It was like a labyrinth, soulless and never ending. Silent too, save for the steady rhythm of Bond's John Lobb leather soled loafers echoing down the long corridor. He found the door he'd been looking for. Taking a deep breath, he knocked and entered, unsure of what he was to be confronted with on the other side.
Unexpectedly, there was a petite blond girl typing at a desk. Bond walked slowly towards her and smiled as she looked up at him.
"James Bond. I have an appointment with Ann Dooney at 10am." He leaned on the desk staring down at her.
"I'll just let her know you're waiting." She smiled up at him with pretty green eyes.
Picking up the phone, she said; "Ms Dooney, number seven is in reception."
"That's double-o seven, not number seven," whispered Bond leaning in a bit closer, noticing the scent of her cheap perfume.
"Oh, I'll try to remember." She replied, sweetly meeting his gaze.
Then unexpectedly, she sat up straight and said, "Ms Dooney will see you now."
He turned his head to see a tiny, severe woman in her mid-forties. Even though she wore the highest, chunkiest heels Bond had ever noticed on a woman, she couldn't have reached more than five feet tall in them. Her auburn hair was scraped from her face and wound up tightly in a bun on the back of her head. Not a single stray hair made it onto her black suit. She stood motionless holding the door open behind her. Her humourless ice-blue eyes watched Bond rise from his almost horizontal position draped across the desk. He followed her into the adjacent office.
"I believe you and Mr Kite have already met." Next to her desk sat the accountant who he'd found so irritating on their previous meeting. This time he wore a navy suit, which Bond noticed looked old and slightly too small for him. Bond held out his hand to him and received his clammy shake in return.
"I'm Ms Dooney, Chief Actuary to the Ministry of Defence." She introduced herself, then sat behind an impressively large, oak desk. A desk she couldn't possibly have reached the edges of, Bond thought.
"Delighted to meet you." replied Bond. "I hope you'll excuse me for asking, but what exactly does that mean?"
"It means I control the budgets Mr. Bond." She said curtly. "Do you know why you've been called here?"
"I'm due a pay rise?" asked Bond.
"Incorrect." She answered without a trace of personality. "You are here Mr Bond because you have created a series of problems for our department. Problems which frankly, I'm tired of dealing with Mr. Bond." Next to her Mr. Kite nodded seriously. She ignored him.
"We have calculated that you cost the Ministry of Defence roughly two hundred and fifty million pounds in extraneous expenses during the past two financial years. Do you have anything to say about that?"
"Ah, am I here because I've lost some of my receipts?"
"Facetiousness is an unhelpful attitude to bring to this meeting, Mr. Bond. Do you have any idea how much the Trans-Siberian pipeline cost to repair, after you blew a hole in it?
"No, but plumbers don't come cheap." ventured Bond.
This remark was met with a deathly stare from Ms Dooney.
Chuckling at Bond's retorts, Mr. Kite added, "It was damned expensive. But we did manage to claw back some savings on the cost of the tidy-up. Luckily, BP offered us a really low price to clear up the oil slick, birds and all that environmental business."
The deathly stare was now directed at him.
Standing in front of her, Bond was reminded of being thirteen and expelled by the Provost at Eton. The only difference being that Ms Dooney was a lot more intimidating.