The girl said, ‘What’s that noise?’
‘Magneto whine. Gets worse when I hurry. Started at Orleans. Have to get it fixed tonight.’
She seemed satisfied with this mumbo-jumbo. She said diffidently, ‘Where are you heading for? I hope I haven’t taken you very far out of your way.’
Bond said in a friendly voice, ‘Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’m going to Geneva too. But I may not stop there tonight. May have to get on. Depends on my meeting. How long will you be there?’
‘I don’t know. I’m playing golf. There’s the Swiss Women’s Open Championship at Divonne. I’m not really that class, but I thought it would be good for me to try. Then I was going to play on some of the other courses.’
Fair enough. No reason why it shouldn’t be true. But Bond was certain it wasn’t the whole truth. He said, ‘Do you play a lot of golf? What’s your home course?’
‘Quite a lot. Temple.’
It had been an obvious question. Was the answer true, or just the first golf course she had thought of? ‘Do you live near there?’
‘I’ve got an aunt who lives at Henley. What are you doing in Switzerland. Holiday?’
‘Business. Import and Export.’
‘Oh.’
Bond smiled to himself. It was a stage conversation. The voices were polite stage voices. He could see the scene, beloved of the English theatre – the drawing-room, sunshine on hollyhocks outside french windows, the couple sitting on the sofa, on the edge of it, she pouring out the tea. ‘Do you take sugar?”
They came out into the foothills. There was a long straight stretch of road and in the distance the small group of buildings of the French Customs.
The girl gave him no chance to get a glimpse of her passport. As soon as the car stopped she said something about tidying up and disappeared into the ‘Dames’. Bond had gone through the Controle and was dealing with the triptyque when she reappeared, her passport stamped. At the Swiss Customs she chose the excuse of getting something out of her suitcase. Bond hadn’t got time to hang about and call her bluff.
Bond hurried on into Geneva and pulled up at the imposing entrance of the Bergues. The baggagiste took her suitcase and golf clubs. They stood together on the steps. She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye.’ There was no melting of the candid blue eyes. ‘And thank you. You drive beautifully.’ Her mouth smiled. ‘I’m surprised you got into the wrong gear at Macon.’
Bond shrugged. ‘It doesn’t often happen. I’m glad I did. If I can get my business finished, perhaps we could meet again.’
‘That would be nice.’ The tone of voice said it wouldn’t be. The girl turned and went in through the swingdoors.
Bond ran down to his car. To hell with her! Now to pick up Goldfinger. Then to the little office on the Quai Wilson. He tuned the Homer and waited a couple of minutes. Gold-finger was close, but moving away. He could either be following the right or the left bank of the lake. From the pitch of the Homer, he was at least a mile outside the town. Which way? To the left towards Lausanne? To the right towards Evian? The DB III was already on the left-hand road. Bond decided to follow its nose. He got moving.
Bond caught up with the high yellow silhouette just before
Coppet, the tiny lakeside hamlet made famous by Madame de Stael. He hid behind a lorry. At his next reconnaissance the Rolls had disappeared. Bond motored on, watching to the left. At the entrance to the village, big solid iron gates were closing in a high wall. Dust hung in the air. Above the wall was a modest placard. It said, in faded yellow on blue, ENTREPRISES AURIC A.G. The fox had gone to earth!
Bond went on until he found a turning to the left. He followed this until there was a lane which led back through the vineyards to the woods behind Coppet and to the chateau of Madame de Stael. Bond stopped among the trees. Now he should be directly above the Entreprises Auric. He took his binoculars, got out and followed a foot-path down towards the village. Soon, on his right, was a spiked iron railing. There was rolled barbed wire along its top. A hundred yards lower down the hill the railing merged into a high stone wall. Bond walked slowly back up the path looking for the secret entrance the children of Coppet would have made to get at the chestnut trees. He found it – two bars of the railing widened to allow a small body through. Bond stood on the lower railing with all his weight, widened the gap by another couple of inches and wormed his way through.