“Thank you, Ralph,” Bond said. He wasn’t as annoyed with them for not showing up as he was with the fact that they had received orders and had probably left the country. Even after two weeks Bond was restless. He was ready to do anything to get out of London and away from Helena for awhile.
After Pickering left the room. Bond looked at Tanner and asked, “What do you want to do now? Play by ourselves?”
“Why not play with us?” Marquis asked. “I’m sure we could make it interesting. Dr. Harding and I against the two of you? Straight Stableford-level handicaps?”
Bond looked at Tanner. Tanner nodded in approval.
“I assume you’re talking money?” Bond asked.
“You’d better believe it. How about two hundred and fifty pounds per man for every point by which the winners beat the losers?” Marquis suggested with a sly grin.
Tanner’s eyes widened. That could be a lot of money. He didn’t like gambling.
Nevertheless, the glove had been thrown. Bond took challenges very seriously and couldn’t resist accepting it.
“All right, Roland,” Bond said. “Let’s meet at the starter’s shed in, say, half an hour?”
“Splendid!” Marquis said, grinning widely. His straight white teeth sparkled. “We’ll see you on the course, then! Come along. Dr. Harding.” Harding smiled sheepishly, downed the rest of his drink, and got up with Marquis.
After they had left the bar, Tanner said, “My God, James, are you mad? Two hundred and fifty pounds a point?”
“I had to accept, Bill,” Bond said. “Roland and I go way back.”
“I knew that. You were at Eton together, right?”
“Yes, for the two years I was there we were bitter rivals. We often competed in the same athletic arenas. Whereas I left Eton and went to Fettes, Marquis went through Eton and Cranwell. As you know, he distinguished himself in the RAF and was rapidly promoted to his present rank.”
“Didn’t I read somewhere that he’s a mountaineer?”
“That’s right,” Bond said. “He’s actually quite famous in the world of mountain climbing. He made international headlines a few years ago after climbing the ‘Seven Summits’ in record time.”
“ ‘Seven Summits’?”
“The highest peaks on each of the seven continents.”
“Ah, right. So he’s been up Everest, then?”
“More than once, I believe,” Bond said. “I’ve run into him from time to time over the years. We still regard each other as rivals. I don’t know why It’s extraordinary, really.”
Tanner frowned and shook his head. “We’re not going to have a boxing match out on the course, are we?”
“I’m afraid that whenever I’m thrust into a situation with Roland Marquis, it ends up that way. Cheers.” Bond finished his bourbon and asked the bartender to put the drinks on his tab.
They went downstairs to the changing room. Bond put on a Mulberry golf shirt, gray sweater, and pleated navy slacks—his preferred attire for the golf course. He hung his Sea Island short-sleeve cotton shirt and khaki trousers inside a polished wooden locker and shut the door. Even the changing room was opulent, with paintings of Sir Edward Coke and Elizabeth I on the walls. Coke, one of the estate’s more famous tenants, was the man who sentenced Guy Fawkes to death and often entertained the queen when she stayed at the manor house in 1601. Bond never took the splendor of Stoke Poges for granted.
“Do we want caddies?” Tanner asked.
Bond shook his head. “I don’t. Do you?”
“I can use the exercise.”
They walked through the corridors and an outdoor tunnel that smelled faintly of fertilizer. This led to the Pro Shop. Bond paused there long enough to purchase another set of Titleist balls with the number 3 imprinted on them, then followed Tanner outside to the beautiful course. Large, gnarled cedar redwood trees adorned the edges of the fairways. The freshly cut green grass was once prime grazing for deer, so the turf was very fine. It could hardly have been better for golf.
“They’ve really changed things in the past year,” Tanner observed. “The fifteenth hole used to cross the main road here, didn’t it?”
Nolan Edwards, who was standing nearby, answered, “That’s right, sir. We actually had a couple of broken windscreens in the parking lot. We redesigned a few holes. It keeps the players on their toes.”
Roland Marquis and Steven Harding were on the putting green.
