Ebbie grinned. ‘Duties I might like. I’m sure you do everything in a professional style.’
Smolin and Bond arranged a simple code for telephone contact, and just before ten they arrived in Kilkenny. Smolin passed the Newpark and stopped a hundred yards farther on. He got out, unlocked the boot and hauled out a black travel bag, which he handed to Bond.
‘There are a few clothes of mine in there, together with a razor and toothbrush,’ he said smiling.
Ebbie had a large shoulder bag which she had taken with her from the Ashford Castle Hotel to what she imagined was to be sanctuary at the castle. As Mr and Mrs Boldman, they were greeted with great friendliness at the hotel. The receptionist told them that the restaurant was closed, but the chef could ‘Knock you up anything you might fancy, so.’ Bond suddenly realised he was ravenous.
Ebbie began in polite restraint, ‘Well, perhaps a light snack. A steak, maybe with potatoes and a green salad; possibly some mousse or profiteroles to follow – oh, and coffee, bread, some wine?’
‘Anything at all, madam,’ said the receptionist with a smile. ‘Anything so long as it’s Escalope Holstein, French fries, green salad and fruit salad.’
‘That’ll do nicely,’ Ebbie said quickly. Bond realised she was starving too. He nodded agreement and chose a white Burgundy of dubious vintage and nomenclature. Ebbie asked for some bandages and disinfectant.
‘We had a little trouble with the car, and my husband burned his hands.’
All in all, Bond decided, Ms Ebbie Heritage was a treasure. But treasure or not, he could not wait to get at the telephone once they were shown to their room, which was pleasant, if somewhat lacking in originality. That did not surprise him, for the hotel’s foyer was decorated in adobe style with a distinct Spanish influence.
‘I must do those hands,’ Ebbie pleaded, ‘and, James, they’ll be here with the food any minute.’
Bond gestured to her to keep quiet, reached up to the top button of his Oscar Jacobson jacket and with his thumbnail prised off a strip of grey plastic about an inch long and a quarter of an inch thick. He dialled for an outside line and then the number of Three Sisters Castle, which he had committed to memory. He heard the automatic exchange click through and a second before the ringing tone began he put the piece of plastic on the mouthpiece and pressed hard. For two seconds it emitted a tiny piercing beep not unlike the sound of a muted harmonica. Through the earpiece he heard a small responding beep, meaning that the black grains of plastic wheat he had planted in the castle telephones had reacted to the tone. With the tiny ‘harmonica bugs’ coming to life he could now listen in not only to telephone conversations but to any sound within thirty feet of each bug. He could have been as far away as Australia or South Africa and have received the same transmission. These tiny, powerful instruments can be activated from thousands of miles away making the telephone a live, ever-ready microphone. At that moment Bond could hear only odd, far away noises, probably from one of the many rooms without a telephone. Softly, he put down the receiver and glanced at his watch. He knew he must continue to activate the bugs until he got a result. Ebbie had been hovering, looking perplexed. She was holding the bandages and disinfectant.
‘James, will you let me do your hands? Please.’
Bond nodded, still preoccupied as he debated whether to telephone Smolin. Somebody would certainly be in the castle, if only to tend the injured Ingrid. But the fact that he could pick up nothing meant one thing, that Chernov had every available man, including himself, scouring the countryside for them.
He sighed. ‘Yes, okay, Ebbie. Do your worst.’
In fact, she did her best. She was soothing, gentle and very disconcerting. In the middle of her ministrations the food arrived, and they started eating as soon as she had finished.
‘I shall bathe after this.’ She spoke with her mouth half full. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t wait. I was so hungry.’
‘That’s all right, Ebbie. You’ve been very kind.’
She looked across the little table that had been brought in for them. Her head was bowed, but she lifted her eyes, half closed, then opened them wide. ‘I want to show you every kindness, James. You were wonderful back at that awful castle.’
‘I don’t need payment, my dear.’
‘Oh, but I liked you all those years ago on the submarine. You’ve bugged the telephones at the castle, yes?’
‘You’re very astute, Ebbie.’
‘Astute? What’s astute? Is it sexy? I find you very . . .’
‘It means you’re very shrewd . . . clever at spotting things.’
‘But it was obvious, what you were doing just now. We were taught about it when we prepared for Cream Cake – that is such a stupid name. You have listening devices in the castle, yes?’
‘Of course I have.’
‘Then you’re a clever little bugger, James, to be able to listen to things in the castle from this telephone.’
‘I think you have the wrong word, Ebbie, but not to worry.’ He smiled and her face lit up.
‘James, dear man, I hope you don’t have to listen to them all night?’
‘It depends. At the moment there’s nobody there.’
‘I hope you don’t. Oh, I do hope you don’t.’
‘We shall see. I must keep trying.’
They finished eating and Ebbie disappeared into the bathroom. Bond wheeled the dining table into the corridor. He was about to dial the castle again when Ebbie came out of the bathroom, dressed only in what she would have called her Unterkleider, and very fetching she looked as she grinned unselfconsciously, gathered up her bag and disappeared again.
He tried the castle once more and this time caught a short conversation. A man was talking in Russian to Ingrid, who was obviously very weak. It amounted to nothing and although he waited for fifteen minutes, there was no other sound. He put down the telephone and lay back on the bed feeling tired and now acutely aware of the pain in his arm and hands.
Closing his eyes, he wondered what the next move should be. Like it or not, he would have to reactivate the bugs at regular intervals, and his experience told him that if he heard no more from the castle they should all be on the move within a few hours. If they got back to England in one piece he could take the girls to one of his own safe houses, which he kept well hidden from the Service. He would then report to M with Smolin. At least two-thirds of the mission would have been accomplished. While he was composing his apologia to M, Ebbie returned to the bedroom, her hair glistening and her body only partially covered by an oyster satin négligé.
‘The bathroom’s free now, James.’ She allowed the négligé to slip from her shoulders. ‘Unless you have something better to do.’
Bond looked at the young fresh body, which held for him that same urgent attraction of innocence he had felt earlier. Slowly, he moved from the bed and into her arms. Their first kiss seemed to last a lifetime. His hands slid down to the neat silky little buttocks, and he felt his mind shrinking to one great need as Ebbie returned his kiss, her tongue darting and reaching hard into his mouth. He pulled away and looked into the wide open blue eyes.
‘With these bandages on, it might be difficult for me to take a bath.’ His throat felt dry. ‘I wonder if you could . . .’
‘Why don’t we have a bath together?’
Ebbie’s hand closed around his wrist and she led him unprotesting into the bathroom. She turned on the taps and Bond allowed her to undress him. When he was lying in the warm water she stood over him, naked, to soap his body, her hands and fingers exploring him as she did so. When he was washed clean she stepped into the narrow tub, sliding on to her side and lifting one leg over his so that he took her beneath the warm water.