Henry woke, predictably, before she did that morning, though he thoughtfully allowed her to sleep until nine, watching cartoons on the hotel TV. But by then, he'd had enough of her slumbering, and she was awoken by a little finger poking her shoulder.
"Mom," he said, softly at first, "Mom, wake up."
She stirred, shaking the sleep from her head. She opened her eyes to see her son's sweet face staring back at her. His soft, blond hair was getting too long, and his blue eyes were round and bright today. He was excited, she realised, because they were in London. They'd made it through all the check stops, all the formalities, and the whole city was out there for her to rediscover with her son in tow.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she told him, reaching out to stroke his soft head. "Did you sleep well?"
He nodded vigorously.
"Good," she told him, sitting up and stretching languidly. "Let's get some breakfast."
The two dressed and they made their way to the restaurant, where Vesper allowed her son to order a rather huge waffle slathered in strawberries, chocolate and whipped cream, smiling at him as he quickly devoured it, leaving a few bites for her.
And then she took him out, showing him around the city. Vauxhall Cross, she knew, was a mere twenty-minute bus ride away, but she held off the temptation to hop on one and go past it, if only to see if they'd yet repaired the damage. She resisted. She wanted to spend this day with her son, let him get his bearings in this new city and see some of the sights. Then she would start the search for James Bond in earnest.
So she showed him Paddington Basin, and St. John's Church, but Henry was much more delighted with the double-decker red London buses. So she took him for a ride on one, unable to resist joining in on his infectious laughter as they bound up the stairs to the upper level.
"Everything is different here," he told her as they rode along Park Road, Queen Mary's Gardens in the distance.
"What do you mean, different?" she asked, smiling. He shrugged.
"The streets are so skinny and they all turn so much, and everything is so old and small," he said, looking out at the park.
"That's London," she told him, smiling.
"I like it," he said.
"Good," she said, kissing his head, "now, you want to see the park?"
He nodded eagerly.
"Let's go, then," she said, and they quickly exited at Prince Albert Road, the two of them running into Regent's Park.
The park was alive on this Sunday afternoon with football matches and kids running to and fro. They spent hours there, her son watching the matches with interest (he had expressed interest in joining a soccer team back in New York, but she'd never found the time), and then trying to keep up with him as he ran with boundless energy down the path towards the Gardens.
They spent a while marvelling at the flora before heading back to the hotel for lunch, after which, the boy still wanting to see more of the city, they headed south past Paddington Station to Hyde Park, which he loved even more.
"People swim in there?" he asked of The Serpentine, making a face at the dusky water.
"Some do," she told him as they walked over the bridge.
"Ew," he said.
Vesper laughed.
They trekked across the park to the playground, and she watched him play for a while, until their shadows began to lengthen and dinnertime loomed. So, with a little bit of resistance on his part, they left and the returned to their hotel, hiking back across the park as the sky grew dusky.
"So," she asked him, as they ate that evening, "did you have fun today?"
"Yeah," he replied, nodding fervently. "I like London! There's so many parks."
She laughed.
"You miss home?" she asked, after some time, testing the waters.
"Not yet, Mom," he said, as if she were an idiot. "We just got here!"
She smiled, nodded. She had wanted to spend this day with him, and had tried very hard not to think of the proximity of James Bond.
She wondered if James was at MI6 right now, at the headquarters at Vauxhall Cross, or perhaps elsewhere at a temporary location they'd set up. She knew it was likely that they'd had to evacuate because of the terror threat.
Or maybe he wasn't even in London. Maybe he was on a mission in Marrakech, or Zimbabwe. He could be anywhere. She hadn't really thought of how she was going to find him. His address was not a matter of public record, obviously, and it wasn't as though she could simply walk into MI6 Headquarters and ask for him.
As she put her son to bed that night, she considered her options. She'd have to find a flat, of course, one near a good school for Henry. He hadn't finished preschool, but he would be turning five this year, which meant he would have been starting Kindergarten back in New York in the fall. Here he would be enrolled in Year One of Primary School.
She needed to quickly get his name in, because, she knew, without M's influence, there was bound to be a fairly long waiting list. She had managed to save a fair amount of money and would be able to afford to send him to any of London's best prep schools, but she wasn't quite sure that was what she wanted to do yet.
Her son fell asleep quickly that night, exhausted by the excitement and physical activity he'd gotten that day, but she lay awake, thinking of these things, and of James, hoping he was out there somewhere in this meandering city. Eventually, she would seriously have to commence her search for him, and she had no idea where to start.
