They went in the Bentley.
"I adore the smell of leather in a car. So positively sexual." Freddie curled up in the large armchair-sized front passenger seat.
Bond was careful to ask for directions.
"The gates will probably be closed, but turn in and wait. Jason" a maniac about security. He has lots of incredible electronic devices."
"I'll bet,' Bond said under his breath, but obeyed instructions, turning left where she told him and pushing the Mulsanne's snout to within an inch of the great high metal barriers.
He would have put money on their being made of steel, worked to give the impression of ornamental wrought iron. There were three great locks and the gate-hangings were shielded behind massive Atone pillars.
There had to be some kind of closed-circuit television system, for the car sat waiting only a matter of seconds before the locks clicked audibly and the gates swung back.
As Bond had already divined, Endor was a large house with about twenty rooms: classical Georgian in golden Cotswold stone, with a pillared porch and symmetrically placed sash windows. The crunch of gravel under the Bentley's wheels was a sound that brought back many memories to him - the older cars he had once owned, and, oddly, school days when he read the books of Dornford Yates, with their adventurers riding forth to do battle in Bentleys or Rolls-Royce cars, usually to protect gorgeous ladies with very small feet.
Jason St. John-Finnes - Bond had to think of him by that name stood by the open door, light shafting on to the turning circle. He had made no attempt at disguise.
The decade in which he had been "dead' appeared to have taken no toll, for he looked exactly like the many photographs in his file at the Regent's Park Headquarters. Tall and slim, he was obviously in good physical condition, for he moved with grace and purpose - an athlete's walk. The famous green eyes were just as startling as everyone maintained. By turns warm or cold, they were almost hypnotic, lively and penetrating, as though they could look deeply into a person's heart. The nose was indeed large and hooked, a great ,pill, so that the combination of bright searching eyes d the big sharp nose certainly gave the impression of a bird of prey. Bond shuddered inwardly. There was something exceptionally sinister about Dr Jay Autem Holy. Yet this unsettling fact vanished the moment he started to speak.
"Freddie!" He approached her with a kiss. "How splendid to see you, and I'm so glad to meet your friend." He stretched out a hand.
"Bond, isn't it?" The voice was low, pleasant, and full of laughter, the accent mid-Atlantic, almost Bostonian, the handshake firm, strong, warm and very friendly. It was as though a wave of goodwill and welcome were transmitted when their palms touched.
"Ah, here's Dazzle. Darling, this is Mr. Bond."
"James,' he said, already in danger of being hypnotically charmed by the man. James Bond." For a few seconds his heart raced as he gazed at the tall, slim ash-blonde woman who had come out of the house. Then he realised that it was a trick of the light; but at a distance, especially as now at dusk, Dazzle could easily be taken for Percy Proud: the same hair, figure and bone structure, even the same movements.
Dazzle was as warm and welcoming as her husband.
The pair had a curious effect, as though together they were able to enfold you, pulling you into some circle of enchantment. As they left the car and walked into the spacious hallway, Bond had a ridiculous desire to throw all caution to the wind, sit down and face Jason immediately, asking him what really happened on that day so long ago when he had taken off on the ill-fated flight.
What was the purpose of disappearing? What was he up to now? And how did Zwingli fit into the scheme of things?
That evening, Bond had to keep a strong hold on himself not to come out into the open. Between them Jason and the vivacious Dazzle proved to be a daunting couple. Within minutes of being in their company you became almost old friends. Jason, the story went was Canadian by birth, while Dazzle was from New York, though you would have been hard put to it to place her accent, which had more of Knightsbridge than Fifth Avenue in It.
The one subject never discussed in detail during M's briefings had been finance, but now, seeing the house with its discreetly elegant decor ("That's Dazzle,' Jason said with a laugh, "she has what the designers call flair') made one aware of great riches. In the large drawing room there was a clever blend of original Georgian and comfortable modern, the antique pieces complemented by a quiet, striped wallpaper, and not clashing with the more modern pictures or the deep, comfortable armchairs and sofas. Where, Bond wondered, did the money for all this come from? Could Gunfire Simulations finance so much?
While a Filipino houseboy served the drinks the talk was almost exclusively about what a wonderful refurbishing job they had done on the house, and the local amusing scandal.
"It's what I adore about life in a village."Jason gave a low chuckle. "My work doesn't allow me to be what you might call socially active, but we still get all the gossip because everybody does."
"Except the gossip about ourselves, darling, Dazzle said with a grin.
Bond realised that her nose was similar to Percy's before it had been bobbed. Here was an oddity. She really was like the true Percy.
Did Jay Autem know, he wondered. Had he always known what the real Percy looked like? Had he seen her since the recent transformation?
"Oh, I get the gossip about us." Jason's voice was deep with humour. "Cindy and I are having a passionate love affair, while you're in bed most of the time with Felix..
"Much good would it do me!" Dazzle put a hand over her mouth, mockingly. "Where are they, anyway, dear?
Peter and Cindy, I mean."
"Oh, they'll be up in a minute. They decided to play one more round of The Revolution. We've still got a good deal of preliminary work to do." He turned to Bond.
"We're in the computer games business "So Freddie mentioned." At last he managed to break the spell, allowing a hint of superior disapproval into his tone.
Jason caught it at once. "Oh, but you're a computer programmer as well, aren't you? Freddie told me."
"A little. Not games though. Not really." The tiny stress on the word games was calculated to give the impression that using computers to play games was anathema to him.
"Aha." Jason wagged a finger. "But there are games and games, Mr. Bond. I'm talking about complex intellectual simulations, not the whizz-bang-shoot-'em-up arcade rubbish. For whom do you work?" Bond admitted he worked for nobody at the moment.
"I had my training in programming when I worked for the Foreign Office." He tried to sound diffident.
"You're that Mr. Bond!" Dazzle sounded genuinely excited.
He nodded. "Yes, the notorious Mr. Bond. Also, the innocent Mr. Bond.
"Of course. I read about your case. For the first time there was a slightly dubious note in Jason's voice.
"Were you really a spy?" Dazzle tended to become almost breathlessly excited by anything that interested her.
"I " Bond began, then put on a show of floundering, so that Jason came to his rescue: "I don't think that's the kind of question you're meant to ask, my dear." At that moment, Peter Amadeus and Cindy Chalmer came into the room.
"Ah, the amazing Doctor Amadeus." Jason rose.
"And Sinful Cindy,' said Dazzle with a laugh.
"I'd be flattered if they called me Sinful Freddie,' said Lady Freddie as she greeted the pair.
"Sinful indeed!" Cindy was not black, as Freddie had told Bond, but more of a creamy coffee shade. "The product of a West Indian father and a Jewish mother,' she was later to confide in him, adding that there were a thousand racist jokes which could be made at her expense. Now she just repeated, "Sinful indeed; chance would be more than a fine thing." Dressed in a simple grey skirt, and white silk blouse, Cindy had the figure and legs of a dancer, and a face which reminded Bond of a very young Ella Fitzgerald.