Complete Works of Ian Fleming, page 248
There was muted applause. Mary Goodnight went on clapping after the others had stopped. She suddenly realized the fact, blushed furiously and stopped.
James Bond and Felix Leiter made stammered acknowledgments. Justice Cargill rose to his feet and, in solemn tones, asked Bond and Leiter in turn, ‘Is this a true and correct account of what occurred between the given dates?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Bond.
‘I’ll say it is, Your Honour,’ said Felix Leiter fervently.
The Judge bowed. All except Bond rose and bowed. Bond just bowed. ‘In that case, I declare this inquiry closed.’ The bewigged figure turned to Miss Goodnight. ‘If you will be kind enough to obtain all the signatures, duly witnessed, and send them round to my chambers? Thank you so much.’ He paused and smiled. ‘And the carbon, if you don’t mind?’
‘Certainly, my lord.’ Mary Goodnight glanced at Bond. ‘And now, if you will forgive me, I think the patient needs a rest. Matron was most insistent...’
Goodbyes were said. Bond called Leiter back. Mary Goodnight smelled private secrets. She admonished, ‘Now, only a minute!’ and went out and closed the door.
Leiter leant over the end of the bed. He wore his most quizzical smile. He said, ‘Well, I’ll be goddamned, James. That was the neatest wrap-up job I’ve ever lied my head off at. Everything clean as a whistle and we’ve even collected a piece of lettuce.’
Talking starts with the stomach muscles. Bond’s wounds were beginning to ache. He smiled, not showing the pain. Leiter was due to leave that afternoon. Bond didn’t want to say goodbye to him. Bond treasured his men friends and Felix Leiter was a great slice of his past. He said, ‘Scaramanga was quite a guy. He should have been taken alive. Maybe Tiffy really did put the hex on him with Mother Edna. They don’t come like that often.’
Leiter was unsympathetic. ‘That’s the way you limeys talk about Rommel and Dönitz and Guderian. Let alone Napoleon. Once you’ve beaten them, you make heroes out of them. Don’t make sense to me. In my book, an enemy’s an enemy. Care to have Scaramanga back? Now, in this room, with his famous golden gun on you – the long one or the short one? Standing where I am? One bets you a thousand you wouldn’t. Don’t be a jerk, James. You did a good job. Pest control. It’s got to be done by someone. Going back to it when you’re off the orange juice?’ Felix Leiter jeered at him. ‘Of course you are, lamebrain. It’s what you were put into the world for. Pest control, like I said. All you got to figure is how to control it better. The pests’ll always be there. God made dogs. He also made their fleas. Don’t let it worry your tiny mind. Right?’ Leiter had seen the sweat on James Bond’s forehead. He limped towards the door and opened it. He raised his hand briefly. The two men had never shaken hands in their lives. Leiter looked into the corridor. He said, ‘Okay, Miss Goodnight. Tell matron to take him off the danger list. And tell him to keep away from me for a week or two. Every time I see him a piece of me gets broken off. I don’t fancy myself as The Vanishing Man.’ Again he raised his only hand in Bond’s direction and limped out.
Bond shouted, ‘Wait, you bastard!’ But, by the time Leiter had limped back into the room, Bond, no effort left in him to fire off the volley of four-letter words that were his only answer to his friend, had lapsed into unconsciousness.
Mary Goodnight shooed the remorseful Leiter out of the room and ran off down the corridor to the floor sister.
Chapter 17. ENDIT
A WEEK LATER, James Bond was sitting up in a chair, a towel round his waist, reading Allen Dulles on The Craft of Intelligence and cursing his fate. The hospital had worked miracles on him, the nurses were sweet, particularly the one he called ‘The Mermaid’, but he wanted to be off and away. He glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. Visiting time. Mary Goodnight would soon be there and he would be able to let off his pent-up steam on her. Unjust perhaps, but he had already tongue-lashed everyone in range in the hospital and, if she got into the field of fire, that was just too bad!
Mary Goodnight came through the door. Despite the Jamaican heat, she was looking fresh as a rose. Damn her! She was carrying what looked like a typewriter. Bond recognized it as the Triple-X deciphering machine. Now what?
Bond grunted surly answers to her inquiries after his health. He said, ‘What in hell’s that for?’
‘It’s an “Eyes Only”. Personal from M.,’ she said excitedly. ‘About thirty groups.’
‘Thirty groups! Doesn’t the old bastard know I’ve only got one arm that’s working? Come on, Mary. You get cracking. If it sounds really hot, I’ll take over.’
