GOLDFINGER – JAMES BOND 007 by Ian Fleming

The teeth stopped reaching for his fingