The drive up had been tense but uneventful. James had driven fast and had only begun to relax when they’d reached the busier and more anonymous streets of London. They had come in on the Great West Road, through Shepherd’s Bush, along the Bayswater Road, past Hyde Park and Marble Arch, then up Baker Street to the Park.
All James had told Roan was that he had telephoned a friend on the off chance that he might be at home and able to help.
Inside, the house was equally grand. It was Roan’s turn to whistle now as she looked around the huge marble-floored hallway.
‘You live in some style, Mister Mandeville,’ she said, and James hoped she wasn’t going to make some comment about the unfairness of wealth and privilege.
Luckily she said no more.
‘Yes, well. I’m not here a great deal these days. I’ve been packed off to bonny Scotland. I think m-my folks thought that a strict Scottish regime would knock some sense into m-me and rid m-me of m-my wild ways.’
‘And has it?’ said James.
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Perry. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t skiving off this week.’
Five minutes later they were all three sitting laughing together in the kitchen while Perry cooked scrambled eggs. The kitchen was warm and inviting with rows of gleaming copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling next to a gigantic iron stove.
‘You’ve done a terrific job getting the m-motor on the road,’ said Perry.
‘I can’t take any of the credit for that,’ said James. ‘Andrew Carlton and the others did it all.’
‘So, what are you going to do with her now?’
‘I’m going to give her to you,’ said James. ‘I want you to keep her out of the way for a while until you’re sure the police aren’t going to show up asking awkward questions. Then you’re free to use her until I get back. It’s the least I can do, especially as you paid for most of the work.’
‘It’s my birthday in a couple of weeks,’ said Perry. ‘I’ll be legally old enough to drive.’
‘There you are, then.’
‘I’ll look after her with my life,’ said Perry, scraping the scrambled eggs on to slices of toast. ‘But when you say “Until I get back”, get back from where exactly?’
‘I have to get Roan out of the country as quickly as possible,’ said James. ‘I have no idea when our disappearance from Eton will be discovered, and how quickly they’ll realise that Roan and I are together, but there’s every possibility that the police will be alerted tonight.’
Perry glanced at the kitchen clock.
‘There’s a boat-train leaves Charing Cross at four o’clock for Dover,’ he said.
James looked at Roan. She nodded.
Perry crossed the room to the door leading back upstairs.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said as he went out.
Roan put her hand on James’s.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘I assume you have a passport?’ said James.
‘I’ve three,’ said Roan. ‘One in the name of Roan Power, one I had forged in Dublin in the name of Violet Mackintosh and one I was given by Amethyst in Lisbon. It’s an English passport in the name of Isabel Downing. Sure but the photograph in it is pretty grim. I look like a hag.’
‘Use that one,’ said James. ‘I’ll have to get used to calling you Isabel for the time being, until we’re safely away.’
‘And what shall I call you?’
‘I’m travelling on the only passport I own. I feel inadequate only having the one. You’ll just have to call me Bond, James Bond.’
Perry returned a few minutes later and sat back down at the table with them.
‘I’ve packed a bag with some of m-my old clothes,’ he said, ‘and another one for you, Roan. Just some ancient bits of m-my m-mother’s that I don’t think she’ll m-miss. They’re going to look pretty ghastly on you, I’m afraid. You’ll want to bury them in a large hole at the earliest opportunity. M-maybe you can buy yourself something in France? The latest Parisian fashions!’
‘Maybe I’ll do that,’ said Roan.
‘And I don’t suppose either of you have any m-money.’
‘I’ve a few pounds,’ said James, while Roan shrugged.
‘It’s shillings with me,’ she said. ‘They don’t exactly pay their maids a fortune at Eton, I can tell you for nothing.’
‘I thought that m-might be the case,’ said Perry, dropping a brown envelope on the table. ‘There’s some travelling funds for you in there.’
‘Perry, I can’t,’ said James. ‘You’ve done more than enough already.’
‘You won’t get far on a few pounds, James,’ said Perry. ‘There’s fifty in there. Think of it as a loan. I’ll take the Bentley as security. If I never see m-my m-money again, I’ll keep the m-motor. Which will be a pretty decent bargain.’
‘It’s a deal,’ said James. ‘But where on earth did you get your hands on fifty pounds in cash?’
‘Why do you think I’m down here, James? I wouldn’t m-miss Ascot for anything. I had a sure-fire tip on the gee-gees that came good. There’s no racing in Scotland. They’re a m-miserable bunch. I’d rather you had the m-money, as a m-matter of fact – I’d only gamble it away again.’
They were too excited to sleep and the three of them stayed in the kitchen, drinking coffee, laughing and chatting as if the world outside the room had ceased to exist and time had stopped.
For this one, brief, magical moment, as Perry told a string of funny stories about his exploits over the past six months, James could forget about his troubles. He recalled evenings spent with Perry in the past, lounging on the rooftops of Eton talking about…?
What had they talked about?
Not anything serious or important, that was for sure. They had just been boys enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company. Could James ever go back to such an uncomplicated time?
