once more, anxious about the loss of height. The pilot waited for around four minutes as he turned, bleeping his engine and positioning himself for a landing. Then he began his Mayday call, giving a heading and fix that was around ten miles out so that the authorities would take longer to reach them.
‘When we’re down, you’ve got about five minutes to get going,’ he shouted to Bond. He cut the engine, then gave it another burst: ‘A bit of realism for the customers,’ he said with a grin.
They drifted over some flat farmland with no sign of life for five or six miles then touched down and taxied towards a clump of trees and a ribbon-straight road lined with poplars. A battered elderly Volkswagen was parked near the trees, almost out of sight from the road. Just as the Cessna’s engine stopped, a figure wearing a white overall identical to Bond’s broke free from the trees and came towards them.
‘Go! God be with you,’ said the pilot, already starting to climb out.
Bond helped Ebbie down into the field, stripped off the overall and looked at the man who had joined them. Bond’s replacement simply nodded and inclined his head towards the Volkswagen. He handed over the keys and said there were maps in the car. Taking Ebbie by the hand, Bond set off at a trot. The last they saw of the two intrepid flyers was from the car. They had part of the cowling off and were fiddling with the engine. But by this time the Volkswagen was already on the road, heading for Paris. Bond allowed himself time to get used to the car before he spoke.
‘Right, young lady. How and why did you turn up again?’
It had been impossible to carry on any detailed conversation on the aircraft, and he was now very suspicious of Ebbie’s dramatic reappearance, even if it did have Norman Murray’s blessing.
‘That nice policeman thought it would be a pleasant surprise for you, James darling.’
‘Yes, but what happened to you in Kilkenny?’
‘He didn’t tell you?’
‘Who?’
‘The Inspector. Murray.’
‘Not a word. What happened?’
‘At the hotel?’
‘Well, I’m not talking about your daring escape from Germany, Ebbie,’ he replied with a certain crustiness.
‘I woke up,’ she said, as though that explained it all.
‘And?’
‘It was early, very early, and you weren’t there, James.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was frightened. I got out of bed and went into the passage. There was nobody there so I went along to the stairs. You were using the telephone down in the lobby. I heard your voice, then people started coming in at the other end of the passage. I was very embarrassed.’
‘Embarrassed?’
‘I only had . . . only little . . .’ She indicated what she had been wearing. ‘And nothing up here at all. So, there was a cupboard – a closet where they keep cleaning things.’
Bond nodded and she continued, ‘I hid. It was dark and not nice. But I hid for a long time. I heard other voices and people walking along the passage. When it was silent I came out again. You had disappeared.’
He nodded again. It could just be true, and she was convincing enough.
‘I dressed,’ she said, giving him a small, uncomfortable look. ‘Then the policemen came and I told them. They used the radio in their car and told me there were orders. Then they brought me to the airport. James, I have no clothes, only what I stand up in, and my shoulder bag.’
‘Did Inspector Murray tell you what would be happening?’
‘It was a risk, he said, for me to remain in Ireland. He said I should go with you, but to give you a surprise. He has a sense of humour. He’s a very funny man, the Inspector.’
‘Yes, exceptionally droll. Hilarious.’
He still had no way of knowing whether to believe her or not. In the circumstances there was only one course he could take. He must stick with her but keep her in the dark as much as possible, arousing no suspicion in her.
They arrived at his safe apartment, Bond having telephoned ahead from a service area on the A11 Autoroute. There was food in the large refrigerator, two bottles of a good vintage Krug and clean linen on the double bed; no notes or messages. That was always the way. A quick telephone call giving his arrival time and probable duration of stay and his friends would be gone by the time Bond arrived. He did not ask where they went, neither did they question him. The husband was an old Service hand but the trade had never been mentioned by either side. In eight years the routine rarely changed. Everything was invariably ready and this occasion, in spite of the very short notice, was no exception.
‘James, what a beautiful little apartment!’ Ebbie appeared genuinely enthusiastic. ‘Is this all yours?’
‘It is when I’m in Paris and when my friend is away.’ He went to the desk in the main room, opened the top drawer and removed the false interior. Underneath he always kept a float of around a thousand francs.
‘Look, there is steak.’ Ebbie was exploring the kitchen. ‘Shall I cook us a meal?’
‘Later.’ Bond looked at the stainless steel Rolex. It would take him the best part of half an hour, given a favourable wind, to get to the rendezvous arranged with Ann Reilly. ‘Thank heaven there are shops that stay open late in Paris. Ebbie, I want you to make a list of the essential clothing you need and give me your sizes.’
‘We are going shopping?’ She gave a little jump, like a small child looking forward to a sudden treat.
‘I am going shopping,’ he said with great firmness.
‘Oh. But, James, there are some things you cannot get. Personal items . . .’
‘Just make the list, Ebbie. A lady will get the personal things.’
‘What lady?’ She bridled. Ebbie Heritage was either one hell of a good actress or a really jealous woman. Bond would have sworn the latter, for her cheeks had gone scarlet and her eyes were brimming.
With a small stamp of her foot she said, ‘You are seeing another woman?’
‘We haven’t known one another for long, Ebbie.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it. You have been with me. We are lovers. Yet as soon as we come to France . . .’
‘Hold on. Yes, I am going to see another lady. But I’m seeing her strictly for business reasons.’
‘
‘Nothing like that. Now, calm down, Ebbie. I want you to listen to me.’ He realised he was talking to her as he would speak to a child. ‘This is very important. I must go out. I shall take your list with me. You must on no account answer the door or the telephone. Keep the door locked until I return. I shall give a special knock, like so.’ He demonstrated: three quick raps, pause, another three, pause, then two harder raps. ‘Got it?’
‘Yes.’ She was almost sullen.
‘Then show me.’
She gave a small shrug and repeated the pattern of knocks.
‘Right. Now the telephone. Do not touch it unless it rings three times, goes silent and then starts ringing again.’
The codes were as simple as lovers’ signals, but they were equally easy to remember. Bond went through it again, then sat her down at the table with pen and paper while he went round the apartment closing shutters and drawing curtains. By the time he had finished, she held up the completed list.
‘How long will you be gone?’ she asked in a very small voice.
‘With luck, about two hours. Not much longer.’
She pulled herself up very straight. ‘Two hours, and I shall smell this other woman’s scent on you if you are making love with her. You be on time, James. Dinner will be here, on this table, in two hours exactly. You understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said with a winning smile, ‘and don’t forget what I told you about the door and the telephone. You understand?’
She lifted her face, hands behind her back, raising herself on tiptoe, and turning her cheek towards him.
‘Don’t I rate a proper kiss?’
‘When you come back in time for dinner we’ll see.’