However, she was completely unaware, that night, as she finally slipped off to sleep, that she wouldn't need to worry about that at all.
Ω
The next day, she took her son to see a matinee at a cinema in Kensington. She'd been intending to then take him to the Science Museum, as he was keen on those sorts of things.
They'd been walking for a while when it happened, strolling along Kensington Road leisurely, along the southern border of the Park. Her son was chattering away about the film they'd just seen, and Vesper was half-listening as they walked, looking down at him from time to time, but keeping her head up as well, to avoid oncoming pedestrians.
And then, and it happened so fast she could not even react, she looked up, and saw a flash of his face, his face, James Bond's face in the oncoming crowd of faces, and before she could do anything; run, walk, turn and escape into the park, he was in front of her, him, James, and he had hold of her arm and ice-cold fear gripped her then as he pulled her through the gate into the park.
Her heart was beating so vigorously she could hear it in her ears, and she struggled to breathe, to get enough air, suddenly feeling very light-headed. He was still holding her arm, bruising it, she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to care, because the hurt and incredulity and utter astonishment she saw in his face, as she struggled to recover from the shock, had driven that familiar knife of guilt and shame into her heart.
She took deep breaths as she stood there, looking into his incredulous eyes. She hoped the remorse and regret was clear on her face, and she was willing him to see it, to understand that she had not wanted any of what had happened, because at the moment she could not speak a word, couldn't even if she'd tried.
People shuffled past, going about their daily lives, ignorant of the monumental reunion that had just silently occurred among them. James was still looking at her, his eyes boring into hers, his hand still gripping her arm, and she held his gaze, unflinchingly staring back at him.
He had aged in the nearly six years since she'd last seen him. His once-smooth face was a little more lined, a little more weathered. It was a different James Bond that stood in front of her, an older one, certainly, but also one, it was clear, that had been beaten down by the years that had been so comparatively kind to her.
His hair, which was longer than she'd ever seen it, was lying flat on his head a bit untidily, and it was starting to grey at the temples. He hadn't shaved in a few days, his face scruffy with a short, mostly grey beard.
It gave off an air of disuse, of inactivity, and she was curious to see that it took away some of the power he usually exuded. He was much less put-together than the man she was used to, and she wondered, as she stood there, taking him in, if it had anything to do with the fact that he was strolling around London on a Monday in the middle of the day.
"James," she heard herself whisper, finally, because she could not stand there any longer with him looking at her like that. His gaze intensified as soon as she spoke, all that hurt and all that anger and grief suddenly so potent she felt as though she must look away. But she could not.
And then she heard a little voice speak, and suddenly she realised her son was here, with her, and he was still holding onto her hand. She had nearly forgotten.
"Mom?" he asked, and James's eyes snapped down to the boy standing beside her, and she watched, unable to breathe, unable to move, as he glimpsed the boy for the first time. His hand, still gripping her arm painfully, went slack, falling down beside him. He took an infinitesimal step back.
She felt that same guilty thrill of satisfaction she'd felt with M as she witnessed his absolute and complete astonishment. She had never, in their short time together, seen him look so utterly thrown, so positively rattled as he looked down at the boy, and then up at her.
And she knew he knew, could see it in his eyes that he knew. Comprehension was dawning on his face. It was impossible not to see it. The boy and the man were near duplicates of each other, give or take almost forty years. She saw the wheels turning in his head, watched as the anger and hurt started to fade, his posture relaxing, and she tore her gaze away from him, looking down into her son's wide blue eyes.
"It's okay," she managed to tell him. "It's alright." She nodded at him, her eyes kind, and he seemed to take her word for it, looking back up at the strange, silent man in front of them.
"Yes," James said, speaking for the first time, and Vesper looked up at him in surprise. His voice was lower than it had been, hoarser. That familiar smirk had crept onto his lips, and it had the simultaneous effect of both comforting and terrifying her. "It's alright." James said, his eyes not leaving her face.
She nodded, her breathing still erratic, watching as his eyes warmed, the tenderness blooming in his expression taking ten years off his appearance. She found herself able to breathe again, as he smiled back at her, genuinely this time, and she began, slowly, to relax.
And then, as he was wont to do, James Bond became James Bond again. Just like that. He stood up straight, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Then he broke eye contact with her, looking down at the boy.
"Would either of you fancy some lunch?" he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Vesper could only chuckle in dizzy disbelief as he caught her eye again, her heart still thudding in her chest. "Because I'm famished."