James Bond came onto the terrace and plunged into the pool, swimming strongly, doing a couple of lengths before climbing out, rubbing his hair with a towel which had been thrown over one of the garden chairs, into which he now sank, stretching his body like a cat.
“Cat”, he thought, suddenly shivering. It was the word in his head. He had noticed that, since the business earlier in the year, he had a tendency to tense up at certain words: cat; viper; snake.
The shnnk had told him it was not surprising. “You went through a lot during the BAST thing.”
Yes, he supposed he had gone through a lot. He thought for a moment about death. Not the quiet friend that comes to old and worn-out human beings, but that which comes suddenly and with a terrible violence.
He thought of the Fiat down in the turning circle below. There was a little BMW there now, but, in this contemplative state of mind, Bond saw it as a little Fiat. For a few seconds, he was aware of Beatrice, smiling and holding the door open, then the fearful flash and smoke, and the agony of knowing he had lost her. But there was joy also, for he had not lost the girl who could quite easily, if he did not take care, become the love of his life.
As the lights began to come on the sun went down, so the night animals began to come out. The bats started to flit to and fro, and geckos came from the daytime hiding-places, strangely seeming to bask in the electric lights around the pool.
His head began to fill with other horrors. Poor old Ed with his throat cut, head almost severed from his body; Nikki, who had sought comfort from him, then tried to save his life and had her own life taken from her; then all those girls who could have lived really useful, happy long lives: the ones he had personally taken to their graves, and Clover Pennington, whose relations he had known, cut down by her own trigger woman.
He shivered again in the warmth, feeling the goose bumps coming up on his skin. Behind him the lights came on in the villa, and he heard Beatrice flip-flapping out towards the pool.
“You okay, darling?” she said, kissing him and looking hard into his face and eyes. “James, what’s the matter? It’s not us, is it?”
Almost a frightened tremor to her voice.
“No, my dear, not us. I was just having what the shrink would call a touch of the horrors.”
“I wondered if we should come back here.”
“Oh, yes, this was the right place.”
“Good. Let’s go out to dinner. I enjoy it here.” She squatted down beside him, looking up into his face, shadowed by the lights and the night. “James, darling. You know, some you win and some you lose.”
James Bond nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “And some die.”