Bond Does It Again

Bond does it again

David Crowe, Strasbourg, 2004

Copyright

This work is copyright in all countries signatory to the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works. Reproduction for gain or profit, or public performance, is prohibited without the express permission of the author.

Copying or reproduction is nevertheless freely permitted for the purposes of study, review, non-performance reading or rehearsal. A print-friendly version is available on application.

For performing licence and other enquiries, please apply to bond@kastor.net.

First edition, February 2004
First performance: informal reading by Tagora, Council of Europe, 15 March 2004
Published in electronic form and by private printing
© David Crowe, 2004

BOND DOES IT AGAIn

SCENE 1

The time is the present -- or any time in the last forty years. The place, a Whitehall office. Sir Kenneth Wiseman, senior civil servant in his fifties, is sitting at the desk writing. Enter JD, running, with a newspaper in his hand.

(Very excited.) I say, Sir, have you seen this morning’s Times? Bond’s done it again. The world was within minutes of being contaminated for five centuries by Dr None’s Nupalm ray-cannon, and Bond somehow got away from the underwater prison, disarmed the weapon and locked Dr None in the toilet. The report says he’s safely in the hands of the CIA now.

Sir Kenneth

(Irritated.) Really, JD, can’t you ever knock?

But it’s Bond, Sir. It really is stunningly good news, isn’t it?

Sir Kenneth

JD, sit down. (He does so.) JD, do you realise what this means?

What do you mean, Sir?

Sir Kenneth

Do you realise that every time Bond gets into these scrapes, it’s we who have to pick up the pieces? I suppose he’s left the usual trail of smashed cars, exploded boats and demolished buildings in his wake?

Well, yes, Sir.

Sir Kenneth

And Bond, I imagine, is nowhere to be found?

Well, er …

Sir Kenneth

If I know him, he’ll have sneaked off to somewhere glamourous, like Tahiti, with that American agent, what’s her name, Titzi or something—

Mitzi, Sir.

Sir Kenneth

Yes, Mitzi … off to Tahiti for a month of R and R, while we come along like good little boys and clean up after him. Pacify the locals, repair the damages, settle his debts … not to mention the corpses.

Ah, yes, Sir. The corpses. I wanted to see you about that. There’s a bit of a problem. You know that enemy agent who infiltrated Bond’s office?

Sir Kenneth

… only to be killed by the poison dart mechanism that Bond had connected to the desk-lamp? What about him?

Well, I’m afraid the first person on the scene was one of the cleaning ladies, and she got rather a shock. It’s not every day you find one of the “opposition” with a blue face staring at you over the vacuum cleaner.

Sir Kenneth

Oh, Lord! I suppose I’d better see her. What’s her name?

Watkins, Sir, Mrs Watkins. Been in the department over twenty-five years, now.

Sir Kenneth

Quite, quite. Send her in, would you?

Yes, Sir.

He leaves. Sir Kenneth picks up the telephone.

Sir Kenneth

Debbie? Do you think you could get me a cup of tea? Yes, Earl Grey. (A pause.) Better make that two cups. I have to see one of the cleaning staff, and it may take some time. No, I don’t know whether she would like Earl Grey as well. What do you think? (A pause.) All right, PG Tips it is, then. And she probably drinks it strong with a lot of sugar. Yes, a lot of sugar. The poor woman’s had a bit of a shock. Oh, and perhaps you could pop out and get a packet of chocolate digestives? Thank you.

There is a knock at the door.

Sir Kenneth

Enter.

There is a clattering noise outside, followed by silence, then another knock.

Sir Kenneth

(Louder.) ENTER!

Enter Mrs Watkins, carrying a mop and trailing a vacuum cleaner. A broken coat-stand is entangled round the cord of the vacuum cleaner, and it brings up the rear.

Mrs Watkins

Terribly sorry, Sir, ’ad a bit of a mix-up with the hall furniture there. It’s just been one of those mornings, ’asn’t it? Now I’ll just stand this up ’ere for the moment. It’ll be right as rain with a bit of Superglue. My Ern swears by it, he does. ’E were only saying the other day—

Sir Kenneth

Good morning, Mrs … er … Watkins. No, no, leave all that. I’ll get one of the cleaning staff to, er— Mrs Watkins, please take a seat.

Mrs Watkins

Well, if you say so, Sir. I don’t like leaving things ’alf-done, so to speak, but I s’pose it’ll be all right there for a bit.

Sir Kenneth

Yes. Now, Mrs Watkins, do you know what I wanted to see you about?

Mrs Watkins

Well, I s’pose it must be about Mr Bond’s visitor, Sir. That poor man. Sitting there with ’is face bright blue. It did give me a turn, I can tell you. Fair makes me queasy just to think of it. I was shaken, I can tell you.