Mary Goodnight looked shocked. ‘Eyes Only’ was a top-sacred prefix. But Bond’s jaw was jutting out dangerously. Today was not a day for argument. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the machine and took a cable form out of her bag. She laid her shorthand book beside the machine, scratched the back of her head with her pencil to help work out the setting for the day – a complicated sum involving the date and the hour of dispatch of the cable – adjusted the setting on the central cylinder and began cranking the handle. After each completed word had appeared in the little oblong window at the base of the machine, she recorded it in her book.
James Bond watched her expression. She was pleased. After a few minutes she read out: ‘M. PERSONAL FOR 007 EYES ONLY STOP YOUR REPORT AND DITTO FROM TOP FRIENDS [a euphemism for the C.I.A.] RECEIVED STOP YOU HAVE DONE WELL AND EXECUTED AYE DIFFICULT AND HAZARDOUS OPERATION TO MY ENTIRE REPEAT ENTIRE SATISFACTION STOP TRUST YOUR HEALTH UNIMPAIRED [Bond gave an angry snort] STOP WHEN WILL YOU BE REPORTING FOR FURTHER DUTY QUERY.’
Mary Goodnight smiled delightedly. ‘I’ve never seen him be so complimentary! Have you, James? That repeat of ENTIRE! It’s tremendous!’ She looked hopefully for a lifting of the black clouds from Bond’s face.
In fact Bond was secretly delighted, but he certainly wasn’t going to show it to Mary Goodnight. Today she was one of the wardresses confining him, tying him down. He said grudgingly, ‘Not bad for the old man. But all he wants is to get me back to that bloody desk. Anyway, it’s a lot of jazz so far. What comes next?’ He turned the pages of his book, pretending as the little machine whirred and clicked not to be interested.
‘Oh, James!’ Mary Goodnight exploded with excitement. ‘Wait! I’m almost finished. It’s tremendous!’
‘I know,’ commented Bond sourly. ‘Free luncheon vouchers every second Friday. Key to M.’s personal lavatory. New suit to replace the one that’s somehow got full of holes.’ But he kept his eyes fixed on the flitting fingers, infected by Mary Goodnight’s excitement. What in hell was she getting so steamed up about? And all on his behalf! He examined her with approval. Perched there, immaculate in her white tussore shirt and tight beige skirt, one neat foot curled round the other in concentration, the golden face under the shortish fair hair incandescent with pleasure, she was, thought Bond, a girl to have around always. As a secretary? As what? Mary Goodnight turned, her eyes shining, and the question went, as it had gone for weeks, without an answer.
‘Now, just listen to this, James.’ She shook the notebook at him. ‘And for heaven’s sake stop looking so curmudgeonly.’
Bond smiled at the word. ‘All right, Mary. Go ahead. Empty the Christmas stocking on the floor. Hope it’s not going to bust any stitches.’ He put his book down on his lap.
Mary Goodnight’s face became portentous. She said seriously, ‘Just listen to this!’ She read very carefully: ‘IN VIEW OF THE OUTSTANDING NATURE OF THE SERVICES REFERRED TO ABOVE AND THEIR ASSISTANCE TO THE ALLIED CAUSE COMMA WHICH IS PERHAPS MORE SIGNIFICANT THAN YOU IMAGINE COMMA THE PRIME MINISTER PROPOSES TO RECOMMEND TO HER MAJESTY QUEEN ELIZABETH THE IMMEDIATE GRANT OF A KNIGHTHOOD STOP THIS TO TAKE THE FORM OF THE ADDITION OF A KATIE AS PREFIX TO YOUR CHARLIE MICHAEL GEORGE. [James Bond uttered a defensive, embarrassed laugh. ‘Good old cypherines. They wouldn’t think of just putting KCMG – much too easy! Go ahead, Mary. This is good!’] IT IS COMMON PRACTICE TO INQUIRE OF PROPOSED RECIPIENT WHETHER HE ACCEPTS THIS HIGH HONOUR BEFORE HER MAJESTY PUTS HER SEAL UPON IT STOP WRITTEN LETTER SHOULD FOLLOW YOUR CABLED CONFIRMATION OF ACCEPTANCE PARAGRAPH THIS AWARD NATURALLY HAS MY SUPPORT AND ENTIRE APPROVAL AND EYE SEND YOU MY PERSONAL CONGRATULATIONS ENDIT MAILEDFIST.’
James Bond again hid himself behind the throw-away line. ‘Why in hell does he always have to sign himself “Mailedfist” for “M.”? There’s a perfectly good English word “Em”. It’s a measure used by printers. But of course it’s not dashing enough for the Chief. He’s a romantic at heart like all the silly bastards who get mixed up with the Service’.
