Carte Blanche

when the waiter appeared with the steak sizzling on an iron platter. It was charred on the outside and succulent within. They ate in silence for a time. At one point he sliced off a crusty piece of meat, but took a sip of wine before he put it into his mouth. When he returned to his plate the morsel was gone and Felicity was chewing mischievously. “Sorry. I tend to go after things that appeal to me.”
    Bond laughed. “Very clever, stealing from under the nose of a security expert.” He waved to the sommelier, and a second bottle of the cabernet appeared. Bond steered the conversation to Severan Hydt.
    He was disappointed to find that she didn’t seem to know much about the man that might be helpful to his mission. She mentioned the names of several of his partners who’d donated money to her group and he memorized them. She had not met Niall Dunne but she knew Hydt had some brilliant assistant who performed all sorts of technical wizardry. She lifted an eyebrow and said, “I just realized—you’re the one he uses.”
    “Sorry?”
    “For his security at the Green Way operation north of town. I’ve never been but one of my assistants collected a donation from him. All those metal detectors and scanners. You can’t get inside the place with a paper clip, let alone a mobile phone. You have to check everything at the door. Like in those old American westerns—you leave your guns outside when you go into the bar.”
    “He awarded that contract to somebody else. I do other jobs.” This intelligence worried Bond; he’d intended to get into the Green Way building with far more than a paper clip and a mobile phone, despite Bheka Jordaan’s disdain for illegal surveillance. He’d have to consider the implications.
    The meal wound down and they finished the wine. They were the last patrons in the restaurant. Bond called for the bill and settled it. “The second of my donations,” he said.
    They returned to the entrance, where he collected her black cashmere coat and draped it over her shoulders. They started down the pavement, the narrow heels of her shoes tapping on the concrete. Again she surveyed the streets. Then, relaxing, she took his arm and held it tightly. He was keenly aware of her perfume and of the occasional pressure of her breast against his arm.
    They approached his hotel, Bond fishing the van key from his pocket. Felicity slowed. The night sky was clear above them, ecrusted with a plenitude of stars.
    “A very nice evening,” Felicity said. “And thank you for your help in delivering the leftovers. You’re even fitter than I thought.”
    Bond found himself asking, “Another glass of wine?”
    The green eyes were looking up and into his own. “Would you like one?”
    “Yes,” he said firmly.
    In ten minutes they were in his room in the Table Mountain Hotel sitting on the sofa, which they had turned and slid close to the window. Glasses of a Stellenbosch pinotage were in their hands.
    They looked out over the flickering lights in the bay, muted yellow and white, like benign insects hovering in anticipation.
    Felicity turned to him, perhaps to say something, perhaps not, and he bent forward and pressed his lips gently to hers. Then he eased back a little, gauging her reaction, and moved forward and kissed her again, harder, losing himself in the contact, the taste, the heat. Her breath on his cheek, Felicity’s arms snaked around his shoulders as her mouth held his. Then she kissed his neck and teasingly bit the base where it met his firm shoulder. Her tongue slid along a scar that arced down to his upper arm.
    Bond’s fingers slipped up her neck into her hair and pulled her closer. He was lost in the pungent musk of her perfume.
    A parallel to this moment occurs in skiing, when you pause on the ridge atop a beautiful but perilous downhill run. You have a choice to go or not. You can always snap free the bindings and walk down the mountain. But in fact, for Bond, there never was such a choice; once on the edge, it was impossible not to give in to the seduction of gravity and speed. The only true choice left was how to control the accelerating descent.
    The same now, here.
    Bond whisked her dress off, the insubstantial blue cloth spilling leisurely to the floor. Felicity then eased back, pulling him with her, until they were lying on the couch, she beneath him, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth. He cupped her neck again and pulled her face to his, while her hands rested on the