if.goldfinger-第16部分

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。　Without　waiting　to　be　given　the　putt；　Goldfinger　turned　his　back　on　Bond　and　walked　off　towards　the　second　tee。　Bond　picked　up　his　ball　and　took　his　driver　from　Hawker。
　'What　does　he　say　his　handicap　is；　sir？'
　'Nine。　It's　a　level　match。　Have　to　do　better　than　that　though。　Ought　to　have　taken　my　spoon　for　the　second。'
　Hawker　said　encouragingly；　'It's　early　days　yet；　sir。'
　Bond　knew　it　wasn't。　It　was　always　too　early　to　start　losing。
　
　CHAPTER　NINE
　
　THE　CUP　AND　THE　LIP
　
　GOLDFINGER　HAD　already　teed　up。　Bond　walked　slowly　behind　him；　followed　by　Hawker。　Bond　stood　and　leant　on　his　driver。　He　said；　'I　thought　you　said　we　would　be　playing　the　strict　rules　of　golf。　But　I'll　give　you　that　putt。　That　makes　you　one　up。'
　Goldfinger　nodded　curtly。　He　went　through　his　practice　routine　and　hit　his　usual　excellent；　safe　drive。
　The　second　hole　is　a　three　hundred　and　seventy　yard　dogleg　to　the　left　with　deep　cross…bunkers　daring　you　to　take　the　tiger's　line。　But　there　was　a　light　helping　breeze。　For　Goldfinger　it　would　now　be　a　five　iron　for　his　second。　Bond　decided　to　try　and　make　it　easier　for　himself　and　only　have　a　wedge　for。　the　green。　He　laid　his　ears　back　and　hit　the　ball　hard　and　straight　for　the　bunkers。　The　breeze　got　under　the　slight　draw　and　winged　the　ball　on　and　over。　The　ball　pitched　and　disappeared　down　into　the　gully　just　short　of　the　green。　A　four。　Chance　of　a　three。
　Goldfinger　strode　off　without　ment。　Bond　lengthened　his　stride　and　caught　up。　'How's　the　agoraphobia？　Doesn't　all　this　wide　open　space　bother　it？'
　'No。'
　Goldfinger　deviated　to　the　right。　He　glanced　at　the　distant；　half…hidden　flag；　planning　his　second　shot。　He　took　his　five　iron　and　hit　a　good；　careful　shot　which　took　a　bad　kick　short　of　the　green　and　ran　down　into　the　thick　grass　to　the　left。　Bond　knew　that　territory。　Goldfinger　would　be　lucky　to　get　down　in　two。
　Bond　walked　up　to　his　ball；　took　the　wedge　and　flicked　the　ball　on　to　the　green　with　plenty　of　stop。　The　ball　pulled　up　and　lay　a　yard　past　the　hole。　Goldfinger　executed　a　creditable　pitch　but　missed　the　twelve…foot　putt。　Bond　had　two　for　the　hole　from　a　yard。　He　didn't　wait　to　be　given　the　hole　but　walked　up　and　putted。　The　ball　stopped　an　inch　short。　Gold…finger　walked　off　the　green。　Bond　knocked　the　ball　in。　All　square。
　The　third　is　a　blind　two　hundred　and　forty　yards；　all　carry；　a　difficult　three。　Bond　chose　his　brassie　and　hit　a　good　one。　It　would　be　on　or　near　the　green。　Goldfinger's　routine　drive　was　well　hit　but　would　probably　not　have　enough　steam　to　carry　the　last　of　the　rough　and　trickle　down　into　the　saucer　of　the　green。　Sure　enough；　Goldfinger's　ball　was　on　top　of　the　protecting　mound　of　rough。　He　had　a　nasty；　cuppy　lie；　with　a　tuft　just　behind　the　ball。　Goldfinger　stood　and　looked　at　the　lie。　He　seemed　to　make　up　his　mind。　He　stepped　past　his　ball　to　take　a　club　from　the　caddie。　His　left　foot　came　down　just　behind　the　ball；　flattening　the　tuft。　Goldfinger　could　now　take　his　putter。　He　did　so　and　trickled　the　ball　down　the　bank　towards　the　hole。　It　stopped　three　feet　short。
　Bond　frowned。　The　only　remedy　against　a　cheat　at　golf　is　not　to　play　with　him　again。　But　that　was　no　good　in　this　match。　Bond　had　no　intention　of　playing　with　the　man　again。　And　it　was　no　good　starting　a　you…did…I…didn't　argument　unless　he　caught　Goldfinger　doing　something　even　more　outrageous。　Bond　would　just　have　to　try　and　beat　him；　cheating　and　all。