He wondered if this was what grown-up life was like – brief moments of simple pleasure, idle chatter and good company, separated by long periods of stress and fear and tangled emotions.
Eventually Roan stood up and stretched.
‘I think I should go and get ready,’ she said. ‘I’ll change into some of your ma’s rags and fix myself up.’
Perry went to show her where everything was and James laid his head in his arms on the table.
He closed his eyes and in seconds was asleep.
He had no idea how long he slept before Perry shook him awake.
‘Are you bearing up, old thing?’ his friend asked.
‘I’ll do,’ said James, rubbing his temples.
Perry leant against the warm stove.
‘You quite sure you know what you’re doing?’ he said.
‘Of course I’m not,’ said James. ‘I know this is madness, Perry. One day I’ll tell you all about it. But for now it’s safest if I keep my mouth shut.’
‘She’s very pretty,’ said Perry. ‘A lot of m-men have been driven m-mad by pretty women. I sense she’s leading you into something.’
‘I don’t know who’s leading whom,’ said James.
‘Looks like you and I are both in the same boat, now,’ said Perry. ‘There’ll be no going back to Eton for you, after this.’
‘No,’ said James. ‘How is Fettes?’
‘Cold and Scottish.’
‘Am I a fool, Perry?’ said James.
‘You?’ Perry thought about it. ‘Not a fool, James, a m-madman.’
They laughed, and then Perry gave James a concerned look. ‘Be careful,’ he said.
‘I’ve never been careful in my life,’ said James. ‘And I’m not about to start now.’
James wrote a short letter to his Aunt Charmian, telling her that he was all right and not to worry about him, but not telling her where he was going or who he was with. He finished by saying he would write to her again as soon as he could. He sealed the letter and gave it to Perry to post when they had gone. He hated doing this to her but there w
as no other way.
He went upstairs and changed into an old suit of Perry’s and a hat of his father’s. At a distance he might just pass for a young man about town, but close up he was all too clearly just a schoolboy. Then he picked up the suitcase and went downstairs to the hallway where Roan was already waiting for him.
For a second James didn’t recognise her and thought she might be one of Mrs Mandeville’s friends. When he realised it was her, he laughed. She was wearing a smart navy blue dress with a travelling coat and hat, a pair of severe glasses and her hair was blonde.
‘Is that a wig?’ he said.
‘Do you like it?’ said Roan. ‘It was given me by Amethyst. In case I ever needed a disguise.’
‘You look strange,’ said James. ‘It’ll take some getting used to. The spectacles as well.’
‘They’re just plain glass,’ she said, ‘but they do make me look plain. I’d hate to be plain, James. I want to stay young and pretty all my life.’
Perry came in the front door.
‘There’s a taxi waiting round the corner,’ he said. ‘I thought it best if the cabbie didn’t know which house you came out from.’
‘Well done,’ said James, and he embraced his friend quickly. As he broke away Perry slipped something into his pocket.
‘What’s that?’ said James.
‘M-my passport.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s pretty obvious that something serious is going on, James. We’ve shared some scrapes together, I only wish I could come along with you on this one. But I think if I get into any m-more trouble m-my old m-man will disown m-me and cut m-me off, and I should end up begging on the streets.’
‘I can’t take your passport, Perry.’
‘Why ever not? I won’t be needing it until the holidays. You can post it back to m-me from France. No one will ever know.’
‘But, Perry…’
‘They m-might be watching the ports, James. Checking names. Looking out for runaway boys. Even if they aren’t, you don’t want it on record that you, James Bond, went through Dover this m-morning. Cover your tracks, old thing.’
‘But I look nothing like you,’ said James. ‘They’ll see the picture.’
‘The fellow in the photograph looks nothing like m-me,’ said Perry. ‘I’ve had it since I was twelve, when I was sent away to stay with an aunt in Kenya one summer. I dare say you’ve changed a bit since you were twelve. The only thing you’ll have to re-m-member is to act like you’re sixteen, going on seventeen, which shouldn’t be too m-much of a stretch for you. Now go, before I change my m-mind and call the police.’
They got to Charing Cross in no time and sat apart on the train to Dover. Everything had appeared quite normal at the station but they wanted to take no chances and arranged not to speak again until they were safely on the ferry.
As the train rattled through the dreary grey suburbs of south London and out into the open Kent countryside James pretended to read a newspaper, but it might have been written in Greek for all it meant to him. For her part, Roan stared out of the window, lost in thought.
When they were nearing Dover James took out Perry’s passport and grinned at how daft Perry had looked at twelve. He soon sobered up, however, as he remembered that this picture was now supposed to be him. He tried to adopt the gormless expression of the young Perry Mandeville and decided in the end not to bother as it might just attract more attention to him.
As it was, having checked the name, the officer on duty at Dover barely glanced at the passport before waving James through to the ferry. He waited anxiously at the top of the gangplank until he was sure that Roan was safely on board and went to get himself some breakfast.
They had made it this far without a problem, which meant that nobody knew that they had left Eton yet.
By the time they arrived in France, though, their disappearance would surely have been discovered. They would have to plan their next move carefully.
