other time? I’ve come 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 Goldfinger’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?’
‘Huntercombe.’ Bond was also nine at Sunningdale. Huntercombe was an easier course. Nine at Huntercombe 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 come 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 Penfolds – 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
‘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 Goldfinger’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?’
‘Huntercombe.’ Bond was also nine at Sunningdale. Huntercombe was an easier course. Nine at Huntercombe 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 come 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 Penfolds – 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
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