Bond had a double brandy and ginger6 ale and stood aloof7 from the handful of other privileged passengers in the gracious lounge, trying to feel like a baronet. Then he remembered the real Sir Hilary Bray, perhaps now gralloching a hind4 with his bare hands somewhere up in the Glens. There was nothing of the baronet about him! He really must get rid of the inverted8 snobbery9 that, with its opposite, is ingrained in so many of the English! He must stop acting10 a part, being a stage nobleman! He would just be himself and, if he gave the appearance of being rather a rough-hewn baronet, the easy-going kind, well, that at least was like the real one up in Scotland. Bond threw down the Times that he had been carrying as an extra badge of Top Peopleship, picked up the Daily Express, and asked for another brandy and ginger ale.
Then, with its twin jets whispering far back of the first-class cabin, the Swissair Caravelle was airborne and Bond's mind was reaching forward to the rendezvous11 that had been so briefly12 detailed13 by the Zurich solicitors14. Sir Hilary would be met at the airport by one of the Comte de Bleuville's secretaries. He would be seeing the Count that day or the next. Bond had a moment of panic. How should he address the man when he met him? Count? Monsieur le Comte? No, he would call him nothing - perhaps an occasional patronizing 'my dear sir' in context. What would Blofeld look like? Would he have changed his appearance much? Probably, or the fox wouldn't have kept ahead of the hounds so efficiently15. Bond's excitement mounted as he consumed a delicious lunch served by a delicious stewardess16, and the winter-brown chequerboard of France fled backwards17 distantly below. Now there was scattered18 snow and barren trees as they crossed the tiny hillocks of the Vosges, then permanent snow and ice-floes on the Rhine, a short stop at Basle, and then the black criss-cross of Zurich Airport and 'fasten your lap-straps19' in three languages, and they were planing down, a slight bump, the roar of jet deflection, and then they were taxying up to the apron20 in front of the imposing21, very European-looking buildings decked with the gay flags of the nations.
At the Swissair desk inside the door, a woman was standing22 beside the reception counter. As soon as Bond appeared in the entrance she came forward. 'Sair Hilary Bray?'
'Yes.'
'I am Fraulein Irma Bunt. Personal secretary to the Count. Good afternoon. I hope you had a happy flight.'
She looked like a very sunburned female wardress. She had a square, brutal23 face with hard yellow eyes. Her smile was an oblong hole without humour or welcome, and there were sunburn blisters24 at the left corner of her mouth which she licked from time to time with the tip of a pale tongue. Wisps of brownish grey hair, with a tight, neat bun at the back, showed from under a skiing hat with a yellow talc visor that had straps which met under her chin. Her strong, short body was dressed in unbecomingly tight vorlage trousers topped by a grey wind-jacket ornamented25 over the left breast with a large red G topped by a coronet. Irma la not so Douce, thought Bond. He said, 'Yes. It was very pleasant.'
'You have your baggage check? Will you follow me, please? And first your passport. This way.'
Bond followed her through the passport control and out into the customs hall. There were a few standers-by. Bond noticed her head nod casually26. A man with a brief-case under his arm, hanging about, moved away. Bond studiously examined his baggage check. Beyond the scrap27 of cardboard, he noticed the man slip into one of the row of telephone booths in the main hall outside the customs area.
'You speak German?' The tongue flicked28 out and licked the blisters.
'No, I'm afraid not.'
'French perhaps?'
'A little. Enough for my work.'
'Ah, yes. That is important, yes?'
Bond's suitcase was unloaded off the trolley29 on to the barrier. The woman flashed some kind of a pass at the customs officer. It was very quickly done, but Bond caught a glimpse of her photograph and the heading 'Bundespolizei'. So! Blofeld had got the fix in!
The officer said deferentially30, 'Bitte sehr,' and chalked his symbol in the colour of the day, yellow, on Bond's suitcase. A porter took it and they walked across to the entrance. When they came out pn the steps, an anonymous31 black Mercedes 300 SE saloon pulled smartly out of the parking area and slid to a stop beside them. Next to the chauffeur32 sat the man who had gone to the telephone. Bond's suitcase was put in the boot and they moved off fast in the direction of Zurich. A few hundred yards down the wide road, the man beside the driver, who, Bond noticed, had been surreptitiously watching in the twin driving-mirror, said softly, 'Is' gut,' and the car turned right-handed up a side road which was marked 'Eingang Verboten! Mit Ausnahme von Eigentumer und Personell von Privatflugzeugen'.
