‘Birds,’ said Bond. ‘I am also a representative of the Audubon Society of New York. They have a lease of part of this island.’
‘Oh, really.’ Bond watched the pen writing down exactly what he had said. After the last word she put a neat query in brackets.
‘And,’ Sister Rose smiled politely in the direction of Honeychile, ‘your wife? Is she also interested in birds?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘And her first name?’
‘Honeychile.’
Sister Rose was delighted. ‘What a pretty name.’ She wrote busily. ‘And now just your next of kin and then we’re finished.’
Bond gave M.’s real name as next of kin for both of them. He described him as ‘uncle’ and gave his address as ‘Managing Director, Universal Export, Regent’s Park, London’.
Sister Rose finished writing and said, ‘There, that’s done. Thank you so much, Mr Bryce, and I do hope you both enjoy your stay.’
‘Thank you very much. I’m sure we will.’ Bond got up. Honeychile Rider did the same, her face still expressionless.
Sister Lily said, ‘Now come along with me, you poor dears.’ She walked to a door in the far wall. She stopped with her hand on the cut-glass doorknob. ‘Oh deary me, now I’ve gone and forgotten the number of their rooms! It’s the Cream Suite, isn’t it, Sister?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Fourteen and fifteen.’
‘Thank you, my dear. And now,’ she opened the door, ‘if you’ll just follow me. I’m afraid it’s a terribly long walk.’ She shut the door behind them and led the way. ‘The Doctor’s often talked of putting in one of those moving stairway things, but you know how it is with a busy man,’ she laughed gaily. ‘So many other things to think of.’
‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Bond politely.
Bond took the girl’s hand and they followed the motherly bustling figure down a hundred yards of lofty corridor in the same style as the reception room but lit at frequent intervals by discreetly expensive wall-brackets.
Bond answered with polite monosyllables the occasional twittering comments Sister Lily threw over her shoulder. His whole mind was focused on the extraordinary circumstances of their reception. He was quite certain the two women had been genuine. Not a look or a word had been dropped that was out of place. It was obviously a front of some kind, but a solid one, meticulously supported by the decor and the cast. The lack of resonance in the room, and now in the corridor, suggested that they had stepped from the Quonset hut into the side of the mountain and that they were now walking through its base. At a guess they would be walking towards the west – towards the cliff-face with which the island ended. There was no moisture on the walls and the air was cool and pure with a strongish breeze coming towards them. A lot of money and good engineering had gone into the job. The pallor of the two women suggested that they spent all their time inside the mountain. From what Sister Lily had said it sounded as if they were part of an inside staff that had nothing to do with the strong-arm squad outside and perhaps didn’t even understand what sort of men they were.
It was grotesque, concluded Bond as they came nearer to a door at the end of the corridor, dangerously grotesque, but it was no good wondering about it. He could only follow the lines of the gracious script. At least this was better than the backstage of the island outside.
At the door, Sister Lily rang. They had been expected. The door opened at once. An enchanting Chinese girl in a mauve and white flowered kimono stood smiling and bowing as Chinese girls are supposed to do. Again there was nothing but warmth and welcome in the pale, flowerlike face. Sister Lily cried, ‘Here they are at last, May! Mr and Mrs John Bryce. And I know they must be exhausted so we must take them straight to their rooms for some breakfast and a sleep.’ She turned to Bond. ‘This is May. Such a dear girl. She will be looking after you both. Anything you want, just ring for May. She’s a favourite with all our patients.’
Patients, thought Bond. That’s the second time she’s used the word. He smiled politely at the girl. ‘How do you do. Yes, we’d certainly both of us like to get to our rooms.’
May embraced them both with a warm smile. She said in a low, attractive voice, ‘I do hope you’ll both be comfortable, Mr Bryce. I took the liberty of ordering breakfast as soon as I heard you had come in. Shall we …?’ Corridors branched off to left and right of double lift-doors set in the wall opposite. The girl led the way to the right. Bond and Honeychile followed with Sister Lily taking up the rear.
Numbered doors led off the corridor on either side. Now the decor was in the lightest pink with a dove grey carpet. The numbers on the doors were in the tens. The corridor came to an abrupt end with two doors side by side, 14 and 15. May opened the door of 14, and they followed her in.
It was a charming double bedroom in modern Miami style with dark green walls, dark polished mahogany floor with occasional thick white rugs, and well-designed bamboo furniture with a chintz of large red roses on a white background. There was a communicating door into a more masculine dressing-room and another that led into an extremely luxurious modern bathroom with a step-down bath and a bidet.
It was like being shown into the very latest Florida hotel suite – except for two details which Bond noticed. There were no windows and no inside handles to the doors.
May looked hopefully from one to the other.
Bond turned to Honeychile. He smiled at her. ‘It looks very comfortable, don’t you think, darling?’
The girl played with the edge of her skirt. She nodded, not looking at him.
There was a timid knock on the door and another girl, as pretty as May, tripped in with a loaded tray balanced on her upturned hand. She put it down on the centre table and pulled up two chairs. She whisked off the speckless linen cloth that covered the dishes and pattered out of the room. There was a delicious smell of bacon and coffee.
May and Sister Lily backed to the door. The older woman stopped on the threshold. ‘And now we’ll leave you two dear people in peace. If you want anything, just ring. The bells are by the bed. Oh, and by the way, you’ll find plenty of fresh clothes in the cupboards. Chinese style, I’m afraid,’ she twinkled apologetically, ‘but I hope they’re the right sizes. The wardrobe room only got the measurements yesterday evening. The Doctor has given strict orders that you’re not to be disturbed. He’d be delighted if you’d join him for dinner this evening. He wants you to have the whole of the rest of the day to yourselves – to get settled down, you know.’ She paused and looked from one to the other, smiling inquiry. ‘Shall I say you …?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Bond. ‘Tell the Doctor we shall be delighted to join him for dinner.’
‘Oh, I know he’ll be so pleased.’ With a last twitter the two women softly withdrew and closed the door behind them.
Bond turned towards Honeychile. She looked embarrassed. She still avoided his eyes. It occurred to Bond that she could never have met such soft treatment or seen such luxury in her life. To her, all this must be far more strange and terrifying than what they had gone through outside. She stood and fiddled at the hem of her Man Friday skirt. There were streaks of dried sweat and salt and dust on her face. Her bare legs were filthy and Bond noticed that her toes were moving softly as they gripped nervously into the wonderful thick pile carpet.
Bond laughed. He laughed with real pleasure that her fear had been drowned in the basic predicament of clothes and how to behave, and he laughed at the picture they made – she in her rags and he in his dirty blue shirt and black jeans and muddy canvas shoes.
He went to her and took her hands. They were cold. He said, ‘Honey, we’re a couple of scarecrows. There’s only one problem. Shall we have breakfast first while it’s hot, or shall we get out of these rags and have a bath and eat the breakfast