　Now　Bond's　twenty…foot　putt　was　no　joke。　There　was　no　question　of　going　for　the　hole。　He　would　have　to　concentrate　on　laying　it　dead。　As　usual；　when　one　plays　to　go　dead；　the　ball　stopped　short　…　a　good　yard　short。　Bond　took　a　lot　of　trouble　about　the　putt　and　holed　it；　sweating。　He　knocked　Goldfinger's　ball　away。　He　would　go　on　giving　Goldfinger　missable　putts　until　suddenly　Bond　would　ask　him　to　hole　one。　Then　that　one　might　look　just　a　bit　more　difficult。
　Still　all　square。　The　fourth　is　four　hundred　and　sixty　yards。　You　drive　over　one　of　the　tallest　and　deepest　bunkers　in　the　United　Kingdom　and　then　have　a　long　second　shot　across　an　undulating　hilly　fairway　to　a　plateau　green　guarded　by　a　final　slope　which　makes　it　easier　to　take　three　putts　than　two。
　Bond　picked　up　his　usual　fifty　yards　on　the　drive　and　Goldfinger　hit　two　of　his　respectable　shots　to　the　gully　below　the　green。　Bond；　determined　to　get　up；　took　a　brassie　instead　of　a　spoon　and　went　over　the　green　and　almost　up　against　the　boundary　fence。　From　there　he　was　glad　to　get　down　in　three　for　a　half。
　The　fifth　was　again　a　long　carry；　followed　by　Bond's　favourite　second　shot　on　the　course　…　over　bunkers　and　through　a　valley　between　high　sand…dunes　to　a　distant；　taunting　flag。　It　is　a　testing　hole　for　which　the　first　essential　is　a　well…placed　drive。　Bond　stood　on　the　tee；　perched　high　up　in　the　sand…hills；　and　paused　before　the　shot　while　he　gazed　at　the　glittering　distant　sea　and　at　the　faraway　crescent　of　white　cliffs　beyond　Pegwell　Bay。　Then　he　took　up　his　stance　and　visualized　the　tennis　court　of　turf　that　was　his　target。　He　took　the　club　back　as　slowly　as　he　knew　how　and　started　down　for　the　last　terrific　acceleration　before　the　club　head　met　the　ball。　There　was　a　dull　clang　on　his　right。　It　was　too　late　to　stop。　Desperately　Bond　focused　the　ball　and　tried　to　keep　his　swing　all　in　one　piece。　There　came　the　ugly　clonk　of　a　mishit　ball。　Bond's　head　shot　up。　It　was　a　lofted　hook。　Would　it　have　the　legs？　Get　on！　Get　on！　The　ball　hit　the　top　of　a　mountain　of　rough　and　bounced　over。　Would　it　reach　the　beginning　of　the　fairway？
　Bond　turned　towards　Goldfinger　and　the　caddies；　his　eyes　fierce。　Goldfinger　was　straightening　up。　He　met　Bond's　eyes　indifferently。　'Sorry。　Dropped　my　driver。'
　'Don't　do　it　again；'　said　Bond　curtly。　He　stood　down　off　the　tee　and　handed　his　driver　to　Hawker。　Hawker　shook　his　head　sympathetically。　Bond　took　out　a　cigarette　and　lit　it。　Goldfinger　hit　his　drive　the　dead　straight　regulation　two　hundred　yards。
　They　walked　down　the　hill　in　a　silence　which　Goldfinger　unexpectedly　broke。　'What　is　the　firm　you　work　for？'
　'Universal　Export。'
　'And　where　do　they　hang　out？'
　'London。　Regent's　Park。'
　'What　do　they　export？'
　Bond　woke　up　from　his　angry　ruminations。　Here；　pay　attention！　This　is　work；　not　a　game。　All　right；　he　put　you　off　your　drive；　but　you've　got　your　cover　to　think　about。　Don't　let　him　needle　you　into　making　mistakes　about　it。　Build　up　your　story。　Bond　said　casually；　'Oh　everything　from　sewing…machines　to　tanks。'
　'What's　your　speciality？'
　Bond　could　feel　Goldfinger's　eyes　on　him。　He　said；　'I　look　after　the　small　arms　side。　Spend　most　of　my　time　selling　miscellaneous　ironmongery　to　sheiks　and　rajahs　…　anyone　the　Foreign　Office　decides　doesn't　want　the　stuff　to　shoot　at　us　with。'
　'Interesting　work。'　Goldfinger's　voice　was　flat；　bored。
