if.thespywholovedme-第1部分

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　I　found　what　follows　lying　on　my　desk　one　morning。
　As　you　will　see；　it　appears　to　be　the　first…person　story　of　a　young　woman；　evidently　beautiful　and　not　unskilled　in　the　arts　of　love。
　According　to　her　story；　she　appears　to　have　been　involved；　both　perilously　and　romantically；　with　the　same　James　Bond　whose　secret…service　exploits　I　myself　have　written　from　time　to　time。
　With　the　manuscript　was　a　note　signed　〃Vivienne　Michel；〃　assuring　me　that　what　she　had　written　was　purest　truth　and　from　the　depths　of　her　heart。
　I　was　much　interested　in　this　view　of　James　Bond；　through　the　wrong　end　of　the　telescope；　so　to　speak；　and；　after　obtaining　clearance　for　certain　minor　infringements　of　the　Official　Secrets　Act；　I　have　much　pleasure　in　sponsoring　its　publication。
　IAN　FLEMING
　　
　Part　One：　Me
　One：　Scaredy　Cat
　
　I　WAS　running　away。　I　was　running　away　from　England；　from　my　childhood；　from　the　winter；　from　a　sequence　of　untidy；　unattractive　love…affairs；　from　the　few　sticks　of　furniture　and　jumble　of　overworn　clothes　that　my　London　life　had　collected　around　me；　and　I　was　running　away　from　drabness；　fustiness；　snobbery；　the　claustrophobia　of　close　horizons；　and　from　my　inability；　although　I　am　quite　an　attractive　rat；　to　make　headway　in　the　rat…race。　In　fact　I　was　running　away　from　almost　everything　except　the　law。
　And　I　had　run　a　very　long　way　indeed…almost；　exaggerating　a　bit；　halfway　round　the　world。　In　fact　I　had　e　all　the　way　from　London　to　The　Dreamy　Pines　Motor　Court；　which　is　ten　miles　west　of　Lake　George；　the　famous　American　tourist　resort　in　the　Adirondacks…that　vast　expanse　of　mountains；　lakes；　and　pine　forests　which　forms　most　of　the　northern　territory　of　New　York　State。　I　had　started　on　September　the　first；　and　it　was　now　Friday　the　thirteenth　of　October。　When　I　had　left；　the　grimy　little　row　of　domesticated　maples　in　my　square　had　been　green；　or　as　green　as　any　tree　can　be　in　London　in　August。　Now；　in　the　billion…strong　army　of　pine　trees　that　marched　away　northward　toward　the　Canadian　border；　the　real；　wild　maples　flamed　here　and　there　like　shrapnel…bursts。　And　I　felt　that　I；　or　at　any　rate　my　skin；　had　changed　just　as　much…from　the　grimy　sallowness　that　had　been　the　badge　of　my　London　life　to　the　snap　and　color　and　sparkle　of　living　out　of　doors　and　going　to　bed　early　and　all　those　other　dear　dull　things　that　had　been　part　of　my　life　in　Quebec　before　it　was　decided　that　I　must　go　to　England　and　learn　to　be　a　〃lady。〃　Very　unfashionable；　of　course；　this　cherry…ripe；　strength…through…joy　plexion；　and　I　had　even　stopped　using　lipstick　and　nail　polish；　but　to　me　it　had　been　like　sloughing　off　a　borrowed　skin　and　getting　back　into　my　own；　and　I　was　childishly　happy　and　pleased　with　myself　whenever　I　looked　in　the　mirror　（that's　another　thing…I'll　never　say　〃looking…glass〃　again；　I　just　don't　have　to　any　more）　and　found　myself　not　wanting　to　paint　a　different　face　over　my　own。　I'm　not　being　smug　about　this。　I　was　just　running　away　from　the　person　I'd　been　for　the　past　five　years。　I　wasn't　particularly　pleased　with　the　person　I　was　now；　but　I　had　hated　and　despised　the　other　one；　and　I　was　glad　to　be　rid　of　her　face。
　Station　WOKO　（they　might　have　dreamed　up　a　grander　call…sign！）　in　Albany；　the　capital　of　New　York　State　and　about　fifty　miles　due　south　of　where　I　was；　announced　that　it　was　six　o'clock。　The　weather　report　that　followed　included　a　storm　warning　with　gale…force　winds。　The　storm　was　moving　down　from　the　north　and　would　hit　Albany　around　eight　p。m。　That　meant　that　I　would　be　having　a　noisy　night。　I　didn't　mind。　Storms　don't　frighten　me；　and　although　the　nearest　living　soul；　as　far　as　I　knew；　was　ten　miles　away　up　the　not　very　good　secondary　road　to　Lake　George；　the　thought　of　the　pines　that　would　soon　be　thrashing　outside；　the　thunder　and　lightning　and　rain；　made　me　already　feel　snug　and　warm　and　protected　in　anticipation。　And　alone！　But　above　all　alone！　〃Loneliness　bees　a　lover；　solitude　a　darling　sin。〃　Where　had　I　read　that？　Who　had　written　it？　