Devil May Care

will have a bath-house where such things take place. Men and women go at different times. For the women it’s generally during the day, when the men are meant to be at work. Of course, it’s a very easy way for women to keep tabs on one another. A young bride generally goes every day until she’s pregnant. Then – sadly – rather less often. If awoman in her forties still goes regularly you can be sure the others will be gossiping like mad.’
    ‘So we’ll be going to the men’s section?’ said Bond.
    ‘Not exactly,’ said Darius. ‘Wrap your towel round your waist and take the spare one with you. As I understand from Zohreh, the idea of the Paradise Club is that you find heaven already on earth. And this is it: a mixed hammam. Shall we see?’
    They went through a door and found themselves on a balcony that overlooked two large baths. Around the walls there were open steam rooms of differing temperatures and between them private cubicles with doors.
    Although the whole area was clouded by steam and the lights were low, there was no mistaking the fact that in the main baths men and women bathed naked together, laughing and occasionally drinking from the long glasses set down on the edge of the baths by girl attendants in white tunics.
    Traditional music was playing, and the scent of roses and geraniums was carried on the steam. The tiled walls were painted with scenes from a heavenly garden. Bond saw Zohreh drop her towel and go down the steps into the smaller of the two baths.
    ‘Do you have clubs like this in London?’ said Darius, innocently.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Bond. ‘Pall Mall is full of them. But you don’t have to choose between the opium and the hammam. Just remember to pot the blue before the pink at snooker.’
    A few moments later, Bond found himself face to face with Salma in the heated water. An attendant threw some fresh rose petals on to the surface. In this light Salma’s skin was an even more beguiling colour.
    ‘I’ve asked Zohreh to join us,’ said Darius.
    Shortly afterwards, the foursome was complete. Bond leaned back against the side and sipped the cold mint drink that had been offered him.
    ‘Is this … heaven?’ said Salma, in faltering English.
    ‘If so,’ said Bond, ‘I shall convert to Islam on my return home. What happens in those cubicles?’
    ‘Whatever you negotiate,’ said Darius.
    ‘For money?’
    ‘No. For love of your fellow heaven-seeker. But not, alas,’ he added, looking at Salma, ‘with the staff. Otherwise it would not be a club but –’
    ‘I know what it would be,’ said Bond.
    Too quickly, their time was up. Zohreh indicated to Darius, with a regretful glance at her watchless wrist, that she needed to return. Bond allowed his eyes to linger on the naked girls as they preceded them from the water and took up their towels.
    ‘You look sad to see them go, James.’
    ‘It breaks my heart,’ said Bond.
    ‘We’ll see what we can do to mend it while you’re with us in Tehran. Now let’s go and rescue poor old Farshad.’
    Dried, dressed and reassembled, the three said goodbye to Salma, whom Bond and Darius tipped handsomely, then walked back through the main area, past the waterfall and up to the entrance.
    Outside, the air, by comparison with the fragrance of the Paradise Club, seemed unbearably hot, and heavy with exhaust fumes. They began to walk across the lot to where the blue Mercedes was parked.
    As they approached it, Bond grabbed Darius’s arm. ‘Wait here,’ he said.
    He took his gun from its holster and went forward carefully. Something about the angle of Farshad’s body, visible through the driver’s window, was wrong. Holding his gun ahead of him, Bond circled the car with his back to the bodywork. Without looking round, he opened the driver’s door. Farshad’s body tumbled out on to the ground. The footwell was awash with blood. Farshad was dead, but his hand was clamped tight round something that had recently been ripped from his mouth.

9. The Strawberry Mark
    Breakfast was brought to Bond’s room at eight the next morning, although he had placed no order. It consisted of tea without milk, a rectangle of sheep’s cheese with herbs and a slab of flatbread that looked like the bathmat in the next room. He told the waiter to take it away and try again. After two tense telephone calls, he eventually managed to extract some black coffee and an omelette from the kitchen, which he consumed while he glanced through the