Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [100]
They returned to the van. Felicity bent down to remove her shoes again but Bond said quickly, ‘I’ll drive. Save you unstrapping.’
She laughed. They got in and set off. ‘Dinner?’ she asked.
He almost felt guilty, after all he’d heard about hunger. ‘If you’re still up for it.’
‘Oh, I most certainly am.’
As they drove, Bond asked, ‘Would he really have been killed if you’d gone to the police?’
‘The SAPS would have laughed at the idea of investigating fifty kilos of stolen rice. But the Cape Flats are dangerous, that’s true, and if anyone there thought Joso betrayed them, he very likely would be killed. Let’s hope he’s learnt his lesson.’ Her voice grew cool again as she added, ‘Leniency can win you allies. It can also be a cobra.’
Felicity guided him back to Green Point. Since the restaurant she’d suggested was near the Table Mountain Hotel, he left the van there and they walked on. Several times, Bond noted, Felicity glanced behind her, her face alert, shoulders tensed. The road was deserted. What did she feel threatened by?
She relaxed once they were in the front lobby of the restaurant, which was decorated with tapestry, the fixtures dark wood and brass. The large windows overlooked the water, which danced with lights. Much of the illumination inside came from hundreds of cream-coloured candles. As they were escorted to the table, Bond noticed that her clinging dress glistened in the light and seemed to change colour with every step, from navy to azure to cerulean. Her skin glowed.
The waiter greeted her by name, then smiled at Bond. She ordered a Cosmopolitan, and Bond, in the mood for a cocktail, ordered the drink he had had with Philly Maidenstone. ‘Crown Royal whisky, a double, on ice. Half a measure of triple sec, two dashes of Angostura. Twist of orange peel, not a slice.’
When the waiter left, Felicity said, ‘I’ve never heard of that before.’
‘My own invention.’
‘Have you named it?’
Bond smiled to himself, recalling that the waiter at Antoine’s in London had wondered about the drink too. ‘Not yet.’ He had a flash of inspiration from his conversation with M several days earlier. ‘Though I think I will now. I’ll call it the Carte Blanche. In your honour.’
‘Why?’ she asked, her narrow brow furrowed.
‘Because if your donors drink enough of them, they’ll give you complete freedom to take their money.’
She laughed and squeezed his arm, then picked up the menu.
Sitting closer to her now, Bond could see how expertly she’d applied her make-up, accentuating the feline eyes and the thrust of her cheeks and jaw. A thought came to him. Philly Maidenstone was perhaps more classically attractive, but hers was a passive beauty. Felicity’s was far more assertive, forceful.
He upbraided himself for dwelling on the comparison, reached for the menu and began to study it. Scanning the extensive card he learnt that the restaurant, Celsius, was famed for its special grill, which reached 950 degrees centigrade.
Felicity said, ‘You order for us. Anything to start but I must have a steak for my main course. There’s nothing like the grilled meat at Celsius. My God, Gene, you’re not a vegan, are you?’
‘Hardly.’
When the waiter arrived Bond ordered fresh grilled sardines to be followed by a large rib-eye steak for two. He asked if the chef could grill it with the bone in – known in America as the ‘cowboy cut’.
The waiter mentioned that the steaks were typically served with exotic sauces: Argentinian Chimichurri, Indonesian Coffee, Madagascan Peppercorn, Spanish Madeira or Peruvian Anticuchos. But Bond declined them all. He believed that steaks had flavour enough of their own and should be eaten with only salt and pepper.
Felicity nodded that she was in agreement.
Bond then selected a bottle of South African red wine, the Rustenberg Peter Barlow Cabernet 2005.
The wine came and was as good as he’d expected. They clinked glasses and sipped.
The waiter brought the first course and they ate. Bond, deprived of his lunch by Gregory Lamb, was starving.
‘What do you do for a living, Gene? Severan