Devil May Care - Sebastian Faulks [10]
‘Sabbatical, Moneypenny. There’s a difference. Anyway, it was fine. A little too long for my taste. And how’s my favourite gatekeeper?’
‘Never better, thank you, James.’
It was true. Miss Moneypenny wore a severe blackand-white hound’s-tooth suit with a white blouse and a blue cameo brooch at the throat, but her skin was flushed with girlish excitement.
Bond inclined his head towards the door. ‘And the old man?’
Miss Moneypenny made a sucking noise over her teeth. ‘A bit cranky, to be honest, James. He’s taken up . . .’ She crooked her finger in invitation to him to come closer. As he inclined his head, she whispered in his ear. Bond felt her lips against his skin.
‘Yoga!’ Bond exploded. ‘What in God’s – ’
Moneypenny laughed as she raised a finger to her lips.
‘Has the whole world gone raving mad in my absence?’
‘Calm down, James, and tell me what’s in that pretty red bag you’re carrying.’
‘Chocolates,’ said Bond. ‘M asked me to bring some from Rome.’ He showed her the box of Perugian Baci in their distinctive blue-and-silver wrapping.
‘Do you know what baci means in Italian, James? It means ‘‘kisses’’.’
‘I suppose they must be for his wife.’
‘James, you b–’
‘Ssh . . .’
Before she could protest any further, the heavy walnut door swung open quietly, and Bond saw M
standing on the threshold, his head to one side.
‘Come in, 007,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you back.’
‘ Thank you, sir.’ Bond followed him in, pausing only to blow Miss Moneypenny a last tormenting kiss before he closed the door.
Bond sat down in the chair across from M’s desk. After a long sequence of struck and abandoned safety matches, M finally had his pipe going to his satisfaction. The small-talk about Bond’s sabbatical was over, and the old sailor peered briefly out of the window, as though somewhere over Regent’s Park there might be enemy shipping. Then he swung round to face Bond.
‘ There’s something I need your help with, 007. The details are a little hazy at the moment, but I sense that it’s going to be something big. Very big indeed. Have you heard of Dr Julius Gorner?’
‘You’re not referring me to another medic, are you, sir?’ said Bond. ‘I thought I’d satisfied you on – ’
‘No, no, it’s an academic title. From the Sorbonne, I believe. Though Dr Gorner also holds degrees from
Oxford University and Vilnius in Lithuania, which is one of the oldest universities in Eastern Europe. At Oxford, he took a first-class degree in modern greats
– that’s politics, philosophy and economics to you and me, Bond – then, rather surprisingly, switched to chemistry for his doctorate.’
‘A jack-of-all-trades,’ said Bond.
M coughed. ‘Rather a master-of-all-trades, I’m afraid. This academic stuff is merely background, and he’s said to have acquired it pretty easily. He volunteered under age in the war and had the distinction of fighting for both sides – for the Nazis initially, and then for the Russians at the battle of Stalingrad. This happened to quite a few people in the Baltic states, as you know, according to which country was occupying theirs and compelled them to fight. The odd thing with Gorner is that he seems to have changed sides of his own free will – according to who he thought was the likely victor.’
‘A soldier of fortune,’ said Bond. He found his interest piqued.
‘Yes. But his real passion is business. He studied a year at Harvard Business School, but left because he found it insufficiently stimulating. He began a small pharmaceutical business in Estonia, then opened a factory near Paris. You’d think it would be the other
way round, having the office in Paris and the cheap labour in Estonia. But nothing about Dr Gorner is quite what you’d expect.’
‘What sort of pharmaceuticals?’ said Bond.
‘Analgesics. You know, painkillers. Then in due course they’re hoping