Bond and Tanner retrieved their clubs and put them on trolleys. Bond had recently purchased the Callaways, which he felt were the most advanced golf clubs on the market. The set included BBX-12 regular flex graphite irons, which he had chosen because he could swing through the shot more easily with the regular flex than with the stiff-shafted clubs.
They all met at the first tee, and the game began at precisely 10:45 A.M. The sun was shining brightly behind them, although several dark clouds were moving around the sky. It was breezy and cool, which invigorated Bond. He took a moment to take in his surroundings, for he believed that in golf his human opponents were not his only adversaries. The course itself was the real enemy, and the only way to conquer it was to treat it with respect.
“Bond, I hope you brought your checkbook,” Marquis said, sauntering up to the tee. Harding trailed behind him, struggling with his own trolley.
“I’m ready if you are, Roland,” Bond said. He looked over at Tanner, who held two golf balls in his hand. Bond picked his Titleist 3, leaving Tanner with a Slazenger. Marquis and Harding were also using Titleist balls, with the numbers 5 and 1, respectively, marked on them.
After winning the toss, Bond was the first to tee off. He was currently delighted with the results he was getting off the tee with the Callaway firm-shafted War Bird driver. He found that a firm-shafted driver allowed him the maximum distance and, unlike many good players using firm-shafted equipment, Bond avoided hooking his drives with it.
The first hole was a gentle opening to a test of skill laid out by an acknowledged master of golf course design. It was a par 5 with a long fairway of 502 yards. Tricky cross bunkers lay 100 yards short of the green. Bond placed his ball on the tee, took his stance, concentrated, swung, and achieved an even follow-through. The ball sailed a good 225 yards to an impressive position just past the first tree on the right side of the fairway.
“Nice one, James,” Tanner said.
Marquis was next. His drive didn’t send the ball as far as Bond’s, but it landed square in the center of the fairway. It gave him a slight advantage in that all he had to do from then on was hit the next shot to an easy lie around 100 yards out.
Tanner’s drive was terrible. The ball overshot the fairway and flew into the trees on the right.
“Oh, damn,” he muttered.
“Bad luck, Bill,” Marquis said, obviously enjoying himself.
Harding was not much better. At least he hit the ball on the fairway, not much farther than 150 yards from the tee.
As Bond and Tanner walked together toward their balls. Tanner said, “I think the prospect of losing hundreds of pounds has got me a little edgy, James.”
“Don’t worry about it, Bill,” Bond said. “The man’s an insufferable boor. I shouldn’t have accepted his wager, but it’s done. If we lose, I’ll take care of it.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Just play your best, and we’ll see what happens.”
The par for the course was 72. Using the Stableford system, players received one point for a bogey, or one over par; two points for par; three points for a birdie, or one under par; four points for an eagle, or two under par; and five points for the rare albatross, which was three under par.
Bond put the ball on the green on his third stroke. If he could sink the putt in one more, then he’d have a birdie. Unfortunately, Marquis did the same and managed to put his ball three yards from the flag. Tanner’s bad luck continued: On his third stroke he landed in one of the bunkers. Harding made it on to the green in four.
“Oh, bad luck, Bond,” Marquis said.
At the end of the first hole Marquis had three points. Bond two. Harding two and Tanner one. At the end of the game Bond and Tanner would combine their scores, as would Marquis and Harding. The team with the most points would, of course, win.
After the disastrous first hole, Tanner calmed down and began to play evenly. He made par on the next hole, as did the other three.
The third hole was a par 3 that Bond made in two. The other players all made par. As the four men walked over to the fourth tee, Marquis said, “Bond, do you remember the fight we had?”
Bond had never forgotten it. It had been at Eton after a grueling wrestling match in the gymnasium. The instructor, a friend of Marquis’s parents, had pitied Bond against Marquis because it was well known that the two boys couldn’t stand each other. Bond was obviously the better wrestler, but Marquis had surprised Bond with an illegal blow to the jaw. The instructor turned a blind eye, ultimately declaring Marquis the winner. After that a fistfight broke out.
