She paused for a moment, taking another long pull at the cigarette. 'Well, I shouldn't be. Here, I mean. I suppose I'm taking a chance. Don't know if I should even trust you, James. But you've come out of the blue, and I've got to talk to someone.'

'Talk away.'

'There's something very strange going on. Mind you, that's not unusual for this place. My guardian is not like other men: but you know that already. I should ask you what you know about him, I suppose.'

Bond told her that he gathered Anton Murik was wealthy; that he was a nuclear physicist of some note; and had half promised him a job.

'I should be careful about the job.' She smiled-a knowing, somewhat foxy smile. 'Anton Murik hires people to do the dirty work. It's a terrible thing to say, but when he fires them, he does it in a literal sense,' she lifted her hand, holding the fingers as a child will play at using its hand as a gun. 'Bang!' she said.

Bond looked straight into her eyes. She was the kind of woman who had an immediate appeal for him. 'You sure you wouldn't be more comfortable over here?' There was a challenge in her eyes, and Bond thought he detected that familiar charge of static pass across the room between them.

'Probably too comfortable. No, James, I came to give you some advice. I said something strange is going on. It's more than that. It could even be something terrible, disastrous.'

'Yes? What sort of thing?'

'Don't ask what it is because I just don't know. All I can gather is that it has something to do with the Laird's plans for building a new kind of nuclear reactor. He left the International Atomic Research Commission because they wouldn't fund his idea. He calls it an Ultra-Safe Reactor. There's a mountain of money needed, and I think he plans to use you in some way. But first – apart from the danger of being involved with him – he's going to put you at risk. Tomorrow. I heard him talking to Mary-Jane.'

'Tomorrow? But he has his Games tomorrow.'

She stubbed her cigarette out in one of the large glass ashtrays. 'Quite. It probably has something to do with the Games. I really don't know.'

'I might get hurt then. It wouldn't be the first time.'

'No, but… Another cigarette?'

'Smoking damages your health, Dilly. It says so on the packets.' 'It's not just smoking that can damage you here, James. Give.'

He went over to her, lit her cigarette, then bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She drew back fractionally, putting a hand up to his shoulder. 'That wasn't what I came for, James.'

'No?'

Firmly she moved her head. 'No. People've already got into a lot of trouble because of me. I just came as a kind of Cassandra, uttering warnings.'

'Just uttering warnings? I wonder, Dilly. You said you were taking a risk to trust me; that you were virtually a prisoner like me. I wonder if you came hoping that I'd get you away; that I'd take fright and run, carrying you off on the pommel of my saddle.'

'That's not on, I'm afraid. But I think you should get out, and I'm willing to help you.' 'So that I can ride back with the Fifth Cavalry and save you?'

'Maybe I'm beyond salvation.'

Bond squeezed her shoulder and went back to the bed. For a time they were silent. Did she, he asked himself, have any inkling of what was really going on? Already his mind had latched hard on to the locations of Indian Point Unit Three and San Onofre Unit One. He knew exactly what they were, and the possibilities of Murik's involvement with them carried things into a nightmare world.

He returned to Lavender's last words, 'Why beyond salvation, Dilly?'

'Because I am who I am – the Laird's ward, a distant relative, trapped in the outmoded traditions of this place, and by my guardian's intrigues.'

'Yet you're willing to get me out?'

'I think you should. Not just you, James. I'd probably say it to any stranger who came here and took the Laird's fancy.'

'I can't go yet, Dilly. You've whetted my appetite about what's going on here. If I find that it's something really dangerous, or even criminal, then I'll take you up on your offer. I'll let you give me a hand. If it comes to that, will you ride off for help with me?'

Once more she slowly shook her head. 'I was brought up here. It's all I know. Prisoner or not, there are certain responsibilities…' Bond showed surprise. 'Brought up here? I thought you had only been his ward…' he stopped, realising he had already given away too much. 'Legally only for a short time. But I've lived here-well- for ever.' 'And you don't like it, and yet don't want to leave?' She said that if she ran away now and something went wrong, things could be very bad for her. 'At least you can get out now, while the going's good.'

Bond said that was the last thing he wanted to do. Privately he also knew that it might be the only thing he could do. Triggering off the pen alarm from the castle roof-if he discovered the full extent of Murik's plans-might put a spoke into the Laird's wheel; but spokes can easily be mended. No, he told Lavender, if he discovered something really criminal going on, then he would get out and bring help. He added that he would be happier if she came as well, but she gave a stubborn shake of her head. Bond found it difficult to believe that a girl of her spirit would allow herself to remain in these circumstances. She really was a virgin on the rocks; or a damned good actress.

'Well, for your sake, I hope you find out something quickly.' Lavender rose, went over to the door, realised there was no way out, and turned to walk back to her chair. 'It'll break this week, I'm pretty certain. We're off to do a fashion show and if he is up to something, that could be perfect cover for him.'

Bond tried to sound surprised at the mention of the fashion show, and Lavender explained what he already knew, that Anton Murik owned the controlling interest in one of the world's leading fashion houses. ' Roussillon. I am lent out to them for major shows. A clothes' horse with legs, that's me, James; but I can tell you, those shows are the high spots of my year.'

'You slip the leash, eh?' She almost blushed, and Bond slid from the bed, walked over to her chair, sat on the arm and put a hand across her shoulders, drawing her close. She looked up at him, her eyes cold.

'James. No. I only cause trouble.'

'What kind of trouble?'

'The kind I wouldn't want to bring on you.' She hesitated, indecisive for a moment. 'Okay. The first time was years ago. A boy. Worked here on the estate. I was about sixteen or seventeen. Mary-Jane Mashkin caught us and sent for Anton. The boy-David-disappeared, and his family were moved. I'm pretty certain Anton had him killed.'

'And, if I touched you? What would he do to me?'

'You'd end up the same way. David was just the first.

After I began to model for Roussillon there was a guy in Paris. I didn't know anyone had discovered, but he was found in an alley with his throat cut. Yes, I think he would kill you, James. He was once forced to buy someone off, but that was in Rome -one of the modelling jaunts again.

The man was from a wealthy Italian family. One day things were fine, the next I had a letter saying he had to go away and wouldn't be seeing me any more. A year later I heard my guardian talking to Mary-Jane. He said it had cost almost a quarter of a million dollars, but it was money well spent.'

Bond bent down and kissed her on the lips. 'I'm willing to chance it, Dilly. You're…'

She pulled away again. 'I mean it, James.' Then she smiled, putting a hand up to his cheek. 'Not that I…

Well, perhaps I'm being selfish. If something sinister really is going on here, you're my one hope -if they don't do for you at the Games tomorrow. I'll get you out, and you can bring in the stormtroopers: rescue the damsel in distress.'