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“Gee, Milt,” she said half laughing, “you nearly squashed me. You dont know your strength. But do lets celebrate. I think that would be lots of fun. And that Paris idea sounds grand. Lets do that, shall we? What shall I order for dinner?”
“Hell - caviar of course. ” Mr Krest held his hands apart. “One of those two-pound tins from Hammacher Schlemmer - the grade ten shot size, and all the trimmings. And that pink champagne. ” He turned to Bond. “That suit you, feller?”
“Sounds like a square meal. ” Bond changed the subject. “What have you done with the prize?”
“Formalin. Up on the boat-deck with some other jars of stuff weve picked up here and there - fish, shells. All safe in our home morgue. Thats how we were told to keep the specimens. Well airmail that damned fish when we get back to civilization. Give a Press conference first. Should make a big play in the papers back home. Ive already radioed the Smithsonian and the news agencies. My accountantsll sure be glad of some Press cuttings to show those darned revenue boys. ”
Mr Krest got very drunk that night. It did not show greatly. The soft Bogart voice became softer and slower. The round, hard head turned more deliberately on the shoulders. The lighters flame took increasingly long to relight the cigar, and one glass was swept off the table. But it showed in the things Mr Krest said. There was a violent cruelty, a pathological desire to wound, quite near the surface in the man. That night, after dinner, the first target was James Bond. He was treated to a soft-spoken explanation as to why Europe, with England and France in the van, was a rapidly diminishing asset to the world. Nowadays, said Mr Krest, there were only three powers - America, Russia and China. That was the big poker game and no other country had either the chips or the cards to come into it. Occasionally some pleasant little country - and he admitted theyd been pretty big league in the past - like England would be lent some money so that they could take a hand with the grown-ups. But that was just being polite like one sometimes had to be - to a chum in ones club whod gone broke. No. England - nice people, mind you, good sports - was a place to see the old buildings and the Queen and so on. France? They only counted for good food and easy women. Italy? Sunshine and spaghetti. Sanatorium, sort of. Germany? Well, they still had some spunk, but two lost wars had knocked the heart out of them. Mr Krest dismissed the rest of the world with a few similar tags and then asked Bond for his comments.
Bond was thoroughly tired of Mr Krest. He said he found Mr Krests point of view oversimplified - he might even say naive. He said: “Your argument reminds me of a rather sharp aphorism I once heard about America. Care to hear it?”
“Sure, sure. ”
“Its to the effect that America has progressed from infancy to senility without having passed through a period of maturity. ”
Mr Krest looked thoughtfully at Bond. Finally he said: “Why, say, Jim, thats pretty neat. ” His eyes hooded slightly as they turned towards his wife. “Guess youd kinda go along with that remark of Jims, eh, treasure? I recall you saying once you reckoned there was something pretty childish about the Americans. Remember?”
“Oh Milt. ” Liz Krests eyes were anxious. She had read the signs. “How can you bring that up? You know it was only something casual I said about the comic sections of the papers. Of course I dont agree with what James says. Anyway, it was only a joke, wasnt it, James?”
“Thats right,” said Bond. “Like when Mr Krest said England had nothing but ruins and a queen. ”
Mr Krests eyes were still on the girl. He said softly: “Shucks, treasure. Why are you looking so nervous? Course it was a joke. ” He paused. “And one Ill remember, treasure. One Ill sure remember. ”
Bond estimated that by now Mr Krest had just about one whole bottle of various alcohols, mostly whisky, inside him. It looked to Bond as if, unless Mr Krest passed out, the time was not far off when Bond would have to hit Mr Krest just once very hard on the jaw. Fidele Barbey was now being given the treatment. “These islands of yours, Fido. When I first looked them up on the map I thought it was just some specks of fly-dirt on the page. ” Mr Krest chuckled. “Even tried to brush them off with the back of my hand. Then I read a bit about them and it seemed to me my first thoughts had just about hit the nail on the head. Not much good for anything, are they, Fido? I wonder an intelligent guy like you doesnt get the hell out of there. Beach-combing aint any kind of a life. Though I did hear one of your family had logged over a hundred illegitimate children. Mebbe thats the attraction, eh, feller?” Mr Krest grinned knowingly.
Fidele Barbey said equably: “Thats my uncle, Gaston. The rest of the family doesnt approve. Its made quite a hole in the family fortune. ”
“Family fortune, eh?” Mr Krest winked at Bond. “Whats it in? Cowrie-shells?”
“Not exactly. ” Fidele Barbey was not used to Mr Krests brand of rudeness. He looked mildly embarrassed. “Though we made quite a lot out of tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl about a hundred years ago when there was a rage for these things. Copras always been our main business. ”
“Using the family bastards as labour, I guess. Good idea. Wish I could fix something like that in my home circle. ” He looked across at his wife. The rubber lips turned still further down. Before the next gibe could be uttered, Bond had pushed his chair back and had gone out into the well-deck and pulled the door shut behind him.
Ten minutes later, Bond heard feet coming softly down the ladder from the boat-deck. He turned. It was Liz Krest. She came over to where he was standing in the stern. She said in a strained voice: “I said Id go to bed. But then I thought Id come back here and see if youd got everything you want. Im not a very good hostess, Im afraid. Are you sure you dont mind sleeping out here?”
