贝壳电子书 > 英文原著电子书 > if.goldfinger >

第20章

if.goldfinger-第20章

小说: if.goldfinger 字数: 每页4000字

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!



 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。

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的