It　was　so　exactly　the　way　I　felt；　the　way　that；　as　a　child；　I　had　always　felt　until　I　had　forced　myself　to　〃get　into　the　swim；〃　〃be　one　of　the　crowd〃…a　good　sort；　on　the　ball；　hep。　And　what　a　hash　I　had　made　of　〃togetherness〃！　I　shrugged　the　memory　of　failure　away。　Everyone　doesn't　have　to　live　in　a　heap。　Painters；　writers；　musicians　are　lonely　people。　So　are　statesmen　and　admirals　and　generals。　But　then；　I　added　to　be　fair；　so　are　criminals　and　lunatics。　Let's　just　say；　not　to　be　too　flattering；　that　true　Individuals　are　lonely。　It's　not　a　virtue…the　reverse；　if　anything。　One　ought　to　share　and　municate　if　one　is　to　be　a　useful　member　of　the　tribe。　The　fact　that　I　was　so　much　happier　when　I　was　alone　was　surely　the　sign　of　a　faulty；　a　neurotic　character。　I　had　said　this　so　often　to　myself　in　the　past　five　years　that　now；　that　evening；　I　just　shrugged　my　shoulders　and；　hugging　my　solitude　to　me；　walked　across　the　big　lobby　to　the　door　and　went　out　to　have　a　last　look　at　the　evening。
　I　hate　pine　trees。　They　are　dark　and　stand　very　still　and　you　can't　shelter　under　them　or　climb　them。　They　are　very　dirty；　with　a　most　un…treelike　black　dirt；　and　if　you　get　this　dirt　mixed　with　their　resin　they　make　you　really　filthy。　I　find　their　jagged　shapes　vaguely　inimical；　and　the　way　they　mass　so　closely　together　gives　me　the　impression　of　an　army　of　spears　barring　my　passage。　The　only　good　thing　about　them　is　their　smell；　and；　when　I　can　get　hold　of　it；　I　use　pine…needle　essence　in　my　bath。　Here；　in　the　Adirondacks；　the　endless　vista　of　pine　trees　was　positively　sickening。　They　clothe　every　square　yard　of　earth　in　the　valleys　and　climb　up　to　the　top　of　every　mountain　so　that　the　impression　is　of　a　spiky　carpet　spread　to　the　horizon…an　endless　vista　of　rather　stupid…looking　green　pyramids　waiting　to　be　cut　down　for　matches　and　coat…hangers　and　copies　of　the　New　York　Times。
　Five　acres　or　so　of　these　stupid　trees　had　been　cleared　to　build　the　motel；　which　is　all　that　this　place　really　was。　〃Motel〃　isn't　a　good　word　any　longer。　It　has　bee　smart　to　use　〃Motor　Court〃　or　〃Ranch　Cabins〃　ever　since　motels　became　associated　with　prostitution；　gangsters；　and　murders；　for　all　of　which　their　anonymity　and　lack　of　supervision　is　a　convenience。　The　site；　touristwise；　in　the　lingo　of　the　trade；　was　a　good　one。　There　was　this　wandering　secondary　road　through　the　forest；　which　was　a　pleasant　alternative　route　between　Lake　George　and　Glen　Falls　to　the　south；　and　halfway　along　it　was　a　small　lake；　cutely　called　Dreamy　Waters；　that　was　a　traditional　favorite　with　picnickers。　It　was　on　the　southern　shore　of　this　lake　that　the　motel　had　been　built；　its　reception　lobby　facing　the　road；　with；　behind　this　main　building；　the　rooms　fanning　out　in　a　semicircle。　There　were　forty　rooms　with　kitchen；　shower；　and　lavatory；　and　they　all　had　some　kind　of　view　of　the　lake　behind　them。　The　whole　construction　and　design　was　the　latest　thing…glazed　pitch…pine　frontages　and　pretty　timber　roofs　all　over　knobbles；　air…conditioning；　television　in　every　cabin；　children's　playground；　swimming　pool；　golf　range　out　over　the　lake　with　floating　balls　（fifty　balls；　one　dollar）…all　the　gimmicks。　Food？　Cafeteria　in　the　lobby；　and　grocery　and　liquor　deliveries　twice　a　day　from　Lake　George。　All　this　for　ten　dollars　single　and　sixteen　double。　No　wonder　that；　with　around　two　hundred　thousand　dollars'　capital　outlay　and　a　season　lasting　only　from　July　the　first　to　the　beginning　of　October；　or；　so　far　as　the　NO　VACANCY　sign　was　concerned；　from　July　fourteenth　to　Labor　Day；　the　owners　were　finding　the　going　hard。　Or　so　those　dreadful　Phanceys　had　told　me　when　they'd　taken　me　on　as　receptionist　for　only　thirty　dollars　a　week　plus　keep。　Thank　heavens　they　were　out　of　my　hair！　Song　in　my　heart？　There　had　been　the　whole　heavenly　choir　at　six　o'clock　that　morning　when　their　shiny　station…wagon　had　disappeared　down　the　road　on　their　way　to　Glens　Falls　and　then　to　Troy　where　the　monsters　came　from。　Mr。　Phancey　had　made　a　last　grab　at　me；　and　I　hadn't　been　quick　enough。　His　free　hand　had　run　like　a　fast　lizard　over　my　body　before　I　had　crunched　my　heel　into　his　instep。　He　had　let　go　then。　When　his　contorted　face　had　cleared；