Sir Kenneth

But not, er, stirred, I trust? (She looks blank.)

Mrs Watkins

Oh, no, Sir, I’ve seen worse. You wouldn’t believe the ’alf of it. When I worked down Charing Cross hospital we used to—

Sir Kenneth

Mrs Watkins, can we keep to the point?

Mrs Watkins

Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I’m always letting my tongue run away with me. My Ern says… Oh, but there I go again. Yes, Sir. You were saying?

Sir Kenneth

Mrs Watkins, have you told anyone about this, er, accident?

Mrs Watkins

Accident? Oh, you mean the body, Sir. No, not a word, Sir. When you’ve been a domestic as long as I have, you know how to keep your mouth shut. ’Cept I told Ern, of course. Got ’im on ’is mobile straight away. ’Cos I’d been going to nip out and get ’im a nice piece of salmon for ’is tea, likes a nice piece of salmon does my Ern, an’ I could see I was prob’ly going to have to work a bit later. But my Ern, well, that’s not really like telling anyone, is it? No secrets in marriage, are there, Sir? And ’e wouldn’t tell anyone. Course, if he ’ad a pint too many down the Queen’s ’Ead he might—

During this speech, Sir Kenneth has been making expressions of horror, strangulated noises, and unsuccessful attempts to interrupt. When he does finally speak his voice is firm and menacing.

Sir Kenneth

Mrs Watkins! Do you mean to say that you tell your husband about your work in the department?

Mrs Watkins

Well, not everything, Sir. I mean, it wouldn’t do, would it?

Sir Kenneth

No, Mrs Watkins, it certainly would not “do”. Tell me, do you know what the function of this department is?

Mrs Watkins

Oh, yes, Sir, but I know you don’t like to talk about it. Well, you wouldn’t, would you? I mean, some people get the wrong idea. You only have to mention the words and—

Sir Kenneth

What words, Mrs Watkins?

Mrs Watkins

Well, tax inspector, Sir. What did you think I meant? I know you taxmen ’ave a rotten job, an’ I don’t want to make things worse for you.

Sir Kenneth

Ah … tax inspectors. That’s what you think we do, is it?

Mrs Watkins

Well, yes, Sir. Whatever else? Why do you ask?

Sir Kenneth

Ah, er … Just testing, Mrs Watkins. Well done. Yes, we are all tax inspectors in this department. And you needn’t worry about telling anyone else. We have nothing to hide, really.

Mrs Watkins

Well, like I said, Sir, I’ve already told my Ern.

Sir Kenneth

And Ern can keep a secret?

Mrs Watkins

Oh, of course, Sir. Anyroad, ’e doesn’t like telling ’is mates down the Queen’s ’Ead that ’is missus works at the tax office. Thinks it might rub orf on ’im, you see. So ’e’s invented a little subterfuge, you might say. (Laughs.) You wouldn’t believe what ’e tells ’em you do!

Sir Kenneth

(Amused.) No?

Mrs Watkins

No, Sir. Ha, ha! ’E tells them … hee, hee, hee … when ’e’s ’ad a few, mind you … ’E tells them you’re all spies.

Sir Kenneth

(Coldly.) Spies, Mrs Watkins?

Mrs Watkins

Yes, spies. You know, secret service, (mock mysterious) cloak and dagger stuff. ’E loves all those films on the telly, does Ern. What was that one ’e watched last week? With that Ursula Undressed in it? Oh, I ’ad it on the tip of me tongue just now …

Sir Kenneth

Are you telling me that your husband is in the habit of telling his “mates” down the pub foolish nonsense about our work here?

Mrs Watkins

Yes, but ’e’s only ’aving them on. They don’t believe a word of it. Think ’e’s a real card, they do. Mind you, they don’t ’alf egg ’im on.

Sir Kenneth

And do you know who these “mates” are?

Mrs Watkins

Well, I’ve met ’em, of course, but I’m terrible with names. Let’s see, there’s Boris and Wolfgang, and that nice American, Brad—

Sir Kenneth

That will be all, Mrs Watkins.

Mrs Watkins

— and that dark-skinned gentleman, what’s ’is name now, from the Middle East or somewhere …

Sir Kenneth

I SAID that will be all, Mrs Watkins. You may go!

Mrs Watkins

Oh, right, Sir. (Getting up, moving towards the vacuum cleaner.) Would you like me to clear this away, Sir?

Sir Kenneth

Not now, Mrs Watkins. Just go! (She leaves.)

Oh, Lord. What do we do now? (Picks up telephone.) JD, could you come in, please? Yes, it is urgent.

Sir Kenneth stands and paces indecisively, coming to a halt by the window, where he pauses, staring into space. Enter Debbie with the tea tray and two cups. She is surprised to see Sir Kenneth alone, but says nothing. She puts the tray on the desk.

