if.goldfinger-第25部分

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ere　Goldfinger　was　heading　for。
　Five　o'clock；　six；　seven。　The　sun　set　in　Bond's　driving　mirror　and　still　the　Rolls　sped　on。　They　were　through　Dreux　and　Chartres　and　on　to　the　long　straight　fifty…mile　stretch　into　Orleans。　If　that　was　to　be　the　night　stop　the　Rolls　'　wouldn't　have　done　badly　at　all　…　over　two　hundred　and　fifty　miles　in　something　over　six　hours。　Goldfinger　was　certainly　no　slouch　when　it　came　to　motoring。　He　must　be　keeping　the　old　Silver　Ghost　at　maximum　outside　the　towns。　Bond　began　to　close　up。
　There　were　rear…lights　ahead　…　dim　ones。　Bond　had　his　fog　lights　on。　He　switched　on　the　Marchals。　It　was　some　little　sports　car。　Bond　closed　up。　MG？　Triumph？　Austin　Healey？　It　was　a　pale　grey　Triumph　two…seater　with　the　hood　up。　Bond　blinked　his　lights　and　swept　past。　Now　there　was　the　glare　of　another　car　ahead。　Bond　dowsed　his　headlamps　and　drove　on　the　fogs。　The　other　car　was　a　mile　down　the　road。　Bond　crept　up　on　it。　At　a　quarter　of　a　mile；　he　flashed　the　Marchals　on　and　off　for　a　quick　look。　Yes；　it　was　the　Rolls。　Bond　dropped　back　to　a　mile　and　stayed　there；　vaguely　noticing　the　dim　lights　of　the　TR3　in　his　mirror。　On　the　outskirts　of　Orleans；　Bond　pulled　into　the　side　of　the　road。　The　Triumph　growled　casually　past。
　Bond　had　never　cared　for　Orleans。　It　was　a　priest　and　myth　ridden　town　without　charm　or　gaiety。　It　was　content　to　live　off　Joan　of　Arc　and　give　the　visitor　a　hard；　holy　glare　while　it　took　his　money。　Bond　consulted　his　Michelin。　Gold…finger　would　stop　at　five…star　hotels　and　eat　fillets　of　sole　and　roast　chicken。　It　would　be　the　Arcades　for　him　…　perhaps　the　Moderne。　Bond　would　have　liked　to　stay　outside　the　town　and　sleep　on　the　banks　of　the　Loire　in　the　excellent　Auberge　de　la　Montespan；　his　belly　full　of　quenelles　de　brocket。　He　would　have　to　stick　closer　to　his　fox。　He　decided　on　the　Hotel　de　la　Gare　and　dinner　at　the　station　buffet。
　When　in　doubt；　Bond　always　chose　the　station　hotels。　They　were　adequate；　there　was　plenty　of　room　to　park　the　car　and　it　was　better　than　even　chances　that　the　Buffet　de　la　Gare　would　be　excellent。　And　at　the　station　one　could　hear　the　heartbeat　of　the　town。　The　night…sounds　of　the　trains　were　full　of　its　tragedy　and　romance。
　The　drone　on　the　receiver　had　stayed　constant　for　ten　minutes。　Bond　noted　his　way　to　the　three　hotels　and　cautiously　crept　into　the　town。　He　went　down　to　the　river　and　along　the　lighted　guais。　He　had　been　right。　The　Rolls　was　outside　the　Arcades。　Bond　turned　back　into　the　town　and　made　for　the　station。
　The　Hotel　de　la　Gare　was　all　he　had　expected　…　cheap；　old…fashioned；　solidly　fortable。　Bond　had　a　hot　bath；　went　back　to　his　car　to　make　sure　the　Rolls　hadn't　moved；　and　walked　into　the　station　restaurant　and　ate　one　of　his　favourite　meals　…　two　aeufs　cocotte　a　la　creme；　a　large　sole　meuniere　（Orleans　was　close　enough　to　the　sea。　The　fish　of　the　Loire　are　inclined　to　be　muddy）　and　an　adequate　Camembert。　He　drank　a　well…iced　pint　of　Rose　d'Anjou　and　had　a　Hennessy's　Three　Star　with　his　coffee。　At　ten…thirty　he　left　the　restaurant；　checked　on　the　Rolls　and　walked　the　virtuous　streets　for　an　hour。　One　more　check　on　the　Rolls　and　bed。