Bond was amused as he ticked off the little precautions. It was obvious that he was still very much on probation33.
The car came up with the hangars to the left of the main building, drove slowly between them and pulled up beside a bright orange Alouette helicopter, adapted by Sud Aviation for mountain rescue work. But this one had the red G with the coronet on its fuselage. So! He was going to be taken for a flight rather than a ride!
'You have travelled in one of these machines before, no? It is very pleasant. One obtains a fine view of the Alps.' Fraulein Bunt's eyes were blank with disinterest. They climbed up the aluminium34 ladder. 'Mind your head, please!' Bond's suitcase was handed up by the chauffeur.
It was a six-seater, luxurious35 in red leather. Above and in front of them under his Perspex canopy36 the pilot lifted a thumb. The ground staff pulled away the chocks and the big blades began to move. As they accelerated, the men on the ground drew away, shielding their faces against the whirling snow. There was a slight jolt37 and then they were climbing fast, and the crackle of radio from the control tower went silent.
Irma Bunt was across the passage-way from Bond. The extra man was in the rear, hidden behind the Zuricher Zeitung. Bond leaned sideways and said loudly, against the rattle38 of the machine, 'Where are we heading for?'
She pretended not to hear. Bond repeated his question, shouting it.
'Into the Alps. Into the high Alps,' shouted the woman. She waved towards the window. 'It is very beautiful. You like the mountains, isn't it?'
'I love them,' shouted Bond. 'Just like Scotland.' He leaned back in his seat, lit a cigarette, and looked out of the window. Yes, there was the Zurichersee to port. Their course was more or less east-south-east. They were flying at about 2,000 feet. And now there was the Wallensee. Bond, apparently39 uninterested, took the Daily Express out of his brief-case and turned to the sports pages. He read the paper from last page to first, meticulously40, every now and then casting a bored glance out of the window. The big range to port would be the Rhatikon Alps. That would be the railway junction41 of Landquart below them. They held their course up the valley of the Pratigau. Would they keep on at Klosters or veer42 to starboard? Starboard it was. So! Up the Davos Valley! In a few minutes he would be flying over Tracy! A casual glance. Yes, there was Davos under its thin canopy of evening mist and smoke, while, above her, he was still in bright sunshine. At least she seemed to have had plenty of snow. Bond remembered the tremendous run down the Parsenn. Those had been the days! And now back on the old course again and giant peaks to right and left. This must be the Engadine. The Silvretta Group away to starboard, to port Piz Languard and, ahead, the Bernina range diving down, like a vast ski-jump, into Italy. That forest of lights away to starboard must be St Moritz! Now where? Bond buried himself in his paper. A slight veer to port. More lights. Pontresina? And now the radio began to crackle and the 'Seat belts' sign went up. Bond thought it time to express open interest. He gazed out. Below, the ground was mostly in darkness, but ahead the giant peaks were still golden in the dying sun. They were making straight for one of them, for a small plateau near its summit. There was a group of buildings from which golden wires swooped43 down into the darkness of the valley. A cable car, spangled in the sun, was creeping down. Now it had been swallowed up in tie murk. The helicopter was still charging the side of the peak that towered above them. Now it was only a hundred feet up above the slope, coming in to the plateau and the buildings. The pilot's arms moved on his joy stick. The machine pitched a little and slowed. The rotor arms swung languidly and then accelerated as the machine hovered44 and settled. There came a slight bump as the inflated45 rubber 'floats' met the snow, a dying whirr from the rotor and they were there.
Where? Bond knew. They were in the Languard range, somewhere above Pontresina in the Engadine, and their altitude would be about 10,000 feet. He buttoned up his raincoat and prepared for the rasping dagger46 of the cold anon his lungs when the door was opened.
Irma Bunt gave her box-like smile. 'We have arrived,' she said unnecessarily.
The door, with a clatter47 of falling ice particles, was wrenched48 open. The last rays of the sun shone into the cabin. They caught the woman's yellow sun visor and shone through, turning her face Chinese. The eyes gave out a false blaze, like the glass eyes of a toy animal, under the light.
