Live and Let Die: A James Bond Novel by Ian Fleming Page B
Authors: Ian Fleming
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Intelligence Officers, British, New York, New York (State), Men's Adventure, Fiction - Espionage, N.Y.), Intrigue, spy stories, James (Fictitious character), British - New York (State) - New York, James (Fictitious charac, Bond, Bond; James (Fictitious character), Harlem (New York, Harlem (New York; N.Y.)
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underground station. Up front, the auxiliary generators of the 4000 horsepower twin Diesel electric units ticked busily. Under the bare electric bulbs the horizontal purple and gold bands, the colours of the Seaboard Railroad, glowed regally on the streamlined locomotives. The engineman and fireman who would take the great train on the first two hundred mile lap into the south lolled in the spotless aluminium cabin, twelve feet above the track, watching the ammeter and the air-pressure dial, ready to go-It was quiet in the great concrete cavern below the city and every noise threw an echo.
There were not many passengers. More would be taken on at
Newark
,
Philadelphia
,
Baltimore
and
Washington
. Bond walked a hundred yards, his feet ringing on the empty platform, before he found Car 245 towards the rear of the train. A
Pullman
porter stood at the door. He wore spectacles. His black face was bored but friendly. Below the windows of the carriage, in broad letters of brown and gold, was written ‘
Richmond
,
Fredericksburg
and
Potomac
‘, and below that ‘Bellesylvania’, the name of the Pullman car. A thin wisp of steam rose from the couplings of the central heating near the door.
‘Compartment H,’ said Bond.
‘Mr. Bryce, Suh? Yassuh. Mrs. Bryce just come aboard. Straight down da cyar.’
Bond stepped on to the train and turned down the drab olive green corridor. The carpet was thick. There was the usual American train-smell of old cigar-smoke. A notice said ‘Need a second pillow? For any extra comfort ring for your Pullman Attendant. His name is,’ then a printed card, slipped in : ‘Samuel D. Baldwin.’
H was more than half-way down the car. There was a respectable-looking American couple in E, otherwise the rooms were empty. The door of H was closed. He tried it and it was locked.
‘Who’s that?’ asked a girl’s voice, anxiously.
‘It’s me,’ said Bond.
The door opened. Bond walked through, put down his bag and locked the door behind him.
She was in a black tailor-made. A wide-mesh veil came down from the rim of a small black straw hat. One gloved hand was up to her throat and through the veil Bond could see that her face was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked rather French and very beautiful.
‘Thank God,’ she said.
Bond gave a quick glance round the room. He opened the lavatory door and looked in. It was empty.
A voice on the platform outside called ‘Board!’ There was a clang as the attendant pulled up the folding iron step and shut the door and then the train was rolling quietly down the track. A bell clanged monotonously as they passed the automatic signals. There was a slight clatter from the wheels as they crossed some points and then the train began to accelerate. For better or for worse, they were on their way.
‘Which seat would you like?’ asked Bond.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said anxiously. ‘You choose.’
Bond shrugged and sat down with his back to the engine. He preferred to face forwards.
She sat down nervously facing him. They were still in the long tunnel that takes the
Philadelphia
lines out of the city.
She took off her hat and unpinned the broad-mesh veil and put them on the seat beside her. She took some hairpins out of the back of her hair and shook her head so that the heavy black hair fell forward. There were blue shadows under her eyes and Bond reflected that she too must have gone without sleep that night.
There was a table between them. Suddenly she reached forward and pulled his right hand towards her on the table. She held it in both her hands and bent forward and kissed it. Bond frowned and tried to pull his hand away, but for a moment she held it tight in both of hers.
She looked up and her wide blue eyes looked candidly into his.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for trusting me. It was difficult for you.’ She released his hand and sat back.
‘I’m glad I did,’ said Bond inadequately, his mind trying to grapple with the mystery of
There were not many passengers. More would be taken on at
Newark
,
Philadelphia
,
Baltimore
and
Washington
. Bond walked a hundred yards, his feet ringing on the empty platform, before he found Car 245 towards the rear of the train. A
Pullman
porter stood at the door. He wore spectacles. His black face was bored but friendly. Below the windows of the carriage, in broad letters of brown and gold, was written ‘
Richmond
,
Fredericksburg
and
Potomac
‘, and below that ‘Bellesylvania’, the name of the Pullman car. A thin wisp of steam rose from the couplings of the central heating near the door.
‘Compartment H,’ said Bond.
‘Mr. Bryce, Suh? Yassuh. Mrs. Bryce just come aboard. Straight down da cyar.’
Bond stepped on to the train and turned down the drab olive green corridor. The carpet was thick. There was the usual American train-smell of old cigar-smoke. A notice said ‘Need a second pillow? For any extra comfort ring for your Pullman Attendant. His name is,’ then a printed card, slipped in : ‘Samuel D. Baldwin.’
H was more than half-way down the car. There was a respectable-looking American couple in E, otherwise the rooms were empty. The door of H was closed. He tried it and it was locked.
‘Who’s that?’ asked a girl’s voice, anxiously.
‘It’s me,’ said Bond.
The door opened. Bond walked through, put down his bag and locked the door behind him.
She was in a black tailor-made. A wide-mesh veil came down from the rim of a small black straw hat. One gloved hand was up to her throat and through the veil Bond could see that her face was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked rather French and very beautiful.
‘Thank God,’ she said.
Bond gave a quick glance round the room. He opened the lavatory door and looked in. It was empty.
A voice on the platform outside called ‘Board!’ There was a clang as the attendant pulled up the folding iron step and shut the door and then the train was rolling quietly down the track. A bell clanged monotonously as they passed the automatic signals. There was a slight clatter from the wheels as they crossed some points and then the train began to accelerate. For better or for worse, they were on their way.
‘Which seat would you like?’ asked Bond.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said anxiously. ‘You choose.’
Bond shrugged and sat down with his back to the engine. He preferred to face forwards.
She sat down nervously facing him. They were still in the long tunnel that takes the
Philadelphia
lines out of the city.
She took off her hat and unpinned the broad-mesh veil and put them on the seat beside her. She took some hairpins out of the back of her hair and shook her head so that the heavy black hair fell forward. There were blue shadows under her eyes and Bond reflected that she too must have gone without sleep that night.
There was a table between them. Suddenly she reached forward and pulled his right hand towards her on the table. She held it in both her hands and bent forward and kissed it. Bond frowned and tried to pull his hand away, but for a moment she held it tight in both of hers.
She looked up and her wide blue eyes looked candidly into his.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for trusting me. It was difficult for you.’ She released his hand and sat back.
‘I’m glad I did,’ said Bond inadequately, his mind trying to grapple with the mystery of
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