James Bond: A Spy At Home

James Bond, but realistic on a civil servant’s budget

Madelaine Lucy Hanson
2 min readMar 2


James smirked at the blushing brunette, watching her hide a ladder in her stockings behind anxious finger tips. Despite her better judgement, she’d come up to room 410 with him, a suave stranger, a suited mystery among the quotidian masses of Peterborough.

“Let me get you a drink,” he murmured, picking up the phone and dialling for reception. It was unpleasantly sticky. “Hello? A negroni, easy on the Campari. And a Vesper Martini.” The brunette stared up at him, wondering how he knew. “Shaken not stirred.”

“We only have the house wine, sir,” said a nasal voice down the line. “Or pink mini prosecco, lager, Tropicana, Diet Coke, or bottled mineral water.”

James paused. “The vin de la maison, then, madame.”

“The what?”

James lowered his voice to an embarrassed hiss. “The house wine, then.”

“I hope you haven’t got anyone up there with you sir. You’re booked in as one guest.” The nasal voice jarred against the slurping chew of gum down the line.

“No, just me. Thanks.” He hurriedly replaced the receiver and turned back to his innocent conquest. She wouldn’t be a virgin for long. “What’s your name, my fen goddess?”


He paused. “Becky what?”

“Becky Wexford.” Her polyester blazer fitted her awkwardly, he thought. He wanted to strip it off.

“That’s unusual. Usually the names of my lovers are more…” he brushed her hair from her shoulder. “…mysterious.”

“Whatever,” said Becky, shrugging.

“I’m James,” he replied smoothly, coming over to the bed and undoing his tie. “James Bond.”

“Yeah I know,” Becky said, placing her painted nails inside her mouth and removing her chewing gum. James reached silently for his gun. Of course. A Russian agent. Or an American. He should have been more on guard.

“How did you know?” he said, sobrely, gazing into those awkward brown eyes. Becky raised a finger, clicking her tongue.

“It was on your credit card at reception, innit.”

“Oh. Yes.” He relaxed his forefinger on the trigger.

“I don’t want to be rude or nothing James, but can you get a move on or it’ll cost you double for the two hours.”



Madelaine Lucy Hanson

26 year old with an awful lot to say about everything. Opinions entirely my own. Usually. madelaine@madelainehanson.co.uk