Bond said curtly, ‘I’ll be glad to take you to Geneva. Now then,’ he opened up the back of the Aston Martin, ‘let’s get your things in. While I fix up about the garage here’s some money. Please buy us lunch – anything you like for yourself. For me, six inches of Lyon sausage, a loaf of bread, butter, and half a litre of Mâcon with the cork pulled.’ Their eyes met and exchanged a flurry of masculine/feminine master/slave signals. The girl took the money. ‘Thank you. I’ll get the same things for myself.’
