he felt the nose of the Lotus dropping. They were no longer trapped in the wire! The explosion had pushed them through. Bond looked back and saw the fence shimmering into place, the ruptured wires reaching out like hungry tentacles robbed of their prey. Dropping down to the floor of the ocean, he took the Lotus towards the cover of the nearest rocks.
Red Roses for a Red Lady
The fortuitous, amazing and unprecedented escape of the newlyweds soon became by far the most compelling topic of conversation at the Hotel Lavarone. Everybody agreed that had Mr and Mrs Sterling perished it would have quite ruined their holiday - they were of course referring to their own holidays - and it just showed how careful you had to be if you were fortunate enough to be the owner of what was clearly a very expensive sports car.
The whole incident, regrettable as it was, would obviously teach Mr and Mrs Sterling a very valuable lesson and one that would stand them in good stead in the years to come. They would become more sober, diligent and unobtrusive and might, with any luck, even become less self- confident, physically attractive and transparently rich. Still, it was pointless discussing luck in the presence of such people because they obviously 'already enjoyed a superabundance of it. To plunge into the sea in a motor car and survive was very lucky. To plunge into the sea at a marina and be able to winch your car ashore so that it was still driveable required a word stronger than any compounded with luck and not yet found in English, French, German or Italian dictionaries.
Still, perhaps the handsome cruel-faced man with the arrogant manner did feel a pang of guilt for his behaviour and his good fortune, because the extravagantly large bunch of red roses arriving in the chauffeur-driven car were apparently for his wife and must have been ordered at his behest. It was only a gesture - and one that he could easily afford - but it said something on his behalf.
When they limped back to the hotel, Bond had thrown out the first story that came into his head to explain the condition of the Lotus and steered Anya up to the suite. He closed the door behind them and looked at her - bruised, bedraggled and utterly and totally beautiful. She had thrown herself into his arms and clung to him with her arms round his neck. ‘Oh James! We are still alive, alive! All the time we sit in that car I think that I am never going to be able to tell you.’ Her mouth came up eagerly and he kissed it hard and long, feeling the beautiful strong curve of her body thrusting against his. She was shameless, uncontrolled, spontaneous.
‘Dammit, woman! I think I’m falling in love with you.’ He wanted to say it first.
‘Good, good!’ She kissed him again, standing on tiptoe. ‘I cannot believe that we are still alive. I know that it is ridiculous to talk of fate - but, oh, dear James’ - again, that haunting ‘Shems’ - ‘we must be special, you and I.’
Bond looked down into the beautiful, proud face glowing with love and intensity and felt tears prick his eyes. She was so much his woman, so much like another he had loved. ‘I think when we are in the car, that if ever again we have the chance to make love, we must take it. I would hate to die without having your body inside mine.’
They kissed again and this time it was like some kind of sacrament. The act went beyond the physical manifestation of their two bodies melding together. Bond felt himself closer to this woman than if they had been making love. He kissed her deeply and then drew away, waiting to hear a loud click at the back of his brain and discover that he had been dreaming. Nothing happened. The brave blue eyes still stared quizzically into his. The proud nose tilted up a millimetre. The soft, lustrous mouth said, ‘I desire you’ without parting its lips.
‘I hope you realize that you were appearing flamboyantly provocative in the foyer? Old men were falling off the bar stools like ninepins.’ Bond looked down at the slim breasts poking through the remnants of Anya’s shirt.
Anya took his hand and pressed it against her breast. ‘Do not change the subject. I want to make love to you. Have I not made myself clear? I am not interested in the old men.'
She tightened her grip round his neck. ‘Now kiss me and take me on the bed - the big bed.’
In the circumstances, thought Bond, there is nothing in the world I would rather do. He had an animal longing to make love to this girl. To join her in celebrating that they were still alive.
And then there was a discreet tap on the door. Anya slid her arms from around his neck and her lower lip pouted petulantly. She looked quickly towards the door and then back to Bond. He could sense what was going through her mind and shook his head gently. ‘We’d better answer it. That may be duty calling.’
Anya rose up to kiss him swiftly on the lips. 'Yes, my duschka. We can wait a little longer. We have all the time in the world.’
Her last words hit Bond like a blow across the face. That was what he had said to Tracy just before she was murdered. The words were heavy with premonitions of disaster and death.
‘No! ’ Anya paused, surprised, on her way to the door. Bond fought to appear calm. The spell was broken but perhaps only for him. He slipped the Walther PPK into his left hand. ‘You can’t be too careful. Stromberg may be returning our call.’ He opened the door, keeping the gun behind it, and stared into a large bunch of red roses. Behind the roses and practically obscured by them was one of the bell boys, whom Bond recognized.
‘Roses for the Signora Sterling.’
‘Thank you.’ Bond parted with a note and bore the roses into the room. They looked normal enough.
Anya looked at him questioningly. ‘James?’
I’m not responsible, I’m afraid. They probably come from the management - delighted to find that we’re still alive to pay the bill.’
‘You are a cynic - and you look silly standing there with those roses. Give them to me and find a vase.’ She pronounced it ‘vaize' like an American.
Bond handed over the roses but stood his ground. ‘I want to find out who they’re from. I’ve hardly laid lips on you and I have a rival already. It’s very disconcerting.’
Anya crossed her arms across the roses and peeped round them coquettishly. ‘Please, James. There is a vase in the bathroom, I think. I will tell you about my lover when you come back.’