The black and white chequer-board tiles were warm, almost hot to the feet although it could not yet be eight o'clock. A brisk inshore breeze was blowing off the sea, straining the flags of all nations that flew along the pier1 of the private yacht basin. The breeze was humid and smelt2 strongly of the sea. Bond guessed it was the breeze that the visitors like, but the residents hate. It would rust3 the metal fittings in their homes, fox the pages of their books, rot their wallpaper and pictures, breed damp-rot in their clothes.
Twelve storeys down the formal gardens, dotted with palm trees and beds of bright croton and traced with neat gravel4 walks between avenues of bougainvillaea, were rich and dull. Gardeners were working, raking the paths and picking up leaves with the lethargic5 slow motion of coloured help. Two mowers were at work on the lawns and, where they had already been, sprinklers were gracefully6 flinging handfuls of spray.
Directly below Bond, the elegant curve of the Cabana Club swept down to the beach - two storeys of changing-rooms below a flat roof dotted with chairs and tables and an occasional red and white striped umbrella. Within the curve was the brilliant green oblong of the Olympic-length swimming-pool fringed on all sides by row upon row of mattressed steamer chairs on which the customers would soon be getting their fifty-dollar-a-day sunburn. White-jacketed men were working among them, straightening the lines of chairs, turning the mattresses7 and sweeping8 up yesterday's cigarette butts9. Beyond was the long, golden beach and the sea, and more men - raking the tideline, putting up the umbrellas, laying out mattresses. No wonder the neat card inside Bond's wardrobe had said that the cost of the Aloha Suite10 was two hundred dollars a day. Bond made a rough calculation. If he was paying the bill, it would take him just three weeks to spend his whole salary for the year. Bond smiled cheerfully to himself. He went back into the bedroom, picked up the telephone and ordered himself a delicious, wasteful11 breakfast, a carton of king-size Chesterfields and the newspapers.
By the time he had shaved and had an ice-cold shower and dressed it was eight o'clock. He walked through into the elegant sitting-room12 and found a waiter in a uniform of plum and gold laying out his breakfast beside the window. Bond glanced at the Miami Herald13. The front page was devoted14 to yesterday's failure of an American ICBM at the nearby Cape15 Canaveral and a bad upset in a big race at Hialeah.
Bond dropped the paper on the floor and sat down and slowly ate his breakfast and thought about Mr Du Pont and Mr Goldfinger.
His thoughts were inconclusive. Mr Du Pont was either a much worse player than he thought, which seemed unlikely on Bond's reading of his tough, shrewd character, or else Goldfinger was a cheat. If Goldfinger cheated at cards, although he didn't need the money, it was certain that he had also made himself rich by cheating or sharp practice on a much bigger scale. Bond was interested in big crooks16. He looked forward to his first sight of Goldfinger. He also looked forward to penetrating17 Goldfinger's highly successful and, on the face of it, highly mysterious method of fleecing Mr Du Pont. It was going to be a most entertaining day. Idly Bond waited for it to get under way.
The plan was that he would meet Mr Du Pont in the garden at ten o'clock. The story would be that Bond had flown down from New York to try and sell Mr Du Pont a block of shares from an English holding in a Canadian Natural Gas property. The matter was clearly confidential18 and Goldfinger would not think of questioning Bond about details. Shares, Natural Gas, Canada. That was all Bond needed to remember. They would go along together to the roof of the Cabana Club where the game was played and Bond would read his paper and watch. After luncheon19, during which Bond and Mr Du Pont would discuss their 'business', there would be the same routine. Mr Du Pont had inquired if there was anything else he could arrange. Bond had asked for the number of Mr Goldfinger's suite and a passkey. He had explained that if Goldfinger was any kind of a professional card-sharp, or even an expert amateur, he would travel with the usual tools of the trade - marked and shaved cards, the apparatus20 for the Short Arm Delivery, and so forth21. Mr Du Pont had said he would give Bond the key when they met in the garden. He would have no difficulty getting one from the manager.
After breakfast, Bond relaxed and gazed into the middle distance of the sea. He was not keyed up by the job on hand, only interested and amused. It was just the kind of job he had needed to clear his palate after Mexico.
At half past nine Bond left his suite and wandered along the corridors of his floor, getting lost on his way to the elevator in order to reconnoitre the lay-out of the hotel. Then, having met the same maid twice, he asked his way and went down in the elevator and moved among the scattering22 of early risers through the Pineapple Shopping Arcade23. He glanced into the Bamboo Coffee Shoppe, the Rendezvous24 Bar, the La Tropicala dining-room, the Kittekat Klub for children and the Boom-Boom Nighterie. He then went purposefully out into the garden. Mr Du Pont, now dressed 'for the beach' by Abercrombie & Fitch, gave him the pass-key to Goldfinger's suite. They sauntered over to the Cabana Club and climbed the two short flights of stairs to the top deck.
