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t golf。 That is one of its minor pleasures。 But Goldfinger had made an attempt to look smart at golf and that is the only way of dressing that is incongruous on a links。 Everything matched in a blaze of rust…coloured tweed from the buttoned 'golfer's cap' centred on the huge； flaming red hair； to the brilliantly polished； almost orange shoes。 The plus…four suit was too well cut and the plus…fours themselves had been pressed down the sides。 The stockings were of a matching heather mixture and had green garter tabs。 It was as if Goldfinger had gone to his tailor and said； 'Dress me for golf … you know； like they wear in Scotland。' Social errors made no impression on Bond； and for the matter of that he rarely noticed them。 With Goldfinger it was different。 Everything about the man had grated on Bond's teeth from the first moment he had seen him。 The assertive blatancy of his clothes was just part of the malevolent animal magnetism that had affected Bond from the beginning。
Goldfinger executed his mechanical； faultless swing。 The ball flew true but just failed to make the slope and curled off to the right to finish pinhigh off the green in the short rough。 Easy five。 A good chip could turn it into a four； but it would have to be a good one。
Bond walked over to his ball。 It was lying cocked up； just off the fairway。 Bond took his number four wood。 Now for the 'all air route' … a soaring shot that would carry the cross…bunkers and give him two putts for a four。 Bond remembered the dictum of the pros： 'It^s never too early to start winning。' He took it easy； determined not to press for the long but fortable carry。
As soon as Bond had hit the shot he knew it wouldn't do。 The difference between a good golf shot and a bad one is the same as the difference between a beautiful and a plain woman … a matter of millimetres。 In this case； the club face had gone through just that one millimetre too low under the ball。 The arc of flight was high and soft … no legs。 Why the hell hadn't he taken a spoon or a two iron off that lie？ The ball hit the lip of the far bunker and fell back。 Now it was the blaster； and fighting for a half。
Bond never worried too long about his bad or stupid shots。 He put them behind him and thought of the next。 He came up with the bunker； took his blaster and measured the distance to the pin。 Twenty yards。 The ball was lying well back。 Should he splash it out with a wide stance and an outside…in swing； or should he blast it and take plenty of sand？ For safety's sake he would blast it out。 Bond went down into the bunker。 Head down and follow well through。 The easiest shot in golf。 Try and put it dead。 The wish； half way down his bade swing； hurried the hands in front of the club head。 The loft was killed and there was the ball rolling back off the face。 Get it out； you bloody fool； and hole a long putt！ Now Bond took too much sand。 He was out； but barely on the green。 Goldfinger bent to his chip and kept his head down until the ball was half way to the hole。 The ball stopped three inches from the pin。 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