'Thank you.' Bond moved closer within the box, trying to place himself between Murik and his ward. 'May I ask which horse?'

Murik had his glasses up, scanning the course, peering towards the starting gate. ' China Blue. He's down there all right.' He lowered his glasses, and for a second there was movement within the lava-flow eyes. 'He'll win. Mr Bond.'

'I sincerely hope so. What a coincidence,' Bond laughed, reaching for his own binocular case. 'I have a small bet on your horse. Didn't notice who owned him.'

'Really?' There was a faint trace of appreciation in Murik's voice. Then he gave a small smile. 'Your money's safe. I shall have repaid you in part for finding Lavender's pearls. What made you choose China Blue?'

'Liked the name.' Bond tried to look ingenuous. 'Had an aunt with a cat by that name once. Pedigree Siamese.'

'They're under starter's orders.' Lavender sounded breathless. They turned their glasses towards the far distance, and the start of the Ascot Gold Cup-two and a half flat miles.

A roar went up from the crowd below them. Bond just had time to refocus his glasses. The horses were off.

Within half a mile a pattern seemed to emerge. The Queen's horse was bunched with the other favourites – Francis' Folly and Desmond's Delight, with Soft Centre clinging to the group, way out in front of three other horses which stood back a good ten lengths; while the rest of the field straggled out behind.

Bond kept his glasses trained on the three horses behind the little bunch of four leaders who seemed set to provide the winners. Among this trio was the distinctive yellow and black of Murik's colours on China Blue.

There was a strange tension and silence in the box, contrasting with the excited noise drifting up from the crowds lining the course. The pace was being kept up hard; and the leading bunch did not appear to be drawing away from the three horses some distance behind them. The Queen's horse was ahead, but almost at the half-way mark Desmond's Delight began to challenge, taking the lead so that these two horses, almost imperceptibly, started to pull away, with Francis' Folly and Soft Centre only half a length behind them, running as one animal.

As the field passed the half-way mark, Bond shifted his glasses. Two of the trio following the lead bunch seemed to be dropping back, and it took Bond a second to realise this was an optical illusion. He was aware of Anton Murik muttering something under his breath. China Blue was suddenly being hard ridden, closing the distance between himself and the third and fourth runners among the leaders.

'Blue! Come on, Blue,' Lavender called softly. Glancing along the box rail, Bond saw Mary-Jane Mashkin standing, taut, with her hands clenched.

The crowd was intent on the four horses battling for position at the front of the field. They were past the three-quarter mark by the time people realised the serious challenge China Blue presented as he came up, very fast, on the outside.

The racing China Blue could have been a different animal from the horse Bond had watched in the paddock. He moved with mechanical precision in a steady striding gallop; and now he was reaching a speed far in excess of any of the lead horses. By the time they reached the straight final three furlongs, China Blue was there, scudding past Francis' Folly and Soft Centre-well up and gaining on Desmond's Delight, who had again taken second place to the Queen's horse.

A great burst of sound swept like a wind over the course as China Blue suddenly leaped forward in a tremendous surge of speed, outstripping both Desmond's Delight and the Queen's horse, to come loping home a good length in front of the pair who had made the running from the start.

Lavender was jumping up and down, excitedly clapping her hands. 'He did it. Uncle Anton, he did it.'

Mary-Jane Mashkin laughed – a deep, throaty sound but Dr Anton Murik merely smiled. 'Of course he did it.'

Bond saw that Murik's smile did not light up his eyes.

'Well, Mr Bond, my horse has won for you. I'm pleased.'

'Not as pleased as I am,' said Bond, quickly, as though blurting out something he would rather have kept hidden.

It was just enough to interest Murik-the hint of a man rather in need of hard cash.

'Ah,' the Laird of Murcaldy nodded. 'Well, perhaps we'll meet again.' He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, producing a business card. 'If you're ever in Scotland, look me up. I'd be glad to provide some hospitality.'

Bond looked down at the card bearing Anton Murik's address and again feigned surprise. 'Another coincidence,' he said, smoothly.

'Really?' Murik was ready to go. After all, he had just won the Ascot Gold Cup and wanted his moment of triumph. 'Why another coincidence?'

'I leave for Scotland tonight. I'll be in your area in a couple of days.'

The slate eyes grew even cooler. 'Business or pleasure?'

'Pleasure mostly. But I'm always open for business.' He tried to make it sound desperate. 'What kind of business, Mr Bond?' Bond hesitated slightly, timing the pause. 'The contracting business.'

'And what do you contract?'

Bond looked at him levelly. 'Myself as a rule. I'm a soldier. A mercenary – up to the highest bidder. There, that'll be the end of our acquaintance, I expect. We're a j dying breed.' He gave a short laugh at his grim little joke. 'People don't take too kindly to mercenaries these days.'

Anton Murik's hand closed around Bond's forearm, pulling him to one side, away from the two women. 'I am not averse to your profession, Mr Bond. In fact I have been known to employ mercenaries in a way – gamekeepers, people on my estates. Who knows, I may even have a place for a man like yourself. To me, you look tough enough. Come to Murik Castle. On Monday we have a little annual fun. Most of the land and the nearby village – Murcaldy – is mine. So each year we hold our own version of the Highland Games. You know the kind of thing- the caber, the hammer, shot-putting, a little dancing, wrestling. You will enjoy it.' This last sentence was almost an order.

Bond nodded, as Murik turned towards the ladies. 'We must go down, greet China Blue, and accept our just rewards. Mary-Jane, Lavender, you will be seeing Mr Bond again soon. He's kindly consented to come and stay-for the Games.'

As they left the box, Bond was aware of a mildly sardonic look in Mary-Jane Mashkin's eyes.

'Thank you again-for the pearls, I mean, Mr Bond,' Lavender said. 'I look forward to seeing you soon.' There was something odd about the way she phrased the parting sentence, as though she meant what she said but was hinting some warning. Lavender, Bond thought, appeared at first meeting to be a woman with some hidden fear below the charming, easy and poised exterior.

The Laird of Murcaldy did not even look at Bond again -leaving the box in his quick, birdlike manner without a word or backward glance.

Bond stood, looking after them for a moment, wondering about Murik's personal version of the Highland Games, and the part he might be expected to play in them. Then he went down to collect his winnings from a suitably impressed Honest Tone Snare, before making a short doubletalk telephone call to Bill Tanner; and another to the Central Hotel in Glasgow, booking himself a room for the following morning: stressing that he would need to use it immediately on arrival, which he hoped, would be in the early hours.

The Laird of Murcaldy would doubtless be flying his party back to Scotland. Bond did not want to be far behind them. Neither did he wish to arrive at Murik Castle without rest and time for reflection.

Slipping the leather strap of his glasses' case over one shoulder, James Bond walked as casually as he could towards the car park.