Bond's first view of Mr Goldfinger was startling. At the far corner of the roof, just below the cliff of the hotel, a man was lying back with his legs up on a steamer chair. He was wearing nothing but a yellow satin bikini slip, dark glasses and a pair of wide tin wings under his chin. The wings, which appeared to fit round his neck, stretched out across his shoulders and beyond them and then curved up slightly to rounded tips.
Bond said, "What the hell's he wearing round his neck?'
'You never seen one of those?' Mr Du Pont was surprised. 'That's a gadget25 to help your tan. Polished tin. Reflects the sun up under your chin and behind the ears - the bits that wouldn't normally catch the sun.'
'Well, well,' said Bond.
When they were a few yards from the reclining figure Mr Du Pont called out cheerfully, in what seemed to Bond an overloud voice, 'Hi there!'
Mr Goldfinger did not stir.
Mr Du Pont said in his normal voice. 'He's very deaf.' They were now at Mr Goldfinger's feet. Mr Du Pont repeated his hail.
Mr Goldfinger sat up sharply. He removed his dark glasses. 'Why, hullo there.' He unhitched the wings from round his neck, put them carefully on the ground beside him and got heavily to his feet. He looked at Bond with slow, inquiring eyes.
'Like you to meet Mr Bond, James Bond. Friend of mine from New York. Countryman of yours. Come down to try and talk me into a bit of business.'
Mr Goldfinger held out a hand. 'Pleased to meet you, Mr Bomb.'
Bond took the hand. It was hard and dry. There was the briefest pressure and it was withdrawn26. For an instant Mr Goldfinger's pale, china-blue eyes opened wide and stared hard at Bond. They stared right through his face to the back of his skull28. Then the lids drooped29, the shutter30 closed over the X-ray, and Mr Goldfinger took the exposed plate and slipped it away in his filing system.
'So no game today.' The voice was flat, colourless. The words were more of a statement than a question.
'Whaddya mean, no game?' shouted Mr Du Pont boisterously31. 'You weren't thinking I'd let you hang on to my money? Got to get it back or I shan't be able to leave this darned hotel,' Mr Du Pont chuckled32 richly. 'I'll tell Sam to fix the table. James here says he doesn't know much about cards and he'd like to learn the game. That right, James?' He turned to Bond. 'Sure you'll be all right with your paper and the sunshine?'
'I'd be glad of the rest,' said Bond. 'Been travelling too much.'
Again the eyes bored into Bond and then drooped. Til get some clothes on. I had intended to have a golf lesson this afternoon from Mr Armour33 at the Boca Raton. But cards have priority among my hobbies. My tendency to un-cock the wrists too early with the mid-irons will have to wait.' The eyes rested incuriously on Bond. 'You play golf, Mr Bomb?'
Bond raised his voice. 'Occasionally, when I'm in England.'
'And where do you play?'
'Huntercombe.'
'Ah - a pleasant little course. I have recently joined the Royal St Marks. Sandwich is close to one of my business interests. You know it?'
'I have played there.'
'What is your handicap?'
'Nine.'
'That is a coincidence. So is mine. We must have a game one day.' Mr Goldfinger bent34 down and picked up his tin wings. He said to Mr Du Pont, 'I will be with you in five minutes.' He walked slowly off towards the stairs.
Bond was amused. This social sniffing35 at him had been done with just the right casual touch of the tycoon36 who didn't really care if Bond was alive or dead but, since he was there and alive, might as well place him in an approximate category.
Mr Du Pont gave instructions to a steward37 in a white coat. Two others were already setting up a card table. Bond walked to the rail that surrounded the roof and looked down into the garden, reflecting on Mr Goldfinger.
He was impressed. Mr Goldfinger was one of the most relaxed men Bond had ever met. It showed in the economy of his movement, of his speech, of his expressions. Mr Gold-finger wasted no effort, yet there was something coiled, compressed, in the immobility of the man.
