Summary
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‘To my readers: I found what follows lying on my desk one morning…’, began the explaination of Fleming’s most unusual tale. In the spring of 1962, Fleming introduced the story of a girl whose life was forever changed in one night. A night that introduced her to the evils of the world and a night that she met the man she called ‘The Spy Who Loved Me‘.
VIVIENNE MICHEL, a beautiful woman who fell in love with JAMES BOND, tells this tale of Vivienne Michel is on the run from an empty social life when she accepts the job of closing up Mr. Sanguinetti’s isolated resort motel. On the last night of her short stay, just as a ferocious storm breaks over the mountains, two men force their way into the motel at gun-point. They inform the frightened Vivienne that Mr. Sanguinetti sent them to “oversee” the closing up. One of the men is a death’s-head sadist, skilled in beating up women without leaving a mark. The other is a fat, hairless lecher who enjoys taking over when his friend tires. Both intend to make the most of this particular job. They set about their tormenting game with pleasure. And while Vivienne Michel doesn’t know why they have made her their target. She only knows she is going to suffer a horrible, brutal death. There is no reason, no hope, no escape. . . . Then suddenly, out of the dark, out of nowhere, comes a stranger who introduces himself as JAMES BOND. One look at his taut, dark face and Vivienne Michel recognizes him for what he is. A killer. But only a killer can save her now. . . . -Inside of Signet paperback edition
The man called Horror stood in the middle of of the room, idle, relaxed, his hands at his sides. He watched me with those incurious eyes. Then he lifted his left hand and crooked a finger. My cold, bruised feet walked toward him. When I was only a few steps away from him I came out of the trance. I suddenly remembered, and my hand came up to the soaking waistband of my pants and I felt the head of the ice-pick under my apron. It was going to be difficult to get it out, to get at the handle. I stopped in front of him. Still holding my eyes, his right hand came up like a snake striking and slapped me, biff-baff, right and left across my face. The tears started from my eyes, but I remembered and ducked down as if to escape another blow. At the same time, concealed in the movement, I got my right hand down inside the band of my pants, and when I came up I threw myself at him, hitting wildly toward his head. The pick connected, but it was only a glancing blow, and suddenly my arms were gripped from behind and I was pulled back. Blood was oozing from the cut above the temple of the gray face. As I watched, it trickled down toward the chin. But the face was unmoved. It showed no pain, only a terrifying intensity of purpose, and there was a fleck of red deep inside the black eyes. The thin man stepped up to me. My hand opened and the pick fell to the floor with a clang. It was a reflex action–the child dropping the weapon. I give up! I surrender! Pax! – Chapter Nine, The Spy Who Loved Me |
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