The James Bond Anthology

The scene was the same as a thousand others Bond had witnessed when, as a teenager, he learned his skiing in the old Ha

Bond, excited, left the scene and followed arrows that pointed to the GLORIA EXPRESS BOB-RUN. It lay on the other side of the cable station. There was a small wooden hut, the starter’s hut, with telephone-wires co

‘Sair Hilary! Sair Hilary!’

Startled out of his thoughts, Bond turned. Fräulein Irma Bunt, her short arms akimbo, was standing on the path to the club.

‘Lunch time! Lunch!’

‘Coming,’ Bond called back, and strolled up the slope towards her. He noted that, even in that hundred yards, his breathing was shallow and his limbs were heavy. This blasted height! He really must get into training!

He came up with her. She looked surly. He said that he was sorry, he had not noticed the time. She said nothing. The yellow eyes surveyed him with active dislike before she turned her back and led the way along the path.

Bond looked back over the morning. What had he done? Had he made a mistake? Well, he just might have. Better re-insure! As they came through the entrance into the reception lounge, Bond said casually, ‘Oh, by the way, Fräulein Bunt, I was in the sk-iroom just now.’

She halted. Bond noticed that the head of the receptionist bent a fraction lower over his visitors’ book.

‘Yes?’

Bond took the length of plastic out of his pocket. ‘I found just what I wanted.’ He stitched a smile of i

Irma Bunt veiled her eyes. ‘It is of no consequence. In future, anything you need you will perhaps ring for, isn’t it? The Count wishes you to have every facility. Now’ – she gestured – ‘if you will perhaps go out on the terrace. You will be shown to our table. I will be with you in a moment.’

Bond went through the restaurant door. Several of the interior tables were occupied by those who had had enough sun. He went across the room and out through the now open french windows. The man Fritz, who appeared to be the maître d’hôtel, came towards him through the crowded tables. His eyes too were cold with hostility. He held up a menu. ‘Please to follow me.’

Bond followed him to the table up against the railing. Ruby and Violet were already there. Bond felt almost light-hearted with relief at having clean hands again. By God, he must pay attention, take care! This time he had got away with it. And he still had the strip of plastic! Had he sounded i

She didn’t withdraw hers. She smiled. Violet smiled. They all started talking at once. It was suddenly a beautiful day.

Fräulein Bunt appeared and took her place. She was gracious again. ‘I am so pleased to hear that you will be staying with us for a whole week, Sair Hilary. You enjoyed your interview with the Count? Is he not an interesting man?’

‘Very interesting. Unfortunately our talk was too short and we discussed only my own subject. I was longing to ask him about his research work. I hope he didn’t think me very rude.’

Irma Bunt’s face closed perceptibly. ‘I am sure not. The Count does not often like to discuss his work. In these specialized scientific fields, you understand, there is much jealousy and, I am sorry to say, much intellectual thieving.’ The box-like smile. ‘I do not of course refer to yourself, my dear Sair Hilary, but to scientists less scrupulous than the Count, to spies from the chemical companies. That is why we keep ourselves very much to ourselves in our little Eagle’s Nest up here. We have total privacy. Even the police in the valley are most co-operative in safeguarding us from intruders. They appreciate what the Count is doing.’

‘The study of allergies?’

‘Just so.’ The maître d’hôtel was standing by her side. His feet came together with a perceptible click. Menus were handed round and Bond’s drink came. He took a long pull at it and ordered Oeufs Gloria and a green salad. Chicken again for Ruby, cold cuts ‘with stacks of potatoes’ for Violet. Irma Bunt ordered her usual cottage cheese and salad.

‘Don’t you girls eat anything but chicken and potatoes? Is this something to do with your allergies?’

Ruby began, ‘Well, yes, in a way. Somehow I’ve come to simply love ...’

Irma Bunt broke in sharply. ‘Now then, Ruby. No discussion of treatments, you remember? Not even with our good friend Sair Hilary.’ She waved a hand towards the crowded tables around them. ‘A most interesting crowd, do you not find, Sair Hilary? Everybody who is anybody. We have quite taken the international set away from Gstaad and St Moritz. That is your Duke of Marlborough over there with such a gay party of young things. And nearby that is Mr Whitney and Lady Daphne Straight. Is she not chic? They are both wonderful skiers. And that beautiful girl with the long fair hair at the big table, that is Ursula Andress, the film star. What a wonderful tan she has! And Sir George Dunbar, he always has the most enchanting companions.’ The box-like smile. ‘Why, we only need the Aga Khan and perhaps your Duke of Kent and we would have everybody, but everybody. Is it not sensational for the first season?’

Bond said it was. The lunch came. Bond’s eggs were delicious – chopped hard-boiled-eggs, with a cream and cheese sauce laced with English mustard (English mustard seemed to be the clue to the Gloria specialities), gratinés in a copper dish. Bond commented on the excellence of the cooking.

‘Thank you,’ said Irma Bunt. ‘We have three expert Frenchmen in the kitchen. Men are very good at cooking, is it not?’

Bond felt rather than saw a man approaching their table. He came up to Bond. He was a military-looking man, of about Bond’s age, and he had a puzzled expression on his face. He bowed slightly to the ladies and said to Bond, ‘Excuse me, but I saw your name in the visitors’ book. It is Hilary Bray, isn’t it?’