When Goldfinger had stood up, the first thing that had struck Bond was that everything was out of proportion. Goldfinger was short, not more than five feet tall, and on top of the thick body and blunt, peasant legs, was set almost directly into the shoulders, a huge and it seemed exactly round head. It was as if Goldfinger had been put together with bits of other people's bodies. Nothing seemed to belong. Perhaps, Bond thought, it was to conceal38 his ugliness that
Goldfinger made such a fetish of sunburn. Without the red-brown camouflage39 the pale body would be grotesque40. The face, under the cliff of crew-cut carroty hair, was as startling, without being as ugly, as the body. It was moon-shaped without being moonlike. The forehead was fine and high and the thin sandy brows were level above the large light blue eyes fringed with pale lashes41. The nose was fleshily aquiline42 between high cheek-bones and cheeks that were more muscular than fat. The mouth was thin and dead straight, but beautifully drawn27. The chin and jaws43 were firm and glinted with health. To sum up, thought Bond, it was the face of a thinker, perhaps a scientist, who was ruthless, sensual, stoical and tough. An odd combination.
What else could he guess? Bond always mistrusted short men. They grew up from childhood with an inferiority complex. All their lives they would strive to be big - bigger than the others who had teased them as a child. Napoleon had been short, and Hitler. It was the short men that caused all the trouble in the world. And what about a misshapen short man with red hair and a bizarre face? That might add up to a really formidable misfit. One could certainly feel the repressions44. There was a powerhouse of vitality45 humming in the man that suggested that if one stuck an electric bulb into Goldfinger's mouth it would light up. Bond smiled at the thought. Into what channels did Goldfinger release his vital force? Into getting rich? Into sex? Into power? Probably into all three. What could his history be? Today he might be an Englishman. What had he been born? Not a Jew - though there might be Jewish blood in him. Not a Latin or anything farther south. Not a Slav. Perhaps a German - no, a Bait! That's where he would have come from. One of the old Baltic provinces. Probably got away to escape the Russians. Goldfinger would have been warned - or his parents had smelled trouble and they had got him out in time. And what had happened then? How had he worked his way up to being one of the richest men in the world? One day it might be interesting to find out. For the time being it would be enough to find out how he won at cards.
'All set?' Mr Du Pont called to Goldfinger who was coming across the roof towards the card table. With his clothes on - a comfortably fitting dark blue suit, a white shirt open at the neck - Goldfinger cut an almost passable figure.
But there was no disguise for the great brown and red football of a head and the flesh-coloured hearing aid plugged into the left ear was net an improvement.
Mr Du Pont sat with his back to the hotel. Goldfinger took the seat opposite and cut the cards. Du Pont won the cut, pushed the other pack over to Goldfinger, tapped them to show they were already shuffled46 and he couldn't bother to cut, and Goldfinger began the deal.
Bond sauntered over and took a chair at Mr Du Font's elbow. He sat back, relaxed. He made a show of folding his paper to the sports page and watched the deal.
Somehow Bond had expected it, but this was no card-sharp. Goldfinger dealt quickly and efficiently47, but with no hint of the Mechanic's Grip, those vital three fingers curled round the long edge of the cards and the index finger at the outside short upper edge - the grip that means you are armed for dealing48 Bottoms or Seconds. And he wore no signet ring for pricking49 the cards, no surgical50 tape round a finger for marking them.
Mr Du Pont turned to Bond. 'Deal of fifteen cards,' he commented. 'You draw two and discard one. Otherwise straight Regency rules. No monkey business with the red treys counting one, three, five, eight, or any of that European stuff.'
Mr Du Pont picked up his cards. Bond noticed that he sorted them expertly, not grading them according to value from left to right, or holding his wild cards, of which he had two, at the left - a pattern that might help a watchful51 opponent. Mr Du Pont concentrated his good cards in the centre of his hand with the singletons and broken melds on either side.
The game began. Mr Du Pont drew first, a miraculous52 pair of wild cards. His face betrayed nothing. He discarded casually53. He only needed two more good draws to go out unseen. But he would have to be lucky. Drawing two cards doubles the chance of picking up what you want, but it also doubles the chance of picking up useless cards that will only clutter54 up your hand.
Goldfinger played a more deliberate game, almost irritatingly slow. After drawing, he shuffled through his cards again and again before deciding on his discard.
On the third draw, Du Pont had improved his hand to the extent that he now needed only one of five cards to go down and out and catch his opponent with a handful of cards which would all count against him. As if Goldfinger knew the danger he was in, he went down for fifty and proceeded to make a canasta with three wild cards and four fives. He also got rid of some more melds and ended with only four cards in his hand. In any other circumstances it would have been ridiculously bad play. As it was, he had made some four hundred points instead of losing over a hundred, for, on the next draw Mr Du Pont filled his hand and, with most of the edge taken off his triumph by Goldfinger's escape, went down unseen with the necessary two canastas.
