if.goldfinger-第18部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　'Might　be　an　idea。'　Now　Goldfinger's　voice　unbent。　He　wanted　something　from　Alfred　Blacking；　some　information。　'What　sort　of　a　game　does　this　chap　play？　What's　his　handicap？'
　'Used　to　be　quite　useful　when　he　was　a　boy；　sir。　Haven't　seen　his　game　since　then。'
　'Hm。'
　Bond　could　feel　the　man　weighing　it　all　up。　Bond　smelled　that　the　bait　was　going　to　be　taken。　He　reached　into　his　bag　and　pulled　out　his　driver　and　started　rubbing　down　the　grip　with　a　block　of　shellac。　Might　as　well　look　busy。　A　board　in　the　shop　creaked。　Bond　honed　away　industriously；　his　back　to　the　open　door。
　'I　think　we've　met　before。'　The　voice　from　the　doorway　was　low；　neutral。
　Bond　looked　quickly　over　his　shoulder。　'My　God；　you　made　me　jump。　Why'　…　recognition　dawned　…　'it's　Gold；　Goldman。。。　er　…　Goldfinger。'　He　hoped　he　wasn't　overplaying　it。　He　said　with　a　hint　of　dislike；　or　mistrust；　'Where　have　you　sprung　from？'
　'I　told　you　I　played　down　here。　Remember？'　Goldfinger　was　looking　at　him　shrewdly。　Now　the　eyes　opened　wide。　The　X…ray　gaze　pierced　through　to　the　back　of　Bond's　skull。
　'No。'
　'Did　not　Miss　Masterton　give　you　my　message？'
　'No。　What　was　it？'
　'I　said　I　would　be　over　here　and　that　I　would　like　a　game　of　golf　with　you。'
　'Oh；　well；'　Bond's　voice　was　coldly　polite；　'we　must　do　that　some　day。'
　'I　was　playing　with　the　professional。　I　will　play　with　you　instead。'　Goldfinger　was　stating　a　fact。
　There　was　no　doubt　that　Goldfinger　was　hooked。　Now　Bond　must　play　hard　to　get。
　'Why　not　some　other　time？　I've　e　to　order　a　club。　Anyway　I'm　not　in　practice。　There　probably　isn't　a　caddie。'　Bond　was　being　as　rude　as　he　could。　Obviously　the　last　thing　he　wanted　to　do　was　play　with　Goldfinger。
　'I　also　haven't　played　for　some　time。'　（Bloody　liar；　thought　Bond。）　'Ordering　a　club　will　not　take　a　moment。'　Goldfinger　turned　back　into　the　shop。　'Blacking；　have　you　got　a　caddie　for　Mr　Bond？'
　'Yes；　sir。'
　'Then　that　is　arranged。'
　Bond　wearily　thrust　his　driver　back　into　his　bag。　'Well；　all　right　then。'　He　thought　of　a　final　way　of　putting　Goldfinger　off。　He　said　roughly；　'But　I　warn　you　I　like　playing　for　money。　I　can't　be　bothered　to　knock　a　ball　round　just　for　the　fun　of　it。'　Bond　felt　pleased　with　the　character　he　was　building　up　for　himself。
　Was　there　a　glint　of　triumph；　quickly　concealed；　in　Gold…finger's　pale　eyes？　He　said　indifferently；　'That　suits　me。　Anything　you　like。　Off　handicap；　of　course。　I　think　you　said　you're　nine。'
　'Yes。'
　Goldfinger　said　carefully；　'Where；　may　I　ask？5
　'Hunterbe。'　Bond　was　also　nine　at　Sunningdale。　Hunterbe　was　an　easier　course。　Nine　at　Hunterbe　wouldn't　frighten　Goldfinger。
　'And　I　also　am　nine。　Here。　Up　on　the　board。　So　it's　a　level　game。　Right？'
　Bond　shrugged。　'You'll　be　too　good　for　me。'
　'I　doubt　it。　However；'　Goldfinger　was　offhand；'tell　you　what　I'll　do。　That　bit　of　money　you　removed　from　me　in　Miami。　Remember？　The　big　figure　was　ten。　I　like　a　gamble。　It　will　be　good　for　me　to　have　to　try。　I　will　play　you　double　or　quits　for　that。'
　Bond　said　indifferently；　'That's　too　much。'　Then；　as　if　he　thought　better　of　it；　thought　he　might　win；　he　said　…　with　just　the　right　amount　of　craft　mixed　with　reluctance　…　'Of　course　you　can　say　that　was　〃found　money〃。　I　won't　miss　it　if　it　goes　again。　Oh；　well；　all　right。　Easy　e　easy　go。　Level　match。　Ten　thousand　dollars　it　is。'
　Goldfinger　turned　away。　He　said；　and　there　was　a　sudden　sweetness　in　the　flat　voice；　'That's　all　arranged　then；　Mr　Blacking。　Many　thanks。　Put　your　fee　down　on　my　account。　Very　sorry　we　shall　be　missing　our　game。　Now；　let　me　pay　the　caddie　fees。'
　Alfred　Blacking　came　into　the　workroom　and　picked　up　Bond's　clubs。　He　looked　very　directly　at　Bond。　He　said；　'Remember　what　I　told　you；　sir。'　One　eye　closed　and　opened　again。　'I　mean　about　that　flat　swing　of　yours。　It　needs　watching　…　all　the　time。'
　Bond　smiled　at　him。　Alfred　had　long　ears。　He　might　not　have　caught　the　figure；　but　he　knew　that　somehow　this　was　to　be　a　key　game。　'Thanks；　Alfred。　I　won't　forget。　Four　Pen…folds　…　with　hearts　on　them。　And　a　dozen　tees。　I　won't　be　a　minute。'
