John Gardner: Nobody Lives for Ever

‘I should. I am English. Sukie’s short for Susan.’ There was the smile again, and then the laugh, a little more mellow this time.

‘You speak excellent Italian then.’

‘And French, and German. I told you that yesterday, when you were trying to ask subtle questions, to find out about me.’

She reached forward, putting out a hand to cover his as it lay on the table beside his glass.

‘Don’t worry, James, I’m not a witch. But I can spot nosey questions. Comes from the nuns, then living with Pasquale’s people.’

‘Nuns?’

‘I’m a good convent-educated girl, James. You know about girls who’ve been educated in convents?’

‘A fair amount.’

She gave another little pout. ‘I was pretty well brainwashed. Daddy was a broker – all very ordinary: home counties; mock Tudor house; two cars; one scandal. Daddy was caught out with some funny cheques and got five years in an open prison. Collapse of stout family. I’d just finished at the convent, and was all set to go to Oxford. That was out, so I answered an ad in The Times for a nanny, with a mound of privileges, to an Italian family of good birth: Pasquale’s son, as it happened. It’s an old title, like all the surviving Italian nobility, but with one difference. They still have property and money.’

The Tempestas had taken the new English nanny into the family as one of their own. The old man, the Principe, had become a second father to her. She became very fond of him, so when he proposed a marriage – which he described as comodo as opposed to comodita – Sukie saw a certain wisdom in taking up the offer. Yet even in that she showed shrewdness, careful to ensure that the marriage would in no way deprive Pasquale’s two sons of their rightful inheritance.

‘It did, to some extent, but they’re both wealthy and successful in their own right, and they didn’t object. You know old Italian families, James. Papa’s happiness, Papa’s rights, respect for Papa . . .’

Bond asked how the two sons had achieved success, and she hesitated for a fraction too long before going on airily.

‘Oh, business. They own companies and that kind of thing – and, yes, James, I’ll take you up on your offer of a ride to Rome. Thank you.’

They were half-way through the lamb when the padrone came hurrying forward, excused himself to Sukie, and bent to whisper that there was an urgent telephone call for Bond. He pointed towards the bar, where the telephone was off the hook.

‘Bond,’ he said quietly into the receiver.

‘James, you somewhere private?’ He recognised the voice immediately. It was Bill Tanner, M’s Chief-of-Staff.

‘No. I’m having dinner.’

‘This is urgent. Very urgent. Could you . . . ?’

‘Of course.’ He put down the receiver and went back to the table to make his apologies to Sukie. ‘It won’t take long.’ He told her about May being ill in the clinic. ‘They want me to ring them back.’

In his room he set up the CC500 and called London. Bill Tanner came on the line straight away.

‘Don’t say anything, James, just listen. The instructions are from M. Do you accept that?’

‘Of course.’

He had no alternative if Bill Tanner said he was speaking for the Chief of the Secret Service.

‘You’re to stay where you are and take great care.’ There was anxiety in Tanner’s voice.

‘I’m due in Rome tomorrow, I . . .’

‘Listen to me, James. Rome’s coming to you. You, I repeat you , are in the gravest danger. Genuine danger. We can’t get anyone to you quickly, so you’ll have to watch your own back. But stay put. Understand?’

‘I understand.’ When Bill Tanner spoke of Rome coming to him, he meant Steve Quinn, the Service Resident in Rome. The same Steve Quinn Bond had planned to stay with for a couple of days. He asked why Rome was coming to him.

‘To put you fully in the picture. Brief you. Try to get you out.’ He heard Tanner take a quick breath at the other end of the line. ‘I can’t stress the danger strongly enough, old friend. The Chief suspected problems before you left, but we only got the hard intelligence in the last hour. M has flown to Geneva and Quinn is on his way there to be briefed. Then he will come straight to you. He’ll be with you before lunch. In the meantime, trust nobody. For God’s sake, just stay close.’

‘I’m with the Tempesta girl now. Promised her a ride to Rome. What’s the form on her?’ Bond was crisp.

‘We haven’t got it all, but her connections seem clean enough. Certainly not involved with the Honoured Society. Treat her with care, though. Don’t let her get behind you.’

‘I was thinking of the opposite, as a matter of fact.’ Bond’s mouth moved into a hard smile, tinged with a hint of cruelty.

Tanner told him to keep her at the hotel. ‘Stall her about Rome, but don’t alert her. You really don’t know who are your friends and who your enemies. Rome will give you the full strength tomorrow.’

‘We won’t be able to leave until late morning, I’m afraid,’ he told Sukie, once back at the table. ‘That was a business chum who’s been to see my old housekeeper. He’s passing through here tomorrow morning, and I really can’t miss the chance of seeing him.’

She said it did not matter. ‘I was hoping for a lie-in tomorrow anyway.’ Could he detect an invitation in her voice?

They talked on and had coffee and a fine in the neat dining room, with its red and white checked tablecloths and gleaming cutlery, the two stolid north Italian waitresses attending the diners as though serving writs instead of food.

Sukie suggested they should sit at one of the tables outside the Mirto, but Bond made the excuse that it could be uncomfortable.

‘Mosquitoes and midges tend to congregate around the lights. You’ll end up with that lovely skin blotched. It’s safer indoors.’

She asked what kind of business he was in, and he gave her the usual convincing if vague patter, which she appeared to accept. They talked of towns and cities they both enjoyed, and of food and drink.

‘Perhaps I can take you to dinner in Rome,’ Bond suggested. ‘Without wanting to seem ungrateful, I think we can get something a little more interesting at Papa Giovanni’s or the Augustea.’

‘I’d love it. It’s a change to talk to someone who knows Europe well. Pasquale’s family are very Roman, I’m afraid. They don’t really see much further than the Appian Way.’

Bond found it a pleasant evening, although he had to make some effort to appear relaxed after hearing the news from London. Now he had to get through the night.

They went up together, with Bond offering to escort Sukie to her room. They reached the door, and he had no doubts as to what should happen. She came into his arms easily enough, but when he kissed her she did not respond, but kept her lips closed tight, her body rigid. So, he thought, one of those. But he tried again, if only because he wanted to keep her in sight. This time she pulled away, gently putting her fingers to his mouth.

‘I’m sorry, James. But no.’ There was the ghost of a smile as she said, ‘I’m a good convent girl, remember. But that’s not the only reason. If you’re serious, be patient. Now, goodnight, and thank you for the lovely evening.’

‘I should thank you , Principessa,’ he said with a touch of formality.

He watched as she closed her door, then went slowly to his own room, swallowed a couple of Dexedrine tablets and prepared to sit up all night.

4

THE HEAD HUNT

Steve Quinn was a big man, tall, broad, bearded and with an expansive personality, not the usual sort to get a responsible undercover position in the Service. They preferred what they called ‘invisible men’ – grey people who could vanish into a crowd. ‘He’s a big, bearded bastard,’ Steve’s wife, the petite blonde Tabitha, was often heard to remark.