“That was a long time ago,” Bond said.
“Still smarting from that, eh?” Marquis taunted. “Just be thankful the headmaster came in to save your arse.”
“I seem to remember that it was you he rescued,” Bond replied.
“Isn’t it funny how two grown men remember the same event differently?” Marquis slapped Bond on the back and gave a hearty laugh.
By the time they had played through five holes, the score was twenty-one to nineteen in favor of Marquis and Harding.
The sixth hole was a straight 412-yard par 4 with bunkers right and left at 195 and 225 yards from the tee. The green was uphill, small, and difficult to putt on because of its varied slopes.
Bond drove the ball 200 yards off the tee. Tanner followed suit, putting both balls in position for a straight shot over the bunkers and onto the green. When Bond made his second shot, he put the ball just in front of a center bunker about 100 yards from the green. It would be a perfect opportunity to try to back up the ball. He could hit it over the bunker, onto the green behind the pin, and hopefully put enough of a backspin on the ball to make it roll near the hole. He had to try it; otherwise making par would be extremely difficult.
When Bond’s turn came, he removed the Lyconite 56-degree wedge from the bag and took a couple of practice swings.
“Come on, Bond,” Marquis said patronizingly. “All you have to do is hit it over the bunker.”
“Shhh, Roland,” said Tanner. Marquis just grinned. He was getting cocky. Even Harding grimaced.
Bond swung and chopped the ball up and over the bunker. It fell just behind the pin but failed to roll toward the hole. Instead, it bounced forward off the green and into the rough.
“Oh, bad luck!” Marquis said with glee. Bond eventually took a bogey on the hole, while the others made par. Marquis and Harding maintained their lead.
While walking up the seventh fairway together, Tanner said to Bond, “Nice try.”
“Bollocks,” Bond said. “You know, I think it’s taken me all these years to realize how intensely I dislike that man.”
“Try not to let it affect your game, James,” Tanner advised. “I agree with you, he’s as obnoxious as hell.”
“I can’t hate him too much, though.”
“Why not?”
Bond thought a moment before answering. “He’s made of the same stuff as me,” he said. “Roland Marquis, his personality faults notwithstanding, is good at what he does. You have to admit that he’s a bloody fine player, and he’s one hell of an athlete. His accomplishments in the RAF and in the mountains are impressive. He could just use some lessons in humility.”
“I understand he’s quite a ladies’ man as well,” Tanner mused.
“That’s right. England’s most eligible bachelor.”
“Besides you.”
Bond disregarded the quip. “He flaunts his dates with supermodels, actresses, very wealthy widows, and divorcees. He’s the sort of celebrity that bores me to tears.”
“I’ll bet you were rivals over a girl when you were younger,” Tanner said perceptively.
“As a matter of fact, we were,” Bond admitted. “He stole her right from under my nose. He engineered the entire seduction to get the better of me.”
“What was her name?” Tanner said, smiling.
Bond looked at him and said with a straight face, “Felicity Mountjoy.”
The chief of staff pursed his lips and nodded, as if that explained everything.
Bond got lucky on the ninth hole and made a birdie, while the other three all made par. Bond was one under par on the front nine and Tanner was two over. Marquis, however, was two under par and his partner was two over. The Stableford score was Marquis and Harding thirty-six, Bond and Tanner thirty-five.
They sat outside in back of the clubhouse to have a drink before playing the back nine. Bond ordered vodka, on the rocks, and set his gun-metal cigarette case on the table beside the glass. Tanner had a Guinness. The sound of bagpipes and drums was coming faintly over the trees from outside the chapel on the estate grounds.
“The Gurkhas are here,” Tanner observed.
The Pipes and Drums marching band of the Royal Gurkha Rifles often played at Stoke Poges, for the Gurkha Memorial Garden was located near the course. Elite fighting men recruited from Nepal to serve with the British army since 1815, Gurkhas are considered to be among the fiercest and bravest soldiers on the planet.
“We’re not far from Church Crookham.” Bond said, referring to the regiment’s home base.
