Solo

film,
The Curse of Dracula’s Daughter
, and then to the office of her talent agent, a company called Cosmopolitan Talent International – had elicited the information that Astrid Ostergard was not available to open Bond’s new department store in Hemel Hempstead because she was busy filming
Vampiria, Queen of Darkness
at Amerdon Studios. No, absolutely impossible, thank you very much, Mr Bond, nothing you can say will make any difference, goodbye.
    As Bond approached sound stage number two he saw groups of extras in dinner suits and evening dress lounging around chatting and drinking tea out of wax-paper cups. One of them left her folding canvas chair and Bond swiftly purloined the script that she’d neglected to take with her. He asked a fat man coiling lengths of electric cable where he could find the production offices and was directed to a long caravan parked beside the sound stage.
    Bond knocked on the open door and a harassed-looking woman glanced up crossly from an adding machine into which she’d been ferociously tapping figures.
    ‘Yes?’ she said. Tap-tap-tap.
    ‘Randolph Formby,’ Bond said in a patrician accent, holding up his script distastefully. ‘Equity. I need to see Astrid Ostergard. She’s two years behind on her payments.’
    Bond had once enjoyed a short affair with an actress who’d told him that every theatrical, televisual and cinematic door opened when the word ‘Equity’ was pronounced, such was the power and sway of the actors’ trade union. Bond was pleased he’d remembered and curious to see if it actually worked.
    ‘Bloody Astrid!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘So sorry. Typical. Jesus Christ!’ She carried on muttering swear words to herself as she walked Bond around sound stage number two to where a row of caravans was parked.
    ‘Third on the right,’ she said. Then, adding nervously, ‘There’s not going to be a problem, is there? With Astrid, I mean. We’re already five days behind.’
    ‘I can’t guarantee anything,’ Bond said with a thin apparatchik’s smile. ‘She has to pay her dues.’
    The woman left, still muttering, and Bond approached the caravan, designated by a scrawled sign stuck to the side with ‘Astrid Ostergard/Vampiria’ written on it.
    Bond knocked on the door and uttered the magic word: ‘Equity.’
    Seconds later Bryce Fitzjohn flung open her door. She was wearing fishnet stockings and a red satin bustier that pushed her breasts up and together to form an impressive cleavage. She looked at Bond blankly for a moment and then laughed – loudly, delightedly.
    ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘James bloody Bond.’
    ‘Hello, Vampiria,’ Bond said. ‘I’m here to apologise.’
    ‘Come into my parlour,’ she said.
    Bryce pulled on a silk dressing gown and Bond sat on a bench seat opposite a make-up table and mirror. He took out his cigarette case and offered it, Bryce selecting a cigarette and lighting it herself. She stared at him as she blew smoke sideways, eyes narrowing.
    ‘I still don’t know how you got into my house.’
    Bond lit a cigarette. ‘It was wrong of me, I admit. I turned up for your party and there was no one there. I thought you were playing some kind of a game, winding me up. So I left you a note.’ Bond smiled. ‘You should get a better lock on your kitchen door. It was child’s play.’
    ‘So what are you? A professional burglar?’
    ‘I shouldn’t have done it,’ Bond continued, ignoring the question, ‘so I’ve come to say sorry and invite you to dinner. At the Dorchester,’ he added. ‘Tonight, if you’re free.’
    Bryce crossed her long legs and Bond took her in. She was wearing a dense blonde wig with red stripes in it and he found her powerfully alluring. Nothing had changed, he thought, remembering their first encounters.
    ‘Well, it’s tempting, but I can’t go up to town,’ she said. ‘I’ve an early call tomorrow morning.’
    There was a knock on the door. ‘We need you now, Miss Ostergard,’ a voice said.
    Bryce stood up. Bond did so as well, and for a moment in the confined space of the caravan they were close. Bond sensed her interest in him, renewed. They were each other’s type, he realised, it was as simple as that. The attraction was very mutual, it had been from the beginning, from those first moments in the lift at the Dorchester.
    ‘I’ve got to go to work,’ she said. ‘You know where my house is in Richmond, don’t you? There’s a nice little place nearby