Carte Blanche

which to Bond had sounded like diversionary chatter. “Joso, last week a shipment disappeared. Fifty kilos. Who took it?”
    “I didn’t hear anything—”
    “I didn’t ask whether you heard anything. I asked who took it.”
    His face was a mask but then it sagged. “Why you asking me, Miss Willing? I didn’t do nothing.”
    “Joso, do you know how many people fifty kilos of rice will feed?”
    “I—”
    “Tell me. How many people.” He towered over her but Felicity held her ground. Bond wondered if this was what she had meant with her assessment of his fitness—she had wanted someone to back her up. But her eyes revealed that, to her, Bond wasn’t even present. This was between Felicity and a transgressor who’d stolen food from those she’d pledged to protect, and she was entirely capable of taking him on alone.
    Her eyes reminded Bond of his own, when confronting an enemy.
    “How many people?” she repeated.
    Miserably, he lapsed into Zulu or Xhosa.
    “No,” she corrected. “It will feed more than that, many more.”
    “It was an accident,” he protested. “I forgot to close the door. It was late. I was working—”
    “It was no accident. Someone saw you unlock the door before you left. Who has the rice?”
    “No, no you must believe me.”
    “Who?” she persisted coolly.
    He was defeated. “A man from the Flats. In a gang. Oh, please, Miss Willing, if you tell the SAPS, he’ll find out it was me. He’ll know I told you. He will come for me and he will come for my family.”
    Her jaw tightened and Bond couldn’t dislodge the impression he’d had earlier, of a feline—now about to strike. There was no sympathy in her voice as she said, “I won’t go to the police. Not this time. But you’ll tell the director what you did. And he’ll decide whether to keep you on or not.”
    “This is my only job,” he protested. “I have a family. My only job.”
    “Which you were happy to endanger,” she responded. “Now, go and tell Reverend van Groot. And if he keeps you on and another theft occurs, I will tell the police.”
    “It will not happen again, Miss Willing.” He turned and vanished inside.
    Bond couldn’t help but be impressed with her cool, efficient handling of the incident. He noted too that it made her all the more attractive.
    She caught Bond’s eye and her face softened. “The war I’m fighting? Sometimes you’re never quite sure who the enemy is. They might even be on your side.”
    How well do I know that? thought Bond.
    They returned to the van. Felicity bent down to remove her shoes again but Bond said quickly, “I’ll drive. Save you unstrapping.”
    She laughed. They got in and set off. “Dinner?” she asked.
    He almost felt guilty, after all he’d heard about hunger. “If you’re still up for it.”
    “Oh, I most certainly am.”
    As they drove, Bond asked, “Would he really have been killed if you’d gone to the police?”
    “Ah, the SAPS would have laughed at the idea of investigating fifty kilos of stolen rice. But the Cape Flats are dangerous, that’s true, and if anyone there thought Joso betrayed them, he very likely would be killed. Let’s hope he’s learned his lesson.” Her voice grew cool again as she added, “Leniency can win you allies. It can also be a cobra.”
    Felicity guided him back to Green Point. Since the restaurant she’d suggested was near the Table Mountain Hotel, he left the van there and they walked on. Several times, Bond noted, Felicity glanced behind her, her face alert, shoulders tensed. The road was deserted. What did she feel threatened by?
    She relaxed once they were in the front lobby of the restaurant, which was decorated with tapestry, the fixtures dark wood and brass. The large windows overlooked the water, which danced with lights. Much of the illumination inside came from hundreds of cream-colored candles. As they were escorted to the table, Bond noticed that her clinging dress glistened in the light and seemed to change color with every step, from navy to azure to cerulean. Her skin glowed.
    The waiter greeted her by name, then smiled at Bond. She ordered a Cosmopolitan, and Bond, in the mood for a cocktail, ordered the drink he had had with Philly Maidenstone. “Crown Royal whisky, a double, on ice. Half a measure of triple sec, two dashes of Angostura. Twist of orange peel, not a slice.”
    When the waiter left, Felicity said, “I’ve never heard of that before.”
    “My own