Marquis and Harding joined them, each earning a pint.
“Vodka, Bond?” Marquis pointed. “That’s right, I remember now. You’re a vodka man. You like martinis.” He pronounced the word with exaggerated erudition. “Vodka will dull your sense’s, my boy.”
“Not at all,” Bond said. “I find it sharpens them.” He opened the gunmetal case and removed one of the specially made cigarettes with the three distinctive gold bands.
“What kind of cigarettes are those?” Marquis asked.
“I have them custom made,” Bond explained. Morland’s and H. Simmons had gone out of business, so he now ordered his cigarettes directly from a company called Tor Importers, which specialized in Turkish and Balkan tobacco. His was a blend with low tar that he liked.
Marquis chuckled, “Well, let’s try one then!”
Bond offered the case to him, and then the other men. Harding took one, but Tanner refused.
Marquis lit the cigarette and inhaled. He rolled the smoke around inside his mouth as if he were tasting wine. He exhaled and said, “Can’t say I care for it much, Bond.”
“It’s probably too strong for your taste,” Bond replied.
Marquis smiled and shook his head. “You always have a comeback, don’t you, Bond?”
Bond ignored him and finished his drink, then put out the cigarette. He glanced up at the sky and said, “Those clouds don’t look friendly. We had better get started.”
The sun had completely vanished. Thunder rumbled lightly in the distance.
As Bond predicted, it started to rain on the thirteenth hole, but it wasn’t heavy, and they continued to play. Apart from Marquis’s birdie on the eleventh, everyone had made par on the first three holes of the back nine. With Marquis and Harding still in the lead, the game had become a contest of machismo between Bond and Marquis. The tension between them was palpable; it even made Tanner and Harding uncomfortable. The rain didn’t help matters. Everyone but Marquis was in a foul mood when they approached the fourteenth tee.
The score remained constant after the fourteenth and fifteenth holes. Bond had to do something to better thei
rs. Hole sixteen had recently been redesigned. It was a par 4 at 320 yards. The old green had been tree-lined on both sides and protected by a bunker in front and a greenside bunker to the left. Now the green was farther back, closer to the small pond, so that an overshot would be a disaster. It was another opportunity for Bond to try his backspin. His tee-off sent the ball 210 yards straight down the fairway, where it landed in an excellent position. Marquis performed an equally impressive shot, dropping a mere six feet away from Bond’s ball. Tanner and Harding did well enough, both driving their balls 175 yards onto the fairway. Bond approached the ball with the Lyconite wedge once again. If he could make this shot, he would narrow the gap between the scores.
The rain had subsided, so now the grass was wet and heavy. It made the task even more difficult.
“That little backspin might work for you this time, Bond,” Marquis said. He perceived that Bond was about to try it again and simply wanted to rattle his nerves.
Bond paid no attention and concentrated on the ball. He shook his shoulders, rotated his head, and felt his neck crack, then took his stance over the ball. He was ready.
Tanner watched, biting his lower lip. Harding, who hadn’t said more than twenty-five words all day, nervously chewed on a scoring pencil. Marquis stood with casual indifference, expecting Bond to muck it up.
Bond swung, snapped the ball into the air, and watched as it fell neatly on the back of the green. Would it roll off, away from the hole and into the pond? He held his breath.
The ball, propelled by a perfect backspin, rolled toward the hole and stopped an inch from the pin. If it weren’t for the moisture on the green, the ball would have dropped in the cup.
Tanner and Harding both cheered. Marquis didn’t say a word. His feathers ruffled, he knocked his ball straight into the bunker on the side of the green.
As they approached the eighteenth tee, the score was 70 to 69 in favor of Marquis and Harding. It was a par 4 at 406 yards. With a magnificent view of the mansion, the hole was uphill with bunkers on the right at 184 yards and out of bounds on the left from the tee. What made the hole extra difficult was the second shot, which had to go over a hollow just short of the green. The green was slightly ele-vated and bunkered on both sides, and it sloped from left to right.
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