　Bond　walked　through　the　shop　and　out　to　his　car。　The　bowler…hatted　man　was　polishing　the　metal　work　of　the　Rolls　with　a　cloth。　Bond　felt　rather　than　saw　him　stop　and　watch　Bond　take　out　his　zip　bag　and　go　into　the　club　house。　The　man　had　a　square　flat　yellow　face。　One　of　the　Koreans？
　Bond　paid　his　green…fee　to　Hampton；　the　steward；　and　went　into　the　changing…room。　It　was　just　the　same　…　the　same　tacky　smell　of　old　shoes　and　socks　and　last　summer's　sweat。　Why　was　it　a　tradition　of　the　most　famous　golf　clubs　that　their　standard　of　hygiene　should　be　that　of　a　Victorian　private　school？　Bond　changed　his　socks　and　put　on　the　battered　old　pair　of　nailed　Saxones。　He　took　off　the　coat　of　his　yellowing　black　and　white　hound's　tooth　suit　and　pulled　on　a　faded　black　wind…cheater。　Cigarettes？　Lighter？　He　was　ready　to　go
　Bond　walked　slowly　out；　preparing　his　mind　for　the　game。　On　purpose　he　had　needled　this　man　into　a　high；　tough　match　so　that　Goldfinger's　respect　for　him　should　be　increased　and　Goldfinger's　view　of　Bond　…　that　he　was　the　type　of　ruthless；　hard　。adventurer　who　might　be　very　useful　to　Goldfinger　…　would　be　confirmed。　Bond　had　thought　that　perhaps　a　hundred…pound　Nassau　would　be　the　form。　But　ten　thousand　dollars！　There　had　probably　never　been　such　a　high　singles　game　in　history…except　in　the　finals　of　American　Championships　or　in　the　big　amateur　Calcutta　Sweeps　where　it　was　the　backers　rather　than　the　players　who　had　the　money　on。　Goldfinger's　private　accounting　must　have　taken　a　nasty　dent。　He　wouldn't　have　liked　that。　He　would　be　aching　to　get　some　of　his　money　back。　When　Bond　had　talked　about　playing　high；　Goldfinger　had　seen　his　chance。　So　be　it。　But　one　thing　was　certain；　for　a　hundred　reasons　Bond　could　not　afford　to　lose。
　He　turned　into　the　shop　and　picked　up　the　balls　and　tees　from　Alfred　Blacking。
　'Hawker's　got　the　clubs；　sir。'
　Bond　strolled　out　across　the　five　hundred　yards　of　shaven　seaside　turf　that　led　to　the　first　tee。　Goldfinger　was　practising　on　the　putting　green。　His　caddie　stood　near　by；　rolling　balk　to　him。　Goldfinger　putted　in　the　new　fashion　…　between　his　legs　with　a　mallet　putter。　Bond　felt　encouraged。　He　didn't　believe　in　the　system。　He　knew　it　was　no　good　practising　himself。　His　old　hickory　Calamity　Jane　had　its　good　days　and　its　bad。　There　was　nothing　to　do　about　it。　He　knew　also　that　the　St　Marks　practice　green　bore　no　resemblance；　in　speed　or　texture；　to　the　greens　on　the　course。
　Bond　caught　up　with　the　limping；　insouciant　figure　of　his　caddie　who　was　sauntering　along　chipping　at　an　imaginary　ball　with　Bond's　blaster。　'Afternoon；　Hawker。'
　'Afternoon；　sir。'　Hawker　handed　Bond　the　blaster　and　threw　down　three　used　balls。　His　keen　sardonic　poacher's　face　split　in　a　wry　grin　of　wele。　'HowVe　you　been　keep　in'；　sir？　Played　any　golf　in　the　last　twenty　years？　Can　you　still　put　them　on　the　roof　of　the　starter's　hut？'　This　referred　to　the　day　when　Bond；　trying　to　do　just　that　before　a　match；　had　put　two　balls　through　the　starter's　window。
　'Let's　see。'　Bond　took　the　blaster　and　hefted　it　in　his　hand；　gauging　the　distance。　The　tap　of　the　balls　on　the　practice　green　had　ceased。　Bond　addressed　the　ball；　swung　quickly；　lifted　his　head　and　shanked　the　ball　almost　at　right　angles。　He　tried　again。　This　time　it　was　a　dunch。　A　foot　of　turf　flew　up。　The　ball　went　ten　yards。　Bond　turned　to　Hawker；　who　was　looking　his　most　sardonic。　'It's　all　right；　Hawker。　Those　were　for　show。　Now　then；　one　for　you。'　He　stepped　up　to　the　third　ball；　took　his　club　back　slowly　and　whipped　the　club　head　through。　The　ball　soared　a　hundred　feet；　paused　elegantly；　dropped　eighty　feet　on　to　the　thatched　roof　of　the　starter's　hut　and　bounced　down。
　Bond　handed　back　the　club。　Hawker's　eyes　were　thoughtful；　amused。　He　said　nothing。　He　pulled　out　the　driver　and　handed　it　to　Bond。　They　walked　together　to　the　first　tee；　talking　about　Hawker's　family。
　Goldfinger　joined　them；　relaxed；　impassive。　Bond　greeted　Goldfinger's　caddie；　an　obsequious；　talkative　man　called　Foulks　whom　Bond　had　never　liked。　Bond　glanced　at　Gold…finger's　clubs。　They　were　a　brand　new　set　of　American　Ben　H