　'Not　very。　I'm　thinking　of　quitting。　Came　down　here　for　a　week's　holiday　to　think　it　out。　Not　much　future　in　England。　Rather　like　the　idea　of　Canada。'
　'Indeed？'
　They　were　past　the　rough　and　Bond　was　relieved　to　find　that　his　ball　had　got　a　forward　kick　off　the　hill　on　to　the　fairway。　The　fairway　curved　slightly　to　the　left　and　Bond　had　even　managed　to　pick　up　a　few　feet　on　Goldfinger。　It　was　Goldfinger　to　play。　Goldfinger　took　out　his　spoon。　He　wasn't　going　for　the　green　but　only　to　get　over　the　bunkers　and　through　the　valley。
　Bond　waited　for　the　usual　safe　shot。　He　looked　at　his　own　lie。　Yes；　he　could　take　his　brassie。　There　came　the　wooden　thud　of　a　mis…hit。　Goldfinger's　ball；　hit　off　the　heel；　sped　along　the　ground　and　into　the　stony　wastes　of　Hell　Bunker　…the　widest　bunker　and　the　only　unkempt　one；　because　of　the　pebbles；　on　the　course。
　For　once　Homer　had　nodded　…　or　rather；　lifted　his　head。　Perhaps　his　mind　had　been　half　on　what　Bond　had　told　him。　Good　show！　But　Goldfinger　might　still　get　down　in　three　more。　Bond　took　out　his　brassie。　He　couldn't　afford　to　play　safe。　He　addressed　the　ball；　seeing　in　his　mind's　eye　its　eighty…eight…millimetre　trajectory　through　the　valley　and　then　the　two　or　three　bounces　that　would　take　it　on　to　the　green。　He　laid　off　a　bit　to　the　right　to　allow　for　his　draw。　Now！
　There　came　a　soft　clinking　away　to　his　right。　Bond　stood　away　from　his　ball。　Goldfinger　had　his　back　to　Bond。　He　was　gazing　out　to　sea；　rapt　in　its　contemplation；　while　his　right　hand　played　'unconsciously*　with　the　money　in　his　pocket。
　Bond　smiled　grimly。　He　said；　'Could　you　stop　shifting　bullion　till　after　my　shot？'
　Goldfinger　didn't　turn　round　or　answer。　The　noise　stopped。
　Bond　turned　back　to　his　shot；　desperately　trying　to　clear　his　mind　again。　Now　the　brassie　was　too　much　of　a　risk。　It　needed　too　good　a　shot。　He　handed　it　to　Hawker　and　took　his　spoon　and　banged　the　ball　safely　through　the　valley。　It　ran　on　well　and　stopped　on　the　apron。　A　five；　perhaps　a　four。
　Goldfinger　got　well　out　of　the　bunker　and　put　his　chip　dead。　Bond　putted　too　hard　and　missed　the　one　back。　Still　all　square。
　The　sixth；　appropriately　called　'The　Virgin'；　is　a　famous　short　hole　in　the　world　of　golf。　A　narrow　green；　almost　ringed　with　bunkers；　it　can　need　anything　from　an　eight　to　a　two　iron　according　to　the　wind。　Today；　for　Bond；　it　was　a　seven。　He　played　a　soaring　shot；　laid　off　to　the　right　for　the　wind　to　bring　it　in。　It　ended　twenty　feet　beyond　the　pin　with　a　difficult　putt　over　and　down　a　shoulder。　Should　be　a　three。　Gold…finger　took　his　five　and　played　it　straight。　The　breeze　took　it　and　it　rolled　into　the　deep　bunker　on　the　left。　Good　news！　That　would　be　the　hell　of　a　difficult　three。
　They　walked　in　silence　to　the　green。　Bond　glanced　into　the　bunker。　Goldfinger's　ball　was　in　a　deep　heel…mark。　Bond　walked　over　to　his　ball　and　listened　to　the　larks。　This　was　going　to　put　him　one　up。　He　looked　for　Hawker　to　take　his　putter；　but　Hawker　was　the　other　side　of　the　green；　watching　with　intent　concentration　Goldfinger　play　his　shot。　Gold…finger　got　down　into　the　bunker　with　his　blaster。　He　jumped　up　to　get　a　view　of　the　hole　and　then　settled　himself　for　the　shot。　As　his　club　went　up　Bond's　heart　lifted。　He　was　going　to　try　and　flick　it　out　…　a　hopeless　technique　from　that　buried　lie。　The　only　hope　would　have　been　to　explode　it。　Down　came　the　club；　smoothly；　without　hurry。