Devil May Care - Sebastian Faulks [94]
‘I don’t want to risk a farm building,’ said Bond.
‘It’ll just mean dogs. We’ll try to sleep in the field over there. It’s not too bad. Put on that nice cardigan if you’re cold. If you get really freezing, you can get back into the car and try out the famous double bed.’
It was a beautiful summer night, and the sky above them was dense with stars. Bond made himself as comfortable as he could on the grass, folding up the suit jacket for a pillow.
He stroked Scarlett’s hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. He bent down to kiss her, but she was already asleep.
How strange, thought Bond, to find himself at last in the country against which he had spent the greater part of his adult life conspiring and fighting. Now that he had finally set foot there, it seemed – with its European faces, straggling roads and poor farms –
less alien and somehow more normal than he had pictured it. Then, deep in the heart of the Soviet Union, James Bond fell into a light but restful sleep. As they neared Moscow towards noon the next day, Bond noticed a burning smell coming from beneath the Volga’s bonnet. He had driven it hard for several hours, and it seemed to be resenting it. A dim memory of a London Motor Show came back to him at which the men on the Volga stand had extolled its high ground clearance, cigarette lighter, integral radio and . . . Yes, that was it: its pedal-operated lubrication. In the footwell, Bond saw an auxiliary pedal and pumped it hard, oiling not only the big end but large parts of the main road to Moscow.
‘Once we get to Moscow,’ he said, ‘we’ll go by train. Do we have enough money for tickets to Leningrad? Then we’ll get a boat to Helsinki.’
Scarlett counted the roubles from Bond’s pocket.
‘We may have to do another Bonnie and Clyde at a petrol station,’ she said.
‘Another good reason to dump the car in Moscow. The police will probably have its number by now.’
‘Good,’ said Scarlett. ‘We’ll take a tram into the middle of town. I need some clothes. These shoes
. . . We’ll go to GUM, the state department store.’
‘Isn’t that right next to the Kremlin?’ said Bond.
‘Yes, but I’m not sure where else to go. I think most of the other clothes shops just have empty shelves. You don’t have to come in, James. I know what men are like about shopping.’
‘It’s not the tedium, it’s the – ’
‘I know.’
‘Get me a clean shirt and underwear while you’re there. And food. We don’t want to risk a restaurant.’
They left the car near a tram terminus on the east side of the city and travelled into the centre. Bond carried the small suitcase from the boot of the Volga and hoped he looked like a middle-ranking Party functionary. Scarlett wore the BOAChostess skirt and blouse with the garage woman’s cardigan and shoes. Most of the others on the tram were dressed in a similarly improvised way and no one seemed to give them a second look.
While Scarlett disappeared into the labyrinth of GUM – a green-roofed, turreted monster almost as big as the Louvre – Bond walked round outside, not wanting to stop in case anyone came to speak to him. He made several long circuits before he eventually saw Scarlett emerge with two full bags.
‘ That was the longest half-hour of my life,’ he said.
‘You wait till you see what I’ve got. A little straw
hat to make you look like a maths teacher on his summer holiday. Short-sleeved shirt. You like those, don’t you? Socks that Ivan would be proud of on his collective farm.’
‘And for yourself?’ said Bond, hustling her away from the shadow of the Kremlin towards the tram stop.
‘ Two pairs of babushka knickers and a reinforced bra that could support the onion domes of St Basil’s. A clean blouse. And some bread and cheese.’
‘Good girl. Now let’s go.’
They took a tram to Three Stations Square in the north-east section of the city and went up the steps of Leningrad station. Bond felt safer in the purposeful comings and goings of the concourse than he had while killing time outside GUM.
Scarlett bought two tickets for the Krasnaya Strela,