'Mind your head.' She bent49 low, her tight, squat50 behind inviting51 an enormous .kick, and went down the ladder.
James Bond followed her, holding his breath against the searing impact of the Arctic, oxygenless air. There were one or two men standing around dressed like ski guides. They looked at Bond with curiosity, but there was no greeting. Bond went on across the hard-trodden snow in the wake of the woman, the extra man following with his suitcase. He heard the engine stutter and roar, and a blizzard52 of snow particles stung the right side of his face. Then the iron grasshopper53 rose into the air and rattled54 off into the dusk.
It was perhaps fifty yards from where the helicopter had landed to the group of buildings. Bond dawdled55, getting preliminary bearings. Ahead was a long, low building, now ablaze56 with lights. To the right, and perhaps another fifty yards away, were the outlines of the typical modern cable railhead, a box-like structure, with a thick flat roof canted upwards57 from dose to the ground. As Bond examined it, its lights went out. Presumably the last car had reached the valley and the line was closed for the night. To the right of this was a large, bogus-chalet type structure with a vast veranda58, sparsely59 lit, that would be for the mass tourist trade - again a typical piece of high-Alpine architecture. Down to the left, beneath the slope of the plateau, lights shone from a fourth building that, except for its flat roof, was out of sight.
Bond was now only a few yards from the building that was obviously his destination. An oblong of yellow opened invitingly60 as the woman went in and held the door for him. The light illuminated61 a big sign with the red G surmounted62 by the coronet. It said GLORIA KLUB. 3605 METRES. PRIVAT! NUR FUR MITGLIEDER. Below in smaller letters it said 'Alpenberghaus und Restaurant Piz Gloria', and the drooping63 index finger of the traditional hand pointed64 to the right, towards the building near the cable-head.
So! Piz Gloria! Bond walked into the inviting yellow oblong. The door, released by the woman, closed with a pneumatic hiss65.
Inside it was deliriously66 warm, almost hot. They were in a small reception room, and a youngish man with a very pale crew-cut and shrewd eyes got to his feet from behind a desk and made a slight bob in their direction. ' Sir Hilary is in Number Two.'
'Weiss schon,' said the woman curtly67 and, only just more politely, to Bond, 'Follow me, please.' She went through a facing door and down a thickly-piled, red-carpeted passage. The left-hand wall was only occasionally broken by windows interspersed68 with fine skiing and mountain photographs. On the right were at first the doors of the club rooms, marked Bar, Restaurant, and Toiletten. Then came what were obviously the doors of bedrooms. Bond was shown into Number Two. It was an extremely comfortable, chintzy room in the American motel style with a bathroom leading off. The broad picture window was now curtained, but Bond knew that it must offer a tremendous view over the valley to the Suvretta group above St Moritz. Bond threw his briefcase69 on the double bed and gratefully disposed of his bowler hat and umbrella. The extra man appeared with his suitcase, placed it on the luggage stand without looking at Bond, and withdrew, closing the door behind him. The woman stayed where she was. 'This is to your satisfaction?' The yellow eyes were indifferent to his enthusiastic reply. She had more to say. 'That is good. Now perhaps I should explain some things, convey to you some laws of the club, isn't it?'
Bond lit a cigarette. 'That would certainly be helpful.' He put a politely interested expression on his face. 'Where are we, for instance?'
'In the Alps. In the high Alps,' said the woman vaguely70. 'This Alp, Piz Gloria, is the property of the Count. Together with the Gemeinde, the local authorities, he constructed the Seilbahn. You have seen the cables, yes? This is the first year it is opened. It is very popular and brings in much money. There are some fine ski runs. The Gloria Abfahrt is already famous. There is also a bob-sleigh run that is much greater than the Cresta at St Moritz. You have heard of that? You ski perhaps? Or make the bob-sleigh?'
The yellow eyes were watchful71. Bond thought he would continue to answer no to all questions. Instinct told him to. He said apologetically. 'I'm afraid not. Never got around to it, you know. Too much bound up with my books, perhaps.' He smiled ruefully, self-critically.
