Page 29 (1/2)
WHAT&039;S NEW, PUSSYCAT?
It was all over Dracula was dead, properly He wouldn&039;t ain in the politics of the Balkans Bond felt the knot he&039;d almost unpicked had been severed by an Alexandrine blow
&039;Princess Asa is not very good with visitors yet, I&039;m afraid,&039; Miss Churchward told him &039;She&039;s had a shock, as I&039;m sure you appreciate&039;
He looked around the es were still left over from the party, banners with coats of arely untouched by vauests who preferred hues, swar on canapes Generations would probably breed in Palazzo Otranto
A few liveried minions iven notice to quit, Commander Bond,&039; said Miss Churchward &039;I expect you knew that, being a spy and so forth&039;
He didn&039;t deny it Everybody in Roh-profile side The Diogenes Club was cultivating his colourless replacelasses and Marks & Spencer&039;s raincoats
Miss Churchward&039;s severe suit and diaure At the ball, her hair had been ress
That American chap he had run into outside the Kit Kat Klub, the one who&039;d been drained white and tossed aside, was part of the household He thought ined her lips red and her teeth sinking into skin
He gave her his card
&039;When you return to London, perhaps we could lasses at him
He allowed her a se in this vaht Victorian skin was a lush, passionate, hungry heart
Then she gave back his card
&039;I think not,&039; she said
He couldn&039;t have been more surprised if she had slapped him
&039;Commander Bond, you&039;re undoubtedly a very attractive fellow and I would assu of a success with the ladies But you are a new-born You don&039;t yet have powers of fascination&039;
He showed nothing in his face
&039;You don&039;t understand, do you?&039; she said &039;Here&039;
She took off her glasses, and fixed him with a red look like a vice He couldn&039;t move His knees were locked Miss Churchward owned him He would die for a word from her He would throw himself into flaer, and brushed hisevery nerve burn The ered
And that&039;s just a touch,&039; she said, with a tiny smile
Bond composed himself The sunbursts in his head fizzled He looked across the hall and sa carefully Tohost and thin to the point of insubstantiality Miss Churchward had nearly used him up
&039;If you would show yourself out,&039; she said &039;I&039;ve a lot to see to&039;
He couldn&039;t speak
Outside, Bond dawdled by his Aston Martin, watching the sunset behind the palazzo, sled It was as if he&039;d been seduced by Catherine the Great, then tortured for a week in her dungeons
He knew very little about Miss Churchward, but Winthrop said that as a warirl - back in the &039;80s - she&039;d been briefly engaged to the Old Man Froht it worth adding a footnote to his report Penelope Churchould become one of the most powerful elders in Europe And she was British
With Dracula gone, there was a vacancy So-Eht could well be a Queen-Eravel and slid into the sports car He didn&039;t have to be in London for a few days, and thought he could scare up some entertainment in Ro followed A familiar sensation A black Mercedes matched the speed of the Aston Martin Bond realised the Merc was coordinated with a pair of black-jacketed motorcyclists up ahead He was trapped between the outriders and the control car
He shook the last of Miss Churchward&039;s fog out of his ears
This was e forward, drawing level with the bikers, to shoas on to the the blonde streams fanned out under their crash helmets They wore black leather jackets over frilly pink leotards
The girls blew hi ahead of his speeding car The road narroinding along the rocky coast He thought of nudging the girls&039; e the car
The Merc caught up with them In the rearGenevieve had called Flattop, black lips in a cruel line, heavy eyes fixed on the car ahead
So this was Brastov tidying up
It was possible that Smert Spionem had killed Dracula, but unlikely The Russians rarely favoured ostentatious displays of assassination A quiet disappearance was more their style
No, this was personal business
Beside Flattop, raised on a cushion, was the Cat Man hih his face was still covered hite fur His whiskers quivered
The Aston Martin held the road superbly The bike girls had to lean this way and that on the curves, knees scraping asphalt, but the car cornered with ease The heavier, aruardrail or the rock wall
Brastov rolled down his sideand leaned half his body out He wore a dinner jacket and a studded leather collar His forelegs lengthened and bulked into huun
The gun chattered Bullets pranged against Bond&039;s car It was a good job the Aston Martin was arht alloy twice the density of steel The glass of the rearcracked but didn&039;t break
The coast road fed into the nats in the city
He appreciated the tight bottoms of the va in front of hiuards His old creere hors de coot in the way A moon-faced priest on a bicycle wobbled and fell over as the chase passed him Bond looked back, and saw the Merc run over the bike but not the priest, who shook a fist and cursed like a docker Oncoet out of the way
A herd of sheep were crossing the road The girls ploughed through the ani over some unfortunate beasts The Merc was too hard on his rear for him to slon, so he sped up Ani bloody s sheep fell on Brastov&039;s car, forcing Flattop to skid frohed
A shepherd ran up to Brastov&039;s car, shouting The kitty-cat shot hi It was bad form to kill civilians
For that, he wouldn&039;t just escape He would teach the Sirls were herding hi the Aston Martin&039;s bonnet, dancing out of the way if he tried to knock them over Every so often, they threw him kisses or smiles They had pink lipstick and pale blue eyeshadow He wondered how old they were
They were driving through a slum area There was still rubble froles Fires were starting, spreading red light around Whores in ratty wool ju their breasts at passing cars
This must be I Cessati Spiriti