“We’ve been expecting you, Mr Bond.”
007 gave the room careful scrutiny. The knife-block had six slots: three knives were missing. Two people. One blocking his exit. Oven. Clean. One gas ring on, something bubbling in a saucepan. He sniffed. A telltale smell he knew from experience. He should have expected this the moment he made the decision to come.
The woman pointed at the table. “Take off your weapons and sit down.”
Bond un-holstered his gun and sat.
She plonked a plate down in front of him.
Ahhh, steak and kidney pie. His favourite. Good old mum.