　At　six　o'clock　the　next　morning　the　Rolls　hadn't　moved。　Bond　paid　his　bill；　had　a　cafe　plet…　with　a　double　ration　of　coffee　…　at　the　station；　motored　down　to　the　quais　and　backed　his　car　up　a　side　street。　This　time　he　could　not　afford　to　make　a　mistake。　Goldfinger　would　either　cross　the　river　and　head　south　to　join　N7　for　the　Riviera；　or　he　would　follow　the　north　bank　of　the　Loire；　also　perhaps　for　the　Riviera；　but　also　on　the　route　for　Switzerland　and　Italy。　Bond　got　out　of　the　car　and　lounged　against　the　parapet　of　the　river　wall；　watching　between　the　trunks　of　the　plane　trees。　At　eight…thirty；　two　small　figures　came　out　of　the　Arcades。　The　Rolls　moved　off。　Bond　watched　it　follow　the　quais　until　it　was　out　of　sight；　then　he　got　behind　the　wheel　of　the　Aston　Martin　and　set　off　in　pursuit。
　Bond　motored　fortably　along　the　Loire　in　the　early　summer　sunshine。　This　was　one　of　his　favourite　corners　of　the　world。　In　May；　with　the　fruit　trees　burning　white　and　the　soft　wide　river　still　big　with　the　winter　rains；　the　valley　was　green　and　young　and　dressed　for　love。　He　was　thinking　this　when；　before　Chateauneuf；　there　was　a　shrill　scream　from　twin　Bosch　horns　and　the　little　Triumph　tore　past。　The　hood　was　down。　There　was　the　blur　of　a　pretty　face　hidden　by　white　motoring　goggles　with　dark　blue　lenses。　Although　Bond　only　saw　the　edge　of　a　profile　…　a　slash　of　red　mouth　and　the　fluttering　edge　of　black　hair　under　a　pink　handkerchief　with　white　spots；　he　knew　she　was　pretty　from　the　way　she　held　her　head。　There　was　the　authority　of　someone　who　is　used　to　being　admired；　bined　with　the　self…consciousness　of　a　girl　driving　alone　and　passing　a　man　in　a　smart　car。
　Bond　thought：　That　would　happen　today！　The　Loire　is　dressed　for　just　that　…　chasing　that　girl　until　you　run　her　to　ground　at　lunch…time；　the　contact　at　the　empty　restaurant　by　the　river；　out　in　the　garden　under　the　vine　trellis。　The　friture　and　the　ice…cold　Vouvray；　the　cautious　sniffing　at　each　other　and　then　the　two　cars　motoring　on　in　convoy　until　that　evening；　well　down　to　the　south；　there　would　be　the　place　they　had　agreed　on　at　lunch　…　olive　trees；　crickets　singing　in　the　indigo　dusk；　the　discovery　that　they　liked　each　other　and　that　their　destinations　could　wait。　Then；　next　day　（'No；　not　tonight。　I　don't　know　you　well　enough；　and　besides　I'm　tired'）　they　would　leave　her　car　in　the　hotel　garage　and　go　off　in　his　at　a　tangent；　slowly；　knowing　there　was　no　hurry　for　anything；　driving　to　the　west；　away　from　the　big　roads。　What　was　that　place　he　had　always　wanted　to　go　to；　simply　because　of　the　name？　Yes；　Entre　Deux　Seins；　a　village　near　Les　Baux。　Perhaps　there　wasn't　even　an　inn　there。　Well；　then　they　would　go　on　to　Les　Baux　itself；　at　the　Bouches　du　Rhone　on　the　edge　of　the　Camargue。　There　they　would　take　adjoining　rooms　（not　a　double　room；　it　would　be　too　early　for　that）　in　the　fabulous　Baumaniere；　the　only　hotel…restaurant　in　France　with　Michelin's　supreme　accolade。　They　would　eat　the　gratin　de　langouste　and　perhaps；　because　it　was　traditional　on　such　a　night；　drink　champagne。　And　then。。
　Bond　smiled　at　his　story　and　at　the　dots　that　ended　it。　Not　today。　Today　you're　working。　Today　is　for　Goldfinger；　not　for　love。　Today　the　only　scent　you　may　smell　is　Goldfinger's　expensive　after…shave　lotion；　not。。。　what　would　she　use？　English　girls　made　mistakes　about　scent。　He　hoped　it　would　be　something　slight　and　clean。　Balmain's　Vent　Vert　perhaps；　or　Caron's　Muguet。　Bond　tuned　up　his　receiver　for　reassurance；　then　hushed　it　and　motored　on；　relaxed；　playing　with　his　thoughts　of　the　girl；　filling　in　the　details。　Of　course　he　might　meet　up　with　her　again。　They　seemed　to　be　keeping　pretty　close　pany。　