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dangerous seven and failed to get it out. Goldfinger got his five. Two down.
They halved the short eighth in three. At the ninth Bond, determined to turn
only one down, again tried to do too much off a poor lie. Goldfinger got his
four to Bond's five. Three down at the turn! Not too good. Bond asked Hawker
for a new ball. Hawker unwrapped it slowly, waiting for
Goldfinger to walk over the hillock to the next tee. Hawker said softly, 'You
saw what he did at The Virgin, sir?'
'Yes, damn him. It was an amazing shot.'
Hawker was surprised. 'Oh, you didn't see what he did in the bunker, sir?'
'No, what? I was too far away.'
The other two were out of sight over the rise. Hawker silently walked down
into one of the bunkers guarding the ninth green, kicked a hole with his toe
and dropped the ball in the hole. He then stood just behind the half-buried
ball with his feet close together. He looked up at Bond. 'Remember he jumped
up to look at the line to the hole, sir?'
'Yes.'
'Just watch this, sir.' Hawker looked towards the ninth pin and jumped, just
as Goldfinger had done, as if to get the line. Then he looked up at Bond again
and pointed to the ball at his feet. The heavy impact of the two feet just
behind the ball had levelled the hole in which it had lain and had squeezed
the ball out so that it was now perfectly teed for an easy shot - for just the
easy cut-up shot which had seemed utterly impossible from Goldfinger's lie at
The Virgin.
Bond looked at his caddie for a moment in silence. Then he said, 'Thanks,
Hawker. Give me the bat and the ball. Somebody's going to be second in this
match, and I'm damned if it's going to be me.'
'Yes, sir,' said Hawker stolidly. He limped off on the short cut that would
take him half way down the tenth fairway.
Bond sauntered slowly over the rise and down to the tenth tee. He hardly
looked at Goldfinger who was standing on the tee swishing his driver
impatiently. Bond was clearing his mind of everything but cold, offensive
resolve. For the first time since the first tee, he felt supremely confident.
All he needed was a sign from heaven and his game would catch fire.
The tenth at the Royal St Marks is the most dangerous hole on the course. The
second shot, to the skiddy plateau green with cavernous bunkers to right and
left and a steep hill beyond, has broken many hearts. Bond remembered that
Philip Scrutton, out in four under fours in the Gold Bowl, had taken a
fourteen at this hole, seven of them ping-pong shots from one bunker to
another, to and fro across the green. Bond knew that Goldfinger would play his
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second to the apron, or short of it, and be glad to get a five. Bond must go
for it and get his four.
Two good drives and, sure enough, Goldfinger well up on the apron with his
second. A possible four. Bond took his seven, laid off plenty for the breeze
and fired the ball off into the sky. At first he thought he had laid off too
much, but then the ball began to float to the left. It pitched and stopped
dead in the soft sand blown on to the green from the right-hand bunker. A
nasty fifteen-foot putt. Bond would now be glad to get a half. Sure enough,
Goldfinger putted up to within a yard. That, thought Bond as he squared up to
his putt, he will have to hole. He hit his own putt fairly smartly to get it
through the powdering of sand and was horrified to see it going like lightning
across the skiddy green. God, he was going to have not a yard, but a two-yard
putt back! But suddenly, as if drawn by a magnet, the ball swerved straight
for the hole, hit the back of the tin, bounced up and fell into the cup with
an audible rattle. The sign from heaven! Bond went up to Hawker, winked at him
and took his driver.
They left the caddies and walked down the slope and back to the next tee.
Goldfinger said coldly, 'That putt ought to have run off the green.'
Bond said off-handedly, 'Always give the hole a chance!' He teed up his ball
and hit his best drive of the day down the breeze. Wedge and one putt?
Goldfinger hit his regulation shot and they walked off again. Bond said, 'By
the way, what happened to that nice Miss Masterton?'
Goldfinger looked straight in front of him. 'She left my employ.'
Bond thought, good for her! He said, 'Oh, I must get in touch with her again.
Where did she go to?'
'I couldn't say.' Goldfinger walked away from Bond towards his ball. Bond's
drive was out of sight, over the ridge that bisected the fairway. It wouldn't
be more than fifty yards from the pin. Bond thought he knew what would be in
Goldfinger's
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mind, what is in most golfers' minds when they smell the first scent of a good
lead melting away. Bond wouldn't be surprised to see that grooved swing
quicken a trifle. It did. Goldfinger hooked into a bunker on the left of the
green.
Now was the moment when it would be the end of the game if Bond made a
mistake, let his man off the hook. He had a slightly downhill lie, otherwise
an easy chip - but to the trickiest green on the course. Bond played it like a
man. The ball ended six feet from the pin. Goldfinger played well out of his
bunker, but missed the longish putt. Now Bond was only one down.
They halved the dog-leg twelfth in inglorious fives and the longish thirteenth
also in fives, Goldfinger having to hole a good putt to do so.
Now a tiny cleft of concentration had appeared on Gold-finger's massive,
unlined forehead. He took a drink of water from the tap beside the fourteenth
tee. Bond waited for him. He didn't want a sharp clang from that tin cup when
it was out-of-
bounds over the fence to the right and the drive into the breeze favouring a
slice! Bond brought his left hand over to increase his draw and slowed down
his swing. The drive, well to the left, was only just adequate, but at least
it had stayed in bounds, Goldfinger, apparently unmoved by the out-of-bounds
hazard, hit his standard shot. They both negotiated the transverse canal
without damage and it was another half in five. Still one down and now only
four to play.
The four hundred and sixty yards fifteenth is perhaps the only hole where the
long hitter may hope to gain one clear shot.
Two smashing woods will just get you over the line of bunkers that lie right
up against the green. Goldfinger had to play short of them with his second. He
could hardly improve on a five and it was up to Bond to hit a really godlike
second shot from a barely adequate drive.
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The sun was on its way down and the shadows of the four men were beginning to
lengthen. Bond had taken up his stance. It was a good lie. He had kept his
driver. There was dead silence as he gave his two incisive waggles. This was
going to be a vital stroke. Remember to pause at the top of the swing, come
down slow and whip the club head through at the last second. Bond began to
take the club back. Something moved at the corner of his'right eye. From
nowhere the shadow of Goldfinger's huge head approached the ball on the
ground, engulfed it and moved on. Bond let his swing take itself to pieces in
sections. Then he stood away from his ball and looked up. Goldfinger's feet
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