Sir Kenneth

Ah, thank you, Debbie.

As Debbie leaves, JD enters.

Ah, tea, splendid! (He takes a cup, sips, grimaces.)

Sir Kenneth

(Absently.) Yes, yes, help yourself. (He returns to the desk and sits down.) JD, we have a serious problem.

I quite agree, Sir. This tea’s awful! Not your usual, is it?

Sir Kenneth

Never mind the tea, JD. We have a security problem. Mrs Watkins and her husband have been telling our trade secrets to all and sundry, including a whole pack of foreigners who frequent their local pub. Our cover’s blown.

Good Lord, Sir. That probably explains how that chap knew to break into Bond’s office while he was away.

Sir Kenneth

Yes, JD. There’s enough damage been done already. We’ll have to silence her.

You mean—?

Sir Kenneth

(Draws finger across throat, and nods.)

(Gulp.) I say, Sir, isn’t that a bit risky? Home territory, and all that.

Sir Kenneth

Nonsense. We do have a certain expertise in covering up these things, after all. Now, I’ve been thinking … (He leans over to JD and whispers inaudibly. Lights begin to fade slowly.)

(Stage whisper.) But why me, Sir?

Blackout.

SCENE 2

That afternoon, the same office. Lights come up as Mrs Watkins enters with vacuum cleaner. She moves to the telephone, unscrews the mouthpiece and slips something inside before tightening it again. There are footsteps in the corridor, and the sound of a man clearing his throat. Quickly, but without hurrying, Mrs Watkins moves away from the desk and switches on the vacuum cleaner. Enter JD.

The following dialogue is delivered against the background noise of the vacuum cleaner. Much pantomime, and the audience in fact hears nothing until the machine is switched off.

Oh, er, afternoon, Mrs Watkins.

Mrs Watkins

Eh?

Afternoon, Mrs Watkins!

Mrs Watkins

You’ll have to speak up, Sir, I can’t hear you over the hoover.

Can’t you turn that machine off?

Mrs Watkins

I said I can’t hear you over the hoover, Sir!

And I said, CAN’T YOU …

Mrs Watkins bends, unplugs the vacuum cleaner. Silence.

… TURN THAT BLASTED MACHINE OFF FOR A MOMENT? Oh. Thank you.

Mrs Watkins

Don’t mention it, Sir. Now, what was you saying?

Oh, never mind, Mrs Watkins. Er, would you care for a glass of sherry? They tell me you had a distressing morning.

Mrs Watkins

Well, I don't as a rule, sir, not while I'm working. But I am partial to the odd glass of an evening, and I s'pose the circumstances are exceptional.

Indeed they are, Mrs Watkins.

He crosses to the sideboard where there are bottles and glasses. Shielding his actions from Mrs Watkins with his body, he pours two glasses (emptying the bottle), and adds a small dose of powder to one of them. As he is doing this, he may talk inconsequentially and unnaturally about the weather.

There we go, Mrs Watkins. Why not sit down for a few minutes?

He places the two glasses on a coffee table, and quickly appropriates the chair next to the un-doctored glass.

Mrs Watkins

Oh, yes, take the weight off my feet. (She sits, reaches for the glass, then screams and points in another direction.) Ooh, a wasp! Can’t stand wasps! Watch it don't come any nearer!

JD looks around. Mrs Watkins seizes the opportunity to switch glasses.

Mrs Watkins

Oh, well, bottoms up!

Er, yes, your good health, Mrs Watkins.

He lifts his glass. Mrs Watkins downs her sherry in one gulp. He watches her cautiously, then puts his glass down without touching it.

Mrs Watkins

Thank you, Mr JD. Did me a power of good, that. Well, must be getting on.

She rises, crosses to the desk and begins dusting, humming to herself. While she is not looking, JD looks at his sherry glass, sniffs it, then pours the contents into a nearby pot plant. The plant wilts immediately.

JD rises, shrugs his shoulders, and grasps the empty sherry bottle by the neck. Crossing to behind Mrs Watkins, he raises the sherry bottle over her head. Just as he brings it down, she bends to dust the lower part of the desk. The bottle shatters on the desk.

Oh, I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me. I’m all fingers and thumbs today.

Mrs Watkins

Not to worry, dear, I’ll soon get it cleared up. Would you mind just plugging in the hoover for me? Me back’s not what it was.

JD bends, picks up plug and inserts it. Flashes and sizzling noise. JD gives a little squeak and collapses in a heap.

Mrs Watkins

Oh, dear. I knew I should have got that electric seen to. (Her voice changes, becomes more determined, the accent less pronounced.) Bound to kill someone one of these days, it was. (Strides across to desk, picks up telephone.) Debbie? Get me the prime minister.

Blackout.