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29
CHAPTER
FOUR
Bond had forgotten the lateness of the hour and was
not so naïve as to think that the hotel would still be serving dinner at
ten past nine, which is what the time was when he finally made it back to the
Alma Lodge. This was not after all the south of France or the West Indies or
Mexico or any other of the exotic foreign climes where Bond’s assignments
usually took him, but England. He was not in a country where a hungry man could
walk into any hotel he took a fancy too at ten in the evening and order dinner;
it was England, a country where a similar request could only lead to the
requester being regarded as barking mad. But a sandwich maybe? Nothing special,
cheese would be fine. Not to be. The chances of getting such a sandwich were as
remote as Pluto. Not possible, he had been informed by the receptionist; the
chef had finished for the evening. Well couldn’t the receptionist herself
make him a sandwich perhaps? She was a receptionist, not a cook. Apart from
that she’d just done her nails and anyway the chef had locked the fridge
and gone home. Bond could have offered to pick the lock of the fridge with his universal skeleton key an unlock the delights within in a matter of seconds but that would only have drawn attention to himself, the very last thing a secret agent wanted. So he persisted. Did the hotel perhaps boast a snack dispenser where bars of chocolate and potato crisps could be obtained? Yes, it did. Where in the hotel could it be located? Just round the corner; but it was empty, the man who filled it hadn’t called this week. At that Bond had given up at and sought out the nearest pub. About two minutes after entering the nearest pub he began to wish he’d sought out the second nearest pub because it surely must have been better. Up to the two minute mark it hadn’t been too bad, a little scruffier than he would have liked – he didn’t much care for the cat sitting on the bar - but tolerable for all that. On entering he had gone to the bar and ordered a pint of bitter and a pork pie. The pie had yet to arrive but he had been assured by the landlord that when it did arrive it would be excellent, Titterton’s, none better in his opinion, the cat loved them, wouldn't eat anything else. The beer was excellent too, Robinson’s best bitter, brewed locally just down the road at the Unicorn Brewery the landlord informed him. |