Bond got up and took a handful of other magazines and threw them down beside his chair. The only thing for him to do was brazen it out and make a note for the future, if there was to be a future, that he had better wake his ideas up and not make any more mistakes. There wouldn’t be enough ginger cats in the world to help him out of one more tight spot like the one he was in.
There had been no noise of a car coming down the drive, not a sound from the door, but Bond felt the evening breeze on his neck and he knew that Goldfinger had come back into the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE ODD-JOB MAN
BOND THREW down The Field and stood up. The front door closed noisily. Bond turned. ‘Hullo.’ His face registered polite surprise. ‘Didn’t hear you arrive. How did it go?’
Goldfinger’s expression was equally bland. They might have been old friends, neighbours in the country who were accustomed to drop in on each other for a drink. ‘Oh, it sorted itself out. My chap had had a row in a pub with some American Air Force men who had called him a bloody Jap. I explained to the police that Koreans don’t like being called Japs. They let him off with a caution. Terribly sorry to have been so long. Hope you weren’t bored. Do have another drink.’
‘Thanks. But it’s hardly seemed five minutes since you left. Been reading what Darwin has to say about the fourteen club rule. Interesting point of view..’ Bond launched into a detailed review of the article, adding his own comments on the rule.
Goldfinger stood patiently until it was over. He said, ‘Yes, it’s a complicated business. Of course you play rather a different game from me, more workmanlike. With my kind of swing, I find I need all the clubs I’m allowed. Well, I’ll just go up and wash and then we’ll have dinner. Shan’t be a moment.’
Bond busied himself noisily with pouring another drink, sat down and picked up Country Life. He watched Gold finger climb the stairs and disappear down the corridor. He could visualize every step. He found he was reading the periodical upside down. He turned it round and stared blindly at a fine photograph of Blenheim Palace.
There was dead silence upstairs. Then a distant lavatory chain was pulled and a door clicked shut. Bond reached for his drink, took a deep swallow and put the glass down beside his chair. Goldfinger was coming down the stairs. Bond turned the pages of Country Life and flicked ash off his cigarette into the grate.
Now Goldfinger was crossing the floor towards him. Bond lowered his paper and looked up. Goldfinger was carrying the ginger cat tucked carelessly under one arm. He reached the fireplace, bent forward and pressed the bell.
He turned towards Bond. ‘Do you like cats?’ His gaze was flat, incurious.
‘Sufficiently.’
The service door opened. The chauffeur stood in the frame. He still wore his bowler hat and his shiny black gloves. He gazed impassively at Goldfinger. Goldfinger crooked a finger. The chauffeur approached and stood within the circle by the fire.
Goldfinger turned to Bond. He said conversationally, ‘This is my handy man.’ He smiled thinly. ‘That is something of a joke. Oddjob, show Mr Bond your hands.’ He smiled again at Bond. ‘I call him Oddjob because that describes his functions on my staff.’
The Korean slowly pulled off his gloves and came and stood at arm’s length from Bond and held out his hands palm upwards. Bond got up and looked at them. They were big and fat with muscle. The fingers all seemed to be the same length. They were very blunt at the tips and the tips glinted as if they were made of yellow bone.
‘Turn them over and show Mr Bond the sides.’
There were no fingernails. Instead there was this same, yellowish carapace. The man turned the hands sideways. Down each edge of the hands was a hard ridge of the same bony substance.
Bond raised his eyebrows at Goldfinger.
Goldfinger said, ‘We will have a demonstration.’ He pointed at the thick oak banisters that ran up the stairs. The rail was a massive six inches by four thick. The Korean obediently walked over to the stairs and climbed a few steps. He stood with his hands at his sides, gazing across at Gold-finger like a good retriever. Goldfinger gave a quick nod. Impassively the Korean lifted his right hand high and straight above his head and brought the side of it down like an axe across the heavy polished rail. There was a splintering crash and the rail sagged, broken through the centre. Again the hand went up and flashed down. This time it swept right through the rail leaving a jagged gap. Splinters clattered down on to the floor of the hall. The Korean straightened himself and stood to attention, waiting for further orders. There was no flush of effort in his face and no hint of pride in his achievement.