Mary Goodnight lowered her eyelashes. She knew that Bond’s reflex concealed his pleasure – a pleasure he wouldn’t for the life of him have displayed. Who wouldn’t be pleased, proud? She put on a businesslike expression. ‘Well, would you like me to draft something for you to send? I can be back with it at six and I know they’ll let me in. I can check up on the right sort of formula with the High Commissioner’s staff. I know it begins with “I present my humble duty to Her Majesty”. I’ve had to help with the Jamaica honours at New Year and her birthday. Everyone seems to want to know the form.’
James Bond wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Of course he was pleased! But above all pleased with M.’s commendation. The rest, he knew, was not in his stars. He had never been a public figure and he did not wish to become one. He had no prejudice against letters after one’s name, or before it. But there was one thing above all he treasured. His privacy. His anonymity. To become a public person, a person, in the snobbish world of England, of any country, who would be called upon to open things, lay foundation stones, make after-dinner speeches, brought the sweat to his armpits. ‘James Bond’! No middle name. No hyphen. A quiet, dull, anonymous name. Certainly he was a Commander in the Special Branch of the R.N.V.R., but he rarely used the rank. His C.M.G. likewise. He wore it perhaps once a year, together with his two rows of ‘lettuce’, because there was a dinner for the ‘Old Boys’ – the fraternity of ex-Secret Service men that went under the name of ‘The Twin Snakes Club’ – a grisly reunion held in the banqueting hall at Blades that gave enormous pleasure to a lot of people who had been brave and resourceful in their day but now had old men’s and old women’s diseases and talked about dusty triumphs and tragedies which, since they would never be recorded in the history books, must be told again that night, over the Cockburn ‘12, when ‘The Queen’ had been drunk, to some next-door neighbour such as James Bond who was only interested in what was going to happen tomorrow. That was when he wore his ‘lettuce’ and the C.M.G. below his black tie – to give pleasure and reassurance to the ‘Old Children’ at their annual party. For the rest of the year, until May polished them up for the occasion, the medals gathered dust in some secret repository where May kept them.
So now James Bond said to Mary Goodnight, avoiding her eyes, ‘Mary, this is an order. Take down what follows and send it tonight. Right? Begins, quote MAILEDFIST EYES ONLY [Bond interjected, ‘I might have said PROMONEYPENNY. When did M. last touch a cypher machine?] YOUR [Put in the number, Mary] ACKNOWLEDGED AND GREATLY APPRECIATED STOP AM INFORMED BY HOSPITAL AUTHORITIES THAT EYE SHALL BE RETURNED LONDONWARDS DUTIABLE IN ONE MONTH STOP REFERRING YOUR REFERENCE TO AYE HIGH HONOUR EYE BEG YOU PRESENT MY HUMBLE DUTY TO HER MAJESTY AND REQUEST THAT EYE MAY BE PERMITTED COMMA IN ALL HUMILITY COMMA TO DECLINE THE SIGNAL FAVOUR HER MAJESTY IS GRACIOUS ENOUGH TO PROPOSE TO CONFER UPON HER HUMBLE AND OBEDIENT SERVANT BRACKET TO MAILEDFIST PLEASE PUT THIS IN THE APPROPRIATE WORDS TO THE PRIME MINISTER STOP MY PRINCIPAL REASON IS THAT EYE DONT WANT TO PAY MORE AT HOTELS AND RESTAURANTS BRACKET.’
Mary Goodnight broke in, horrified. ‘James. The rest is your business, but you really can’t say that last bit.’
Bond nodded. ‘I was only trying it on you, Mary. All right, let’s start again at the last stop. Right, EYE AM A SCOTTISH PEASANT AND EYE WILL ALWAYS FEEL AT HOME BEING A SCOTTISH PEASANT AND EYE KNOW COMMA SIR COMMA THAT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND MY PREFERENCE AND THAT EYE CAN COUNT ON YOUR INDULGENCE BRACKET LETTER CONFIRMING FOLLOWS IMMEDIATELY ENDIT OHOHSEVEN.’
Mary Goodnight closed her book with a snap. She shook her head. The golden hair danced angrily. ‘Well really, James! Are you sure you don’t want to sleep on it? I knew you were in a bad mood today. You may have changed your mind by tomorrow. Don’t you want to go to Buckingham Palace and see the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh and kneel and have your shoulder touched with a sword and the Queen to say “Arise, Sir Knight” or whatever it is she does say?’
Bond smiled. ‘I’d like all those things. The romantic streak of the S.I.S. – and of the Scot, for the matter of that. I just refuse to call myself Sir James Bond. I’d laugh at myself every time I looked in the mirror to shave. It’s just not my line, Mary. The thought makes me positively shudder. I know M.’ll understand. He thinks much the same way about these things as I do. Trouble was, he had to more or less inherit his K with the job. Anyway, there it is and I shan’t change my mind so you can buzz that off and I’ll write M. a letter of confirmation this evening. Any other business?’
