Mary-Jane Mashkin laughed a deep, throaty sound but Dr Anton Murik merely smiled. 'Of course he did it.'
Bond saw that Murik's smile did not light up his eyes.
'Well, Mr Bond, my horse has won for you. I'm pleased.'
'Not as pleased as I am,' said Bond, quickly, as though blurting out something he would rather have kept hidden.
It was just enough to interest Murik the hint of a man rather in need of hard cash.
'Ah,' the Laird of Murcaldy nodded. 'Well, perhaps we'll meet again.' He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, producing a business card. 'If you're ever in Scotland, look me up. I'd be glad to provide some hospitality.'
Bond looked down at the card bearing Anton Murik's address and again feigned surprise. 'Another coincidence,' he said, smoothly.
'Really?' Murik was ready to go. After all, he had just won the Ascot Gold Cup and wanted his moment of triumph. 'Why another coincidence?'
'I leave for Scotland tonight. I'll be in your area in a couple of days.'
The slate eyes grew even cooler. 'Business or pleasure?'
'Pleasure mostly. But I'm always open for business.' He tried to make it sound desperate.
'What kind of business, Mr Bond?'
Bond hesitated slightly, timing the pause. 'The contracting business.'
'And what do you contract?'
Bond looked at him levelly. 'Myself as a rule. I'm a soldier. A mercenary up to the highest bidder. There, that'll be the end of our acquaintance, I expect. We're a dying breed.' He gave a short laugh at his grim little joke. 'People don't take too kindly to mercenaries these days.'
Anton Murik's hand closed around Bond's forearm, pulling him to one side, away from the two women. 'I am not averse to your profession, Mr Bond. In fact I have been known to employ mercenaries in a way gamekeepers, people on my estates. Who knows, I may even have a place for a man like yourself. To me, you look tough enough. Come to Murik Castle. On Monday we have a little annual fun. Most of the land and the nearby village Murcaldy is mine. So each year we hold our own version of the Highland Games. You know the kind of thing the caber, the hammer, shot-putting, a little dancing, wrestling. You will enjoy it.' This last sentence was almost an order.
Bond nodded, as Murik turned towards the ladies. 'We must go down, greet China Blue, and accept our just rewards. Mary-Jane, Lavender, you will be seeing Mr Bond again soon. He's kindly consented to come and stay for the Games.'
As they left the box, Bond was aware of a mildly sardonic look in Mary-Jane Mashkin's eyes.
'Thank you again for the pearls, I mean, Mr Bond,' Lavender said. 'I look forward to seeing you soon.' There was something odd about the way she phrased the parting sentence, as though she meant what she said but was hinting some warning. Lavender, Bond thought, appeared at first meeting to be a woman with some hidden fear below the charming, easy and poised exterior.
The Laird of Murcaldy did not even look at Bond again leaving the box in his quick, birdlike manner without a word or backward glance.
Bond stood, looking after them for a moment, wondering about Murik's personal version of the Highland Games, and the part he might be expected to play in them. Then he went down to collect his winnings from a suitably impressed Honest Tone Snare, before making a short doubletalk telephone call to Bill Tanner; and another to the Central Hotel in Glasgow, booking himself a room for the following morning: stressing that he would need to use it immediately on arrival, which he hoped, would be in the early hours.
The Laird of Murcaldy would doubtless be flying his party back to Scotland. Bond did not want to be far behind them. Neither did he wish to arrive at Murik Castle without rest and time for reflection.
Slipping the leather strap of his glasses' case over one shoulder, James Bond walked as casually as he could towards the car park.
7
King of the castle
During the furious night drive north Bond had plenty of time to puzzle over Anton Murik's win with China Blue. Horses for courses, he thought. But that horse had not looked fit enough for any course. How, then, had it romped home at Ascot? The only possible explanation lay in the old trick of having China Blue pulled back by his jockey in earlier races not displaying his true form until the strategic moment. But perhaps the real answer would be found, with the others he sought, at Murik Castle.
The journey to Glasgow was without incident. Bond went flat-out on the motorway sections, managing to avoid police speed traps, and stopping to refuel at a couple of all-night motorway service areas.
He was parked, settled into his room at the Central Hotel, and eating a breakfast of porridge, scrambled eggs, toast and coffee, by nine in the morning. He then hung out the 'Do not disturb' sign and slept like a baby, not waking until seven that evening.
After a lengthy study of the Ordnance Survey maps to plan the route, Bond went down and dined in the hotel's Malmaison Restaurant named after Napoleon and Josephine's retreat, and one of the best French restaurants in Scotland. Bond, however, had no desire for rich food that evening, and settled for a simple meal of smoked salmon followed by a fillet steak with a green salad. He drank only Perrier water. He was determined to do most of the journey by night travelling like one crossing a desert in secrecy.
He was on the road, with the bill paid, by ten thirty, heading north on the A82, which took him right alongside the waters of Loch Lomond. Early on the following morning, Bond stopped for a day's rest, at a village just short of Loch Garry having switched to the A87 that would eventually lead him as far as the coastal lochs, and those narrow roads with frequent passing places, around the western seaboard.
He reached a wooded area just to the east of Loch Carron early the next morning, and having parked the Saab well out of sight among trees, remained at rest through a day of pale blue skies and the scent of pine and heather, knowing that as soon as dusk set in, the village of Murcaldy, and from there Murik Castle, would only be a matter of seventy or eighty minutes' drive. He had brought pies and some fruit, together with more Perrier water, not wanting to chance anything stronger at this stage of the operation.
Having concentrated on making the journey in good and safe time, Bond so far had not been able to savour the views or delight in the beauties of Scotland. Indeed, there had been no opportunity while doing most of his travelling by night. So now he lay back, adjusted the driving seat, dozing and eating as the sun slid across the sky and began to settle behind the trees and hills.
While there was still light, Bond began to make his emergency preparations, unlocking the boot and transferring a packet of cigarettes from Q Branch's prepared briefcase to his pocket. Only six of the cigarettes were of any use to a smoker, the remainder being cut short to hide an easily accessible compartment into which four pre-set electronic microbugs nestled comfortably. If Bond was to be a walking surveillance unit within the Murik household, he might well need assistance; and the small receiver for these bugs complete with tape and minute headset remained in one of Q'ute's ingenious hiding places in the luggage.
He also made certain that the pen alarm was still in his pocket, and that the fake Dunhill lighter dangerous to the point of immobilising any grown man for the best part of an hour was well separate from his own, real lighter.
The rest of his weaponry remained locked away in the safety compartments of the car. The only other tools he required were to hand the Bausch & Lomb field glasses and the strap-on Nitefinder headset.
As the last traces of daylight vanished and the first stars began to show in the wide sky, Bond started the Saab, turning the car in the direction of Applecross, skirting Loch Carron in the knowledge that his destination was not far away and there was cause for him to be alert. He made good time, and seventy minutes later the Saab was crossing the small bridge at Murcaldy, leading directly into the one village street with its quaint, neat rows of cottages, the two shops, inn and kirk.