After a gloomy start the day turned fine and sunny. The Channel, which could be unpleasantly choppy, was flat as a mill-pond and the ferry steamed smoothly ahead. James strolled around the deck to stretch his legs and once he had spotted Roan, who was sitting reading a book in the fresh air at the stern, he did one more circuit to check that there was no possibility of anyone watching them.
When he returned, Roan was at the rail, as they had arranged.
He strolled casually over to the spot next to her and stood watching the wake as it foamed and frothed behind them.
Roan had put on a pair of sunglasses and held her blonde wig in place with a scarf.
‘So far, so good,’ she said without looking at James.
‘It might be harder in France,’ said James.
‘We’ll be all right,’ said Roan. ‘Our luck’s held this far, but let’s not tempt it. After we’ve talked we’d better split up again and meet at the railway station in Calais.’
‘And then what?’ said James.
‘Maybe Paris,’ said Roan. ‘But you don’t need to come with me, James. Once I’m away.’
‘I want to come with you.’
‘What would you do in Paris, darling? That fifty pounds won’t last forever.’
‘What are you going to do?’ said James.
‘I haven’t thought much beyond getting away,’ said Roan, ‘but I can find work anywhere.’
‘You mustn’t try and contact your people,’ said James. ‘I don’t want you going back to your old ways. Forget about going to them for help. I’d hate to have to stop you from blowing anyone else up.’
‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ve learnt my lesson,’ said Roan. ‘Besides, my useful days as an agent are over. After what’s happened their only thought will be to get hold of me and keep me quiet, for good. They’ll kill me sooner than have me falling into the hands of your government.’
‘That’s just great,’ said James. ‘We’re on the run not only from the British authorities but also the Soviet secret service. I’d rate our chances of survival at just about zero.’
‘The saints are watching over us, darling, don’t you worry. Now, are you sure there’s nobody in Europe you know who could help us? You don’t have any more useful pals like Perry M-Mandeville tucked away anywhere?’
‘There is someone,’ said James. ‘It’s a long shot, but it’s the best I can come up with.’
‘Who is this someone?’
‘A man I met in Austria. He said that if I ever needed help I could go to him.’
‘Does he have a name?’
‘Hannes Oberhauser. He’s a mountain guide. We could stay with him for a while. We’d be well off the beaten track.’
‘The mountains, you say?’
‘Yes, in the Tyrol, about as far away from all this as you can get.’
‘Whereabouts in the Tyrol?’
‘Near a little town called Kitzbühel.’
Roan thought about this for a while, watching a flock of noisy seagulls as they wheeled and dived behind the ferry. Finally she touched his hand on the rail, just for a second.
‘Let’s do it,’ she said, and walked away.
24
The Marseillaise
James spent a tense few minutes at the French passport control where the douanier went though an elaborate rigmarole of checking pieces of paper and copying down details from James’s passport, all the while looking from his notes to James with watery eyes. He didn’t spot that the photograph was of someone completely different, though, and at last he stubbed out the cigarette that had been hanging from his lower lip and went into a wild flurry of stamping before passing the passport back to James. James was ahead of Roan and once he had gone through he couldn’t resist waiting for her, even though their arrangement was not to meet until they got to the station. He sat on a bench in a small porch at the end of the customs shed and tried to look like a relaxed young man of the world enjoying a little peace and quiet, rather than an anxious boy waiting to help an enemy spy o
n the run.
At last, there she was. She walked towards him swinging her handbag and there was a skip in her step. She was smiling broadly, and as she passed James she gave a little wink before slipping on her sunglasses. She was humming a jolly tune, and James realised it was the Marseillaise.
He watched her as she went outside and was swallowed up by the brightness of the sun.
Perry’s voice sounded in the back of his mind with words of warning, but he shut it out. He had chosen this adventure and was going to go through with it whatever happened.
He stood up and carried his suitcase out into the warm French air.
When he arrived at the railway station he saw Roan waiting in a queue at the ticket office. He had given her some of the money and the plan was to separately buy two through tickets to Kitzbühel.
James held back and scanned the station, keeping one eye on Roan. Although they had safely come this far, it was always possible that someone might be watching them.
He had become quite skilful at looking out for suspicious activity in the past few weeks. He was reasonably confident that if anyone was hanging around who shouldn’t be there, he would be able to spot them.
He did two or three sweeps of the area, then strolled over to the news-stand and bought a map of Europe and a French newspaper that he pretended to read. Then he moved to the toilets and looked inside. When he came out he walked slowly round the edge of the concourse, and looked carefully at the men and women in the cafe and at the flower stall.
He could see nothing out of the ordinary and was just going to join the queue for tickets when he caught sight of someone he hadn’t noticed before.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something wrong about him. There was an alertness, a watchfulness. He was standing in the gloom beneath the station clock, keeping close to the wall. Like James he had a newspaper, and like James he wasn’t really reading it.
James edged closer, keeping among the other travellers. He was to the man’s side and out of his line of sight unless he turned his head, so he was able to get close enough to properly study his face. He had the tough, confident look of a policeman or a soldier about him. He was definitely on the look-out for something; his eyes were darting around the station concourse.