Bond looked around the foyer of the St Ermin’s hotel. The old building had seen some changes since his last visit; stepping in from the new tree-lined courtyard he saw what had been a tired and dark foyer had become a classy, bright reception, oozing quality but without the snobbery; “urban elegance”, as the young agents would say. Was it really that long since the old dog Churchill had created the Special Operation Executive on the top floors – their mission “to set Europe ablaze;” – and then the boys of MI6 had moved in after the War, to deal with the Commies? The bright carpet and tasteful fittings hid a host of stories.
You must be from ‘Conference News’;” the woman was tall beautiful and elegant. “Moneypenny?” purred Bond. “No, I’m Caroline, in charge of PR for the hotel. Let me show you around.“ Bond watched as she moved, and his pulse quickened. Over her shoulder she said, “How is Mr Colston?” Bond wondered who else knew C’s real identity but was able to mask his concern as he was introduced to a smartly dressed gentleman who appeared as if from the ether. “I’m Stuart Leckie, Director of Marketing, welcome”.
Bond coolly appraised him. Here was a man who could look after himself. Had he been trained by Mossad, in their unique way of killing a man, swiftly and silently? Bond said “I expect you know Krav Maga.” A look of confusion whizzed over Stuart’s handsome face but he replied politely; “not really, but come and meet our chef; he’s very knowledgeable about wine.”
They walked through the stylish open bar, still popular with MPs, Caroline and Stuart throwing snippets of history that bought back the old memories. “This is the place where Philby, Burgess and Maclean met their KGB handlers to hand over state secrets… the refurbishment has cost around £30 million.. there’s a cupboard with a bricked up passage that leads down to the Tube station and the underground tunnel complex… we remain a popular location for MPs to meet, and we’ve a division bell in the foyer… you’ll notice all these little nooks and crannies where all sorts of deals have been struck.. the Spooks from MI5 and MI6 have used our facilities for debriefing famous spies…” Bond took in the information while scanning the airy spaces, perfect for clandestine meetings.
The facts and figures came fast and Bond acknowledged them all with his trademark sardonic grin. Caroline stared at him. “Something to eat, Mr Bond? Over there is our Caxton Grill, with its unique Josper oven that cooks at incredibly high temperatures to seal in the flavour of the food. And many of the recipes utilise honey from the colony of bees we now keep on the roof of the hotel.” Bond slipped a toothpick between his teeth. “Honey, eh? Shounds shweet. And would you be joining me for a little nibble?”
Bond could tell his words were having the desired effect as Caroline gave an involuntary shudder, and a grimace appeared on her face. After all these years, why was he still so irresistible? He moved his hand casually towards her and in her excitement she accidentally stabbed him with a used toothpick.
Stuart smoothly stepped in to fill the hungry silence. “We have a lot of leading IT companies in the area who use us, plus the Houses of Parliament and, of course, our friends from New Scotland Yard over the road, so we are the perfect location for meetings that require security and discretion. And you’ve seen the quality of our meeting rooms, and there’s our Crystal Boardroom which can take up to 200 guests standing.”
“So, room for most of my ex-lovers”, murmured Bond, winking at Caroline. In an open sign of sexual hunger she shuffled her chair as far round the table as she could.
“We also have a number of terraces that can be used for private parties. Perfect for something a little different in the heart of Victoria.” Stuart was leading the conversation as Caroline’s complexion seemed to have taken on a slightly greenish hue. Bond decided keeping up with the sexual mores of the twenty-first century were becoming a challenge.
“And all achieved with a quite a minimum of disruption?” asked Bond? Stuart smiled “Oh yes. I think you can say the locals have been delighted by the results. Stirred, but not shaken, perhaps?” He laughed gently, and Caroline joined in. Bond wondered whether they were communicating in code.
“So, who’s behind you, then, Stuart?” Bond went straight for the key question, sipping one of the 3 whiskies the waiter had bought them to try, a so-called tasting flight. “Is it SMERSH?” Stuart looked back, coolly. “I think that one is Bushmills. But we’re independent operators. Behind us is an American group. They have similar exclusive properties across the US, but this is the first operation outside their borders”.
Bond squinted. “CIA?”
“Err, no, actually, AEI”, replied Stuart, accidentally moving the rest of the whiskies out of Bond’s reach. He straightened; “let me get you our full Press pack.” In seconds it was just Bond and Caroline, whose long fingers moved effortlessly over her Blackberry. She glanced at him. “Something else to drink, Mr Bond?” He nodded, then raised an eyebrow, flicked out his tongues, licked his lips, winked hard. She smiled, and stood up. “Let me get you a coffee”. Bond watched her reflection if the window as she moved to the bar, and held the phone to her ear. Her whispers carried across the space; “it’s me. Can you call an ambulance? I think that deluded idiot from Conference News is having a stroke.”
Bond smiled at his own reflection. It was good to be back.