Chapter One

STEPHEN LEWIS waved his security pass and the side door to The Press building clicked open. He climbed the stairs to the editorial floor. His head throbbed – too much of his favourite 2006-vintage South African Pinotage the night before, consumed with a rather good curry. He’d forgotten to shave and his crumpled shirt smelled stale.

He walked to his desk, cheered by the sight of the glamorous women’s editor at the desk opposite. He tossed his coat across the back of his chair. “Morning, Gorgeous,” he said.

Maxine Gordon appraised him coldly, and the temperature of the room dropped several degrees. “Don’t call me Gorgeous,” she said. She looked more closely. “You look terrible.”

Lewis sat in his chair, swivelled it to face his desk, leaned his head in his hands, and groaned.

“We need to do something,” Miss Gordon said. She ran a fingernail down a page of the phone book, paused, and made a brisk, efficient phone call.

“You’re expected at 9am,” she said, “Cads in Fossgate. Trim, wet shave and manicure. Don’t be late.”

Chapter Two

LEWIS leaned back in the plush leather chair. A man has to make an effort, he thought idly. He enjoyed the delicious rasp as the sharp steel blade of the Tondo razor scraped across his chin.

Style director James Smith finished the shave with a few expert strokes, scrutinised the result, then massaged some eucalyptus oil into Lewis’s skin. “So it doesn’t become irritated, sir,” he said. Lewis inspected his profile keenly in the mirror, then nodded, satisfied.

He sat for a layered trim, his hair sculpted to lie close to the neck, then submitted to a manicure. Dorothy, his blonde manicurist, clipped then filed his nails, and buffed them with nail oil. She used a cuticle knife to pare away the dead skin of his cuticles, then massaged his hands. “Busy day ahead, sir?” she asked. Lewis nodded. “Being fitted for a tux,” he said languidly. “Then cocktails at Harvilles.”

Eventually, hands neat and clean, he stood.

He was ready for the day.

Chapter Three

LEWIS slipped behind the wheel of his 1.4 litre 2004 model Honda Jazz, and wound back the sun roof to enjoy the wind in his hair. The engine growled with the high, slightly tinny note that told him it was perfectly tuned and running smoothly. He floored the accelerator and the car responded with an eager leap.

Ten minutes later, he pulled into a parking space outside Burton Gentleman’s Outfitter. They were ready for him, with a dinner jacket and trousers in his size. He slid on a starched, ruffled formal shirt, trousers and jacket, then adjusted his bow tie in the mirror. The suit hung well, he noted, properly cut, with room in the pocket for a small reporter’s notebook without it being too obvious.

He slipped on a pair of patent leather loafers, nodded to manager Vanessa King, and strode to the door. Time for the final assignment of the day.

Chapter Four

LEWIS pushed open the door of Harvilles Restaurant in Fossgate. “The name’s Lewis,” he told the waiter who hovered inside. “Stephen Lewis. I believe I’m expected.”

He climbed the winding steps to the cocktail lounge on the floor above, and eased himself on to a seat by the bar.

“Vesper martini,” he said. “Shaken, not stirred.”

He watched with approval as Rosie McTigue, the cocktail waitress, poured three shots of gin, a shot of vodka and a half-shot of vermouth into a shaker, then poured the drink into a tall cocktail glass, finishing with a twist of lemon.

“Shaken, not stirred?” Rosie said, with an appraising look. “You don’t want ice getting into the drink and diluting it.”

Lewis studied her. Blonde, he noted casually. Looks after herself well. Nice smile. He sipped his drink. It was cold, clean and sharp. Just like him, he reflected.

He paid, tipping generously, and sauntered back to the office. Miss Gordon took in his clean, shaven appearance and well-fitting tux with a practised eye. She leaned towards him slightly.

“You can call me Gorgeous any time,” she said.

The makeover

The grooming

Haircut £15.50, wet shave £12, manicure £11, all at Cads in Fossgate, telephone 01904 635883.

Male grooming is becoming more popular, says James Smith, the salon’s style director.

“I think a lot of gents are starting to look after themselves a bit more, the younger ones in particular.”

It is also more common for men to come in for a manicure, adds beauty therapist Dorothy Orme, especially before a wedding.

“They know that everybody is going to be looking at their hand with the ring,” she says.

The clothes

Wool and polyester mix dinner jacket, £70; formal trousers, £40; formal shirt and bow tie, £20; leather loafers £30. All from Burton at Outfit, Monks Cross, York The car

2004 Honda Jazz, 1.4 litre, £7,000 secondhand (with scratched dashboard), DeVries Honda, York.

The cocktail

Vesper martini, £6.95, the cocktail lounge of Harville’s Restaurant, Fossgate, York.

The Vesper martini, says Bond fan and Harville’s bar supervisor Rosie McTigue, was invented by Bond author Ian Fleming for his first 007 novel, Casino Royale. It was named by Bond after the novel’s heroine, Vesper Lynd. The cocktail is three shots of gin, one shot of vodka and a half shot of vermouth, shaken with ice, strained into a cocktail glass and finished off with a twist of lemon. In the immortal words of Diffords cocktail guide, the drink contains “enough alcohol to drop a rhino.”

• The new Bond film, Quantum Of Solace, opens nationwide on Friday. It does not star Stephen Lewis.

• LOOKING FOR YORKSHIRE’S BOND: Do you fancy yourself as a bit of a Bond? Adventure-themed company Spice Yorkshire is searching for Yorkshire’s ultimate 007. Anyone wishing to be considered should have completed an heroic act, won a bravery award, be an adrenaline junkie or look like Bond. Entrants aged over 18 should send their name, age, contact number, email and Bond-themed picture to: Jamesbond@fayepr.com