I took her hand, knowing that, given her frankness, now was the time. I led her down three steps, drew her close and said, “I have something to tell...you, but may I kiss you first?”“I thought you didn’t want to last night.”“Last night I thought you had a husband.”“You see what a thoughtful man you are?”Then our lips were together, gentle at first, and I thrilled at the first reach of her tongue sliding on mine, as our bodies slammed together. I could still not remove the dream-like nature of it. Moneypenny was glad, at least, that she could be there to help James Bond’s daughter, Jane, and in that small way be part of something that had to do with the life of her unrequited love. After precisely a half an hour, not a second late, Wendy Warmcox knocked on Jane Bond’s — or rather, Samantha Paddington-Smythe’s — hotel room door. Wendy was dressed in a long, beige trench-coat. Jane was still in her conservative navy-blue business suit, nerdy red glasses, and pinned-up hair. Wendy quietly. More

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