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                                                                                                Hells Delight, etc...

 

                                                                                                  Chapter 1; the soft life

 

 

The soft life had, once again got its claws into James Bond.   He was fed up with the drowsy weather of London.  And the routine number ticking on the top secret documents at Headquarter's which didn't really concern him, or have any effect on him or the other two men in the Double-O section.  M especially was top on the list of Bond's private annoiances, he simply had nothing for him, and Bond hadn't heard from him for weeks.   The last time they met, M had told him to basically settle down, not drink as much, to watch his gambling habit's and settle down to work until something came up.

 

As he lit his second cigarette of the day and took a long mouthful of his very hot and black coffee at his Empire desk he reflected out the window as to why he was so depressed.  It basically all came down to having nothing to do.  The only consolodation at work was that his secretary was back and the two other men in the Double-O section were off on assignment.  Leaving her all to Bond himself.  The only thing he found that was getting him through the work day without blowing his temper and storming off in a fit of rage to M's office to give the "old man a blastful Annie,"  was their constant flirtation and he pampering and mothering of him and his needs. 

 

Even his after hours schedule was becoming boring, tiresome and simply a matter of routine.  He was basically going out with the same one or two friends a week for a drink and a quite night at Blade's, meeting up with the same two or three married women at Scott's for lunch or dinner and then either back to a hotel room at the Ritz or somewhere else for a rather cold love making session with another man's wife.   It all left a feeling of unfullfilment and boredom.  And people around him had started to notice it too, he was beginning to snap at people around him and just simply tell them to shut up.  May, his Scottish treasure of a housekeeper had got a sample of it only twenty minutes ago when she decided to take it upon herself to educate him on the unhealthy food (scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon, some sausages and toast, washed down with two cups of very strong and very black coffee) that he consumed for breakfast every day.  Which was then regimentally followed by a cigarette from his wide, black gunmetal cigarette case with room for fifty and lit by his black oxidized Ronson light, which was well battered.  The case had been a present from a woman many years back that he had had an affair with when he was very much younger.  He didn't think of her often, though he would never think of getting another case, it was just the right age, and had the sufficient amount of wear.

 

Bond was grateful to be alive as he drew in the smoke to his lungs and let it out in a soft hiss.  Back to his thoughts, he reflected that perhaps his boredom came from not only having nothing exciting to do except the boring routine of headquarters, but also the fact that he had no real love interest in his life.  He had never been one for entanglement or long periodic relationships.  He was of the opinion that most relationships, especially marriages didn't add two people together, rather they subtracted one person from the other.   Though he had been engaged twice, once to a girl when he was very young, though it all fell through and then their was the big dispute with the girls father about legal action because he had entered into a verbal contract with the girl.  It cost him a good deal of money back then to get out of it.  Monique was her name, he hadn't seen her for years and out of the blue several years back  he bumped into her at the Cafe de la Paix in Paris, and after an awkward discussion, and his discontent for having ran into her.  He decided to do the gentlemanly thing and took her to Harry's Bar for a drink and a chat.   She'd finally got married, had a child, which had died prematurely, and the father had run off with another woman.  They were getting fairly drunk as Bond topped off the second bottle of Krug, she was becoming flirtatious and he worried she was going to try and go home with him.  Bond gave her as little sympathy as he could manage, told her the years hadn't faded her eyes, the smile on her face or the deep plunding v line of her chest and politely excused himself and made his was back to the Terminus Nord where he was staying and quietly got himself drunk.

 

His second engagement had been to an American girl named Tiffany Case, who was born in San Fransico, her mother ran a respectable whore house.   Though one night she was gang raped at the age of 16, and at that point she left home and started drinking herself to death.  She told him that things were getting really bad, when she rescued a small child from drowning, and the childs mother out of gratitude took  Tiffany under her wing and travelled with her.  She eventually drifted from the woman and found herself in Nervada, where she began working for the Spangled Mob.  This was how Bond happened to meet her, she eventually defected from the mob and followed him back to England, where they fell in love and she moved into his converted Regency flat and made fun of his rather plain taste in furnature and decoration.  Everything was going well, and their was even talk of marriage.  But they always fought, and deep down he knew it was really his fault.  He just couldnt deal with being totally reliant on any woman, let alone one woman emotionally, let alone physically.  She left him for a marine at the US embassy and last he heard they were married back in the states. 

 

That only left Tracy.... He still had trouble coming to terms with that.  He seemed to loose everyone he loved, it reminded him of every time he was in the North of France, he would stop off and see Vesper's grave, and lay a flower for her once a year. 

 

He stubbed the cigarette out and lit another, he looked at the face of his Rolex Chronometre, it was almost time to get going.  He stood up and walked over to the mirror.  The hair was a little longer than usual, with the hair parted on the left falling down to the right eyebrow.  He'd probably have to get it cut soon, the eyes were clear blue, though the boredom behind them was easily visable.  His skin was still slightly tanned from his last trip down to Jamacia to see Morgan's Beach.  The scar was still slightly visable on the right cheek.  He shrugged his shoulders, so what if he looked rakish, and a little cold.  Probably best in his line of work anyway, no use for pretty boy looks.  He placed his cigarette lighter case in his pockets and walked through to the kitchen and yelled out to May that he was leaving.

                "Yo gonna be late Mr James."

                "I doubt it, anyway look at the weather May, who cares."

                "Tsk, tsk, Mr James, you know how what I think about people's not turning up to work on time, disrespectful."

                "Oh shut up May, you'd think it was the Queen I was going to see."  She turned on her heel and left in a huff to go and clean up his breakfast tray.  Half mumbling to herself, something that Bond couldn't hear but could have made a pretty accurate guess at. 

 

He walked out to the Bentley coupe that was parked under a tree and climbed in, hit the self starter and listedned as the twin two inch pipes grumbled to life.  He let it warm up for half a minute and slid it into first and gently eased her up to the King's Road, turned left and headed toward Headquarters. 

 

 





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