‘Well there is one thing, James.’ Mary Goodnight looked down her pretty nose. ‘Matron says you can leave at the end of the week, but that there’s got to be another three weeks’ convalescence. Had you got any plans where to go? You have to be in reach of the hospital.’
‘No ideas. What do you suggest?’
‘Well, er, I’ve got this little villa up by Mona dam, James.’ Her voice hurried. ‘It’s got quite a nice spare room looking out over Kingston harbour. And it’s cool up there. And if you don’t mind sharing a bathroom.’ She blushed. ‘I’m afraid there’s no chaperone, but you know, in Jamaica, people don’t mind that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of thing?’ said Bond, teasing her.
‘Don’t be silly, James. You know, unmarried couples sharing the same house and so on.’
‘Oh, that sort of thing! Sounds pretty dashing to me. By the way, is your bedroom decorated in pink, with white jalousies, and do you sleep under a mosquito net?’
She looked surprised. ‘Yes. How did you know?’ When he didn’t answer, she hurried on. ‘And James, it’s not far from the Liguanea Club and you can go there and play bridge, and golf when you get better. There’ll be plenty of people for you to talk to. And then of course I can cook and sew buttons on for you and so on.’
Of all the doom-fraught graffiti a woman can write on the wall, those are the most insidious, the most deadly.
James Bond, in the full possession of his senses, with his eyes wide open, his feet flat on the linoleum floor, stuck his head blithely between the mink-lined jaws of the trap. He said, and meant it, ‘Goodnight. You’re an angel.’
At the same time, he knew, deep down, that love from Mary Goodnight, or from any other woman, was not enough for him. It would be like taking ‘a room with a view’. For James Bond, the same view would always pall.
The Short Story Collections
In 1921 Fleming enrolled at Eton College. Although not a high achiever academically, he excelled at athletics. He also edited a school magazine, ‘The Wyvern’. His lifestyle at Eton brought him into conflict with his housemaster, who disapproved of Fleming's attitude, his hair oil, his ownership of a car and his relations with women.
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
In the summer of 1958, CBS television commissioned Fleming to write several episodes of a television show based on the James Bond character. This deal came about after the success of the 1954 television adaptation of Casino Royale as an episode of the CBS television series Climax!. Fleming agreed to the deal and began to write outlines for the series, though CBS were to eventually drop the idea. In January and February 1959, Fleming adapted four of these television plots into short stories and added a fifth story he had written in the summer of 1958.
The short story collection For Your Eyes Only was first published by Jonathan Cape on 11 April 1960. It marked a change of format for Fleming, who had previously written Bond stories only as full-length novels. It contains five short stories: From a View to a Kill, For Your Eyes Only, Quantum of Solace, Risico and The Hildebrand Rarity. Fleming undertook some minor experiments with the format, including a story written as an homage to W. Somerset Maugham, an author he greatly admired.
The title story begins with the murder of the Havelocks, a British couple in Jamaica who have refused to sell their estate to Herr von Hammerstein, a former Gestapo officer and the chief of counterintelligence for the Cuban secret service. They are killed by two Cuban hitmen at the direction of their leader, Major Gonzales, under the orders of von Hammerstein. The Havelocks are in fact close friends of M, who served as Havelock’s best man during their wedding in 1925. M subsequently gives Bond a voluntary assignment, unconnected to sanctioned Secret Service duties, to travel to Vermont via Canada, find von Hammerstein at his rented estate at Echo Lake and assassinate him as a warning to future criminals that might think to target British citizens. The story was originally entitled Man’s Work and the Vermont setting was inspired by the summers Fleming had spent on his friend Ivar Bryce’s Black Hollow Farm, which became the model for von Hammerstein’s hideaway, Echo Lake. The name of the villain of the story, Von Hammerstein, was taken from General Baron Kurt von Hammerstein-Equord (1878–1943), one of Hitler’s opponents. Fleming also considered calling the story Death Leaves an Echo, which was based on “Rough Justice”, episode three of the television series.
Elements from the stories have been used in a number of the Eon Productions Bond films, including the 1981 film, For Your Eyes Only, starring Roger Moore. The film also used some elements and characters from the story Risico. From a View to a Kill also gave part of its title, though no characters or plot elements, to the fourteenth Bond film, A View to a Kill (1985). Plot elements from The Hildebrand Rarity were used in the sixteenth Bond film, Licence to Kill (1989), and the twenty-fourth Bond film Spectre references the title. Quantum of Solace was used as the title for the twenty-second Bond film, though the film does not contain any elements of that story.
