Agent Bertram called to Buckingham Palace!
It was a Saturday
It was early morning and someone was knocking on Agent Bertram’s front door. ‘This can’t be good. It has to be bloomin’ Buckingham Palace. If I’m wanted at the Palace, it’s always on a bloody Saturday, in my own time,’ thought Agent Bertram dragging his dressing gown over his crumpled nightshirt and stumping downstairs to the front door. ‘The one day that I get to have a nice lie in and then traipse around the shops with my Beloved… and that’s the day they choose to knock on the front door at eight in the morning just when normal decent folk are settling down to a few more zeds! However, as traipsing around the shops looking for wedding paraphernalia is not quite my idea of heaven, this could be a blessing in disguise…‘
Outside, standing on the front step of Bertram’s Gower Street home in London’s Bloomsbury area, was a middle-aged man dressed in a chauffeur’s outfit. He, being from Buckingham Palace, looked immaculate. Bertram scowled at him and glanced over his shoulder towards a Bentley Mulsanne car that positively oozed the colour black. This black was so deep and the paintwork so scratch-free that if it were not for the colourful Royal Crest on the passenger door, subtly announcing the vehicle’s provenance, it would have been difficult to determine if the car was really there at all.
“Something’s up at The Palace then, eh?” ventured Bertram speculatively.
“I can see why you are Her Majesty’s Special Agent… and I am merely the chauffeur,” drawled the man in the thickest of soupy tones.