'By golly, I nearly screwed you that time.' Mr Du Font's voice had an edge of exasperation55. 'What in hell told you to cut an' run?'
Goldfinger said indifferently, 'I smelled trouble.' He added up his points, announced them and jotted56 them down, waiting for Mr Du Pont to do the same. Then he cut the cards and sat back and regarded Bond with polite interest.
'Will you be staying long, Mr Bomb?'
Bond smiled. 'It's Bond, B-O-N-D. No, I have to go back to New York tonight.'
'How sad.' Goldfinger's mouth pursed in polite regret. He turned back to the cards and the game went on. Bond picked up his paper and gazed, unseeing, at the baseball scores, while he listened to the quiet routine of the game. Goldfinger won that hand and the next and the next. He won the game. There was a difference of one thousand five hundred points -one thousand five hundred dollars to Goldfinger.
'There it goes again!' It was the plaintive57 voice of Mr Du Pont.
Bond put down his paper. 'Does he usually win?'
'Usually!' The word was a snort. 'He always wins.'
They cut again and Goldfinger began to deal.
Bond said, 'Don't you cut for seats? I often find a change of seat helps the luck. Hostage to fortune and so on.'
Goldfinger paused in his deal. He bent his gaze gravely on Bond. 'Unfortunately, Mr Bond, that is not possible or I could not play. As I explained to Mr Du Pont at our first game, I suffer from an obscure complaint - agoraphobia -the fear of open spaces. I cannot bear the open,horizon. I must sit and face the hotel.' The deal continued.
'Oh, I'm so sorry.' Bond's voice was grave, interested. 'That's a very rare disability. I've always been able to understand claustrophobia, but not the other way round. How did it come about?'
Goldfinger picked up his cards and began to arrange his hand. 'I have no idea,' he said equably.
Bond got up. 'Well, I think I'll stretch my legs for a bit. See what's going on in the pool.'
'You do just that,' said Mr Du Pont jovially58. 'Just take it easy, James. Plenty of time to discuss business over lunch. I'll see if I can't dish it out to my friend Goldfinger this time instead of taking it. Be seeing you.'
Goldfinger didn't look up from his cards. Bond strolled down the roof, past the occasional splayed-out body, to the rail at the far end that overlooked the pool. For a time he stood and contemplated59 the ranks of pink and brown and white flesh laid out below him on the steamer chairs. The heavy scent60 of suntan oil came up to him. There were a few children and young people in the pool. A man, obviously a professional diver, perhaps the swimming instructor61, stood on the high-dive. He balanced on the balls of his feet, a muscled Greek god with golden hair. He bounced once, casually, and flew off and down, his arms held out like wings. Lazily they arrowed out to cleave62 the water for the body to pass through. The impact left only a brief turbulence63. The diver jack-knifed up again, shaking his head boyishly. There was a smattering of applause. The man trudged64 slowly down the pool, his head submerged, his shoulders moving with casual power. Bond thought, good luck to you! You won't be able to keep this up for more than another five or six years. High-divers couldn't take it for long - the repeated shock to the skull. With ski-jumping, which had the same shattering effect on the frame, high-diving was the shortest-lived sport. Bond radioed to the diver, 'Cash in quick! Get into films while the hair's still gold.'
Bond turned and looked back down the roof towards the two Canasta players beneath the cliff of the hotel. So Gold-finger liked to face the hotel. Or was it that he liked Mr Du Pont to have his back to it? And why? Now, what was the number of Goldfinger's suite? No 200, the Hawaii Suite. Bond's on the top floor was 1200. So, all things being equal, Goldfinger's would be directly below Bond's, on the second floor, twenty yards or so above the roof of the Cabana Club -twenty yards from the card table. Bond counted down. He closely examined the frontage that should be Goldfinger's. Nothing. An empty sun balcony. An open door into the dark interior of the suite. Bond measured distances, angles. Yes, that's how it might be. That's how it must be! Clever Mr Goldfinger!
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1
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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5
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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6
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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7
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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8
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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10
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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11
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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12
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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13
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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16
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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23
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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24
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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25
gadget
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| n.小巧的机械，精巧的装置，小玩意儿 | |
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26
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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32
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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36
tycoon
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| n.有钱有势的企业家，大亨 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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38
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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40
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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41
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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42
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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43
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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44
repressions
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| n.压抑( repression的名词复数 )；约束；抑制；镇压 | |
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45
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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46
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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47
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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48
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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49
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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50
surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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51
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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52
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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53
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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54
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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55
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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56
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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57
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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58
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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59
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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60
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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61
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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62
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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63
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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64
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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