Discuss this story in this thread.
A minute in Bond's company
May had long gone to bed. The only sound to be heard was the spatter of rain on the french windows. No, that wasn't true. If Bond strained his ears he could just hear the swish of laden taxis ferrying night owls to their respective havens. He knew the sound of old.
Dante had written of the seven circles of hell; Bond had passed two and was contemplating the third. The three gold rings on the Morland were an affectation, yes, but the tobacconist's smile reminded Bond of the expression favoured by his tailor - the smile of a shared secret. And if there was one thing he longed to do, it was to share secrets.
Nicotine scraped his throat and perfumed tobacco seduced his nostrils. The drying glass lay waiting under his shirt cuff. Time to contemplate the third circle of hell. It lay under his nose, and Bond, not for the first time, faced his enemy at close quarters. What was it the Service doctor had said?
"Two scares are enough - the third time it's enemy action."
A charred line approached the remaining gold ring. Bond thought of golden times past; of ski-runs and foes, of friends and lovers, and he raised his glass in salute. He watched the moon fight off gun-metal clouds. He would do so till morning.
And as for the third ring? Bond sucked the marrow out of Morland's finest.
Who the hell cared?