“I like it. I like this kind of air better than the canned stuff inside. And its rather wonderful to have all those stars to look at. Ive never seen so many before. ”
She said eagerly, grasping at a friendly topic: “I like Orions Belt and the Southern Cross the best. You know, when I was young, I used to think the stars were really holes in the sky. I thought the world was surrounded by a great big black sort of envelope, and that outside it the universe was full of bright light. The stars were just holes in the envelope that let little sparks of light through. One gets terribly silly ideas when ones young. ” She looked up at him, wanting him not to snub her.
Bond said: “Youre probably quite right. One shouldnt believe all the scientists say. They want to make everything dull. Where did you live then?”
“At Ringwood in the New Forest. It was a good place to be brought up. A good place for children. Id like to go there again one day. ”
Bond said: “Youve certainly come a long way since then. Youd probably find it pretty dull. ”
She reached out and touched his sleeve. “Please dont say that. You dont understand - ” there was an edge of desperation in the soft voice - “I cant bear to go on missing what other people have - ordinary people. I mean,” she laughed nervously, “you wont believe me, but just to talk like this for a few minutes, to have someone like you to talk to, is something Id almost forgotten. ” She suddenly reached for his hand and held it hard. “Im sorry. I just wanted to do that. Now Ill go to bed. ”
The soft voice came from behind them. The speech had slurred, but each word was carefully separated from the next. “Well, well. Whadya know? Necking with the underwater help!”
Mr Krest stood framed in the hatch to the saloon. He stood with his legs apart and his arms upstretched to the lintel above his head. With the light behind him he had the silhouette of a baboon. The cold, imprisoned breath of the saloon rushed out past him and for a moment chilled the warm night air in the well-deck. Mr Krest stepped out and softly pulled the door to behind him.
Bond took a step towards him, his hands held loosely at his sides. He measured the distance to Mr Krests solar plexus. He said: “Dont jump to conclusions, Mr Krest. And watch your tongue. Youre lucky not to have got hurt so far tonight. Dont pr
ess your luck. Youre drunk. Go to bed. ”
“Oho! Listen to the cheeky feller. ” Mr Krests moon-burned face turned slowly from Bond to his wife. He made a contemptuous, Hapsburg-lip grimace. He took a silver whistle out of his pocket and whirled it round on its string. “He sure dont get the picture, does he, treasure? You aint told him that those Heinies up front aint just for ornament?” He turned back to Bond. “Feller, you move any closer and I blow this just once. And you know what? Itll be the old heave-ho for Mr goddam Bond” - he made a gesture towards the sea - “over the side. Man overboard. Too bad. We back up to make a search and you know what, feller? Just by chance we back up into you with those twin screws. Would you believe it! What lousy bad luck for that nice feller Jim we were all getting so fond of!” Mr Krest swayed on his feet. “Dya get the photo, Jim? Okay, so lets all be friends again and get some shut eye. ” He reached for the lintel of the hatch and turned to his wife. He lifted his free hand and slowly crooked a finger. “Move, treasure. Time for bed. ”
“Yes, Milt. ” The wide, frightened eyes turned side ways. “Goodnight, James. ” Without waiting for an answer, she ducked under Mr Krests arm and almost ran through the saloon.
Mr Krest lifted a hand. “Take it easy, feller. No hard feelings, eh?”
Bond said nothing. He went on looking hard at Mr Krest.
Mr Krest laughed uncertainly. He said: “Okay then. ” He stepped into the saloon and slid the door shut. Through the window Bond watched him walk unsteadily across the saloon and turn out the lights. He went into the corridor and there was a momentary gleam from the stateroom door, and then that too went dark.
Bond shrugged his shoulders. God, what a man! He leant against the stern rail and watched the stars and the flashes of phosphorescence in the creaming wake, and set about washing his mind clear and relaxing the coiled tensions in his body
Half an hour later, after taking a shower in the crews bathroom forrard, Bond was making a bed for himself among the piled Dunlopillo cushions when he heard a single, heartrending scream. It tore briefly into the night and was smothered. It was the girl. Bond ran through the saloon and down the passage. With his hand on the stateroom door, he stopped. He could hear her sobs and, above them, the soft even drone of Mr Krests voice. He took his hand away from the latch, Hell! What was it to do with him? They were man and wife. If she was prepared to stand this sort of thing and not kill her husband, or leave him, it was no good Bond playing Sir Galahad. Bond walked slowly back down the passage. As he was crossing the saloon the scream, this time less piercing, rang out again. Bond cursed fluently and went out and lay down on his bed and tried to focus his mind on the soft thud of the diesels. How could a girl have so little guts? Or was it that women could take almost anything from a man? Anything except indifference? Bonds mind refused to unwind. Sleep got further and further away.
An hour later Bond had reached the edge of unconsciousness when, up above him on the boat-deck, Mr Krest began to snore. On the second night out from Port Victoria, Mr Krest had left his cabin in the middle of the night and had gone up to the hammock that was kept slung for him between the speedboat and the dinghy. But that night he had not snored. Now he was snoring with those deep, rattling, utterly lost snores that come from big blue sleeping-pills on top of too much alcohol.