She　must　have　spent　the　night　in　Orleans。　Where？　What　a　waste。　But　wait　a　minute！　Suddenly　Bond　woke　up　from　his　daydreaming。　The　open　hood　reminded　him。　He'd　seen　that　Triumph　before。　It　had　been　at　Ferryfield；　must　have　taken　the　flight　after　Goldfinger。　It　was　true　he　hadn't　seen　the　girl　or　noted　the　registration　number；　but　surely　it　was　the　same。　If　so；　for　her　to　be　still　on　Goldfinger's　tail　after　three　hundred　miles　was　more　than　coincidence。　And　she　had　been　driving　with　dimmed　lights　the　night　before！　Here；　what's　going　on？
　Bond　stepped　on　the　accelerator。　He　was　approaching　Nevers。　He'd　anyway　have　to　close　up　for　the　next　big　turning。　He　would　kill　two　birds　with　one　stone　and　also　see　what　the　girl　was　up　to。　If　she　was　keeping　station　somewhere　between　him　and　Goldfinger　there　would　have　to　be　some　furious　thinking。　And　it　would　be　a　blasted　nuisance。　It　was　hard　enough　keeping　up　with　Goldfinger。　With　another　tail　sandwiched　between　them；　it　would　bee　hellish　difficult。
　She　was　still　there；　perhaps　two　miles　behind　the　Rolls；　keeping　well　back。　As　soon　as　he　caught　sight　of　her　little　glittering　rump　（as　he　described　it　to　himself）　Bond　slowed。　Well；　well！　Who　was　she？　What　the　hell　was　all　this　about？　Bond　motored　on；　his　face　morose　and　thoughtful。
　The　little　convoy　kept　on；　still　following　the　wide　black　sheen　of　N7　that　runs　like　a　thick；　dangerous　nerve　down　through　the　heart　of　France。　But　at　Moulins　Bond　nearly　lost　the　scent。　He　had　to　double　back　quickly　and　get　on　to　N73。　Goldfinger　had　turned　at　right　angles　and　was　now　making　for　Lyons　and　Italy；　or　for　Macon　and　Geneva。　Bond　had　to　do　some　fast　motoring；　and　then　was　only　just　in　time　to　avoid　running　into　trouble。　He　had　not　worried　much　about　the　pitch　of　the　Homer。　He　had　counted　on　a　sight　of　the　Triumph　to　slow　him　down。　Suddenly　he　realized　that　the　drone　was　being　a　howl。　If　he　hadn't　braked　hard　down　from　the　ninety　he　was　doing；　he　would　have　been　on　top　of。　the　Rolls。　As　it　was；　he　was　barely　creeping　along　when　he　came　over　a　rise　and　saw　the　big　yellow　car　stopped　by　the　wayside　a　mile　ahead。　There　was　a　blessed　cart…track。　Bond　swerved　into　it　and　stopped　under　cover　of　a　low　hedge。　He　took　a　small　pair　of　binoculars　out　of　the　glove　partment；　got　out　of　the　car　and　walked　back。　Yes；　damn　it！　Goldfinger　was　sitting　below　a　small　bridge　on　the　bank　of　a　stream。　He　was　wearing　a　white　dust　coat　and　white　linen　driving　helmet　in　the　style　of　German　tourists。　He　was　eating；　having　a　picnic。　The　sight　made　Bond　hungry。　What　about　his　own　lunch？　He　examined　the　Rolls。　Through　the　rear　window　he　could　see　part　of　the　Korean's　black　shape　in　the　front　seat。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　Triumph。　If　the　girl　had　still　been　on　Goldfinger's　tail　she　would　have　had　no　warning。　She　would　have　just　kept　her　head　down　and　stepped　on　the　gas。　Now　she　would　be　somewhere　ahead；　waiting　in　ambush　for　the　Rolls　to　e　by。　Or　would　she？　Perhaps　Bond's　imagination　had　run　away　with　him。　She　was　probably　on　her　way　to　the　Italian　lakes　to　join　an　aunt；　some　friends；　a　lover。
　Now　Goldfinger　was　on　his　feet。　Tidy　man。　That's　right；　pick　up　the　scraps　of　paper　and　tuck　them　away　carefully　under　the　bridge。　Why　not　throw　them　in　the　stream？　Suddenly　Bond's　jaw　tightened。　What　did　those　actions　of　Gold…finger　remind　him　of？　Was　Bond　romancing　again；　or　was　the　bridge　a　post　box？　Had　Goldfinger　been　instructed　t