There is something wrong with a man who eats his tournedos overdone. From across the large table James Bond observed the ghoulish man that was ArgyrisPontius, a Greek agent of SPECTRE, and a potential lead on the location of Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Bond finished off his glass of wine, and – having lost his appetite excused himself from the wide table and walked past an array of perfumed beauties and their corpulent husbands and into the casino.
The light chatter and warmth of the casino was far more inviting than the feigned interest that had been the conversation at the dinner table. Bond walked between the tables, glancing at the kind of people, and the number of people at each and, after circling the casino once, he settled down in the last seat at a Chemin de Fer table, pleased at the outward appearances of the players, at least two of whom had to be criminals of some kind, another carried the outward appearance of a duke or a count. Reaching into his pocket Bond withdrew a small pile of chips and placed them on the green baize before him. From what Bond had gathered, the shoe had passed three times from its starting position, and now rested beside the soft hand of a long tanned arm, which, as it held a cigarette between its fingers, calmly and confidently moved along the line of a white satin dress to play with a simple golden chain that, to Bond's delight, hung in the deep vee of the woman's cleavage that hung high and firm, yet not exposed – in the smooth cut of her white satin evening wear.
"Five thousand," she said, her deep green eyes darting across the faces on the table. The five players between her and Bond passed.
"Banco," her eyes returned and focused, almost glaringly on Bond's face and his eyes did not waver from her as she violently pulled the four cards from the shoe. The croupier slid the cards across to Bond. Queen of Hearts and Six of Spades. The woman flipped over her cards.
"Eight," Bond, in turn flipped his over
"Six, madam wins," The croupier declared, and the two players tossed their cards into the basket.
"Suivi," Bond announced as he placed down another two chips. The dealer took a deep sip from the flute of champagne by her side and dealt out the four cards,
"I admire your courage Mr…?"
"Bond. James Bond." he replied as she turned over her cards. King and Queen. Banco! The woman bit her lower lip eagerly as she stared at Bond's cards. He flipped them over, Eight.
"Skata!" she cursed as she pushed the shoe to the next player, rising from the table and washing her loss down with the remains of her champagne. She rose, and Bond collected his chips and got up from the table, meeting her at the other end of the table, "I guess I admire your luck now Mr. Bond," she held out her hand for Bond to shake it, "I'm Delta Pontius," she moved her hand back and stroked away a stray strand of dark brown hair, her eyes glanced away from his, "and I'm sorry to say I have to leave. Are you in town for long? Perhaps we could meet for lunch tomorrow?"
Bond chased her eyes, two lustful black pools each surrounded by an emerald ring of ocean – they offered him little but a faint trace of elegant mockery. "I suppose I could fit you into my busy schedule," he said. "How does twelve-thirty sound?
The brief flutter of a smile tugged in the corners of her wide sensual mouth. "I don't think I'm available, Mr. Bond."
"Well I am. Shall we say one o'clock, then. Here?"
"Maybe."
"Is that maybe yes, or maybe no?"
She laughed in a deep contralto that showed real pleasure. Bond was turned off by women with childish giggles and found himself irrevocably drawn to a woman who showed maturity in such a minor field. Now she looked back at Bond, the black-green pools appearing serious but playful. "Maybe both," she said and turned to leave.
"Shall I take that as a 'maybe yes'?
She turned. "You can take it how you like, Mr. Bond. As I'm sure you always do."
With that she turned away and calmly strode through the casino to the door, where the large figure of Argyris Pontius stood impatiently waiting outside. Bond knew what he was getting into, and it was all a matter of playing his cards right.
"So did you learn anything at this party last night?" Vandross said from across the small stone table. Bond did nothing but sip down half a gingery mouthful of his tourkikos kafes, and return an empty gaze past Vandross, whose mouth had spread into a wide yellow toothed grin, "still hung over Bond? I did not know you were the kind to drink on the job."
"I'm not."
"Then why get drunk? That skata does terrible things to your body, it makes you bloated and look gluttonous-" Vandross cut off mid sentence and lit a cigarette, "I once had a great friend, a writer – served in naval intelligence during the war. Every day he ate buttery egg, salted pork and made a bad habit of drinking two bottles of spirits a day. He was a good man, pessimistic yet ever enthusiastic, he had also had a terrible marriage. When he was your age, about forty, he was handsome – got all the girls he wanted. By my age, he looked sixty, felt seventy and could only get women by telling stories. The old shoe died. Heart attack. Wouldn't have had the second one if he'd listened to the doctors and cut down on it all. I've never touched the stuff in my life, and look how good I've turned out." Bond glanced over the large, grub like Greek, his eyes were dark and bloodshot, his crooked grin stained yellow. "Mister Bond, I am like Achilles, or Heracles, I am a hero amongst my people. I stand out however, because I blend in. I am a hero because I am a spy, and by aiding the British government I work for the greater good of Greece." Bond glanced around at the extravagant cliff side villa, the gleaming white stone and balustrades, the lush greens of the lawns and the hedges,
"and Greece's best interests are your economy?"
"Exactly Mister Bond! And by siding with the best side we can only profit." Vandross took a long sip at his coffee, "It's all about getting the price right you see, if there is a good price on blue silk I buy it, but if the price on red silk is better, it is obvious which one to settle for." The toothy grin stared back at him.
"I made a... contact with one of Pontius's associates. I have a lunch appointment with them in two hours." Bond finished off his coffee and rose from the table, buttoning up his light Saville Row suit. He had every intention of leaving.