'Schade! That is a pity.' But the eyes registered satisfaction. 'These installations bring good income for the Count. That is important. It helps to support his life's work, the Institut.'
Bond raised his eyebrows72 a polite fraction.
'The Institut fьr physiologische Forschung. It is for scientific research. The Count is a leader in the field of allergies73 - you understand? This is like the hay fever, the unableness to eat shellfish, yes?'
'Oh really? Can't say I suffer from any myself.'
'No? The laboratories are in a separate building. There the Count also lives. In this building, where we are, live the patients. He asks that you will not disturb them with too many questions. These treatments are very delicate. You understand?'
'Yes, of course. And when may I see the Count? I'm afraid I am a very busy man, Fraulein Bunt. There are matters awaiting my attention in London.' Bond spoke74 impressively. 'The new African States. Much work has to be done on their flags, the design of their currency, their stamps, their medals. We are very short-handed at the College. I hope the Count understands that his personal problem, interesting and important though it is, must take second place to the problems of Government.'
Bond had got through. Now she was all eagerness, reassurance75. 'But of course, my dear Sair Hilary. The Count asks to be excused tonight, but he would much like to receive you at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. That is suitable?'
'Certainly, certainly. That will give me time to marshal my documents, my books. Perhaps" - Bond waved to the small writing desk near the window - 'I could have an extra table to lay these things out. I'm afraid' - Bond smiled deprecatingly - 'we bookworms need a lot of space.'
'Of course, Sair Hilary. It will be done at once.' She moved to the door and pressed a bell-button. She gestured downwards76, now definitely embarrassed. 'You will have noticed that there is no door handle on this side?' (Bond had done so. He said he hadn't.) 'You will ring when you wish to leave the room. Yes? It is on account of the patients. It is necessary that they have quiet. It is difficult to prevent them visiting each other for the sake of gossiping. It is for their good. You understand? Bed-time is at ten o'clock. But there is a night staff in case you should need any service. And the doors are of course not locked. You may re-enter your room at any time. Yes? We meet for cocktails77 in the bar at six. It is - how do you say? - the rest-pause of the day.' The box-like smile made its brief appearance. 'My girls are much looking forward to meeting you.'
The door opened. It was one of the men dressed as guides, a swarthy, bull-necked man with brown Mediterranean78 eyes. One of Marc-Ange's Corsican defectors? In rapid, bad French, the woman said that another table was desired. This was to be furnished during dinner. The man said 'Entendu.' She held the door before he could close it and he went off down the passage to the right. Guards' quarters at the end of the passage? Bond's mind went on clicking up the clues.
'Then that is all for the present, Sair Hilary? The post leaves at midday. We have radio telephone communications if you wish to use them. May I convey any message to the Count?'
'Please say that I look forward greatly to meeting him tomorrow. Until six o'clock then.' Bond suddenly wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He gestured towards his suitcase. ' I must get myself unpacked80.'
'Of course, of course, Sair Hilary. Forgive me for detaining you.' And, on this gracious note, Irma Bunt closed the door, with its decisive click, behind her.
Bond stood still in the middle of the room. He let out his breath with a quiet hiss. What the hell of a kettle of fish! He would have liked to kick one of the dainty bits of furniture very hard indeed. But he had noticed that, of the four electric light prisms in the ceiling, one was a blank, protruding81 eye ball. Closed-circuit television? If so, what would be its range? Not much more than a wide circle covering the centre of the room. Microphones? Probably the whole expanse of ceiling was one. That was the war-time gimmick82. He must, he simply must assume that he was under constant supervision83.
James Bond, his thoughts racing84, proceeded to unpack79, take a shower, and make himself presentable for 'my girls'.
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收听单词发音
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1
bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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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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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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stewardess
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| n.空中小姐，女乘务员 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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29
trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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aluminium
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| n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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42
veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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43
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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45
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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46
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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47
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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48
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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49
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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50
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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51
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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52
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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53
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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54
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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55
dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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63
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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allergies
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| n.[医]过敏症；[口]厌恶，反感；（对食物、花粉、虫咬等的）过敏症( allergy的名词复数 )；变态反应，变应性 | |
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74
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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81
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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82
gimmick
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| n.(为引人注意而搞的)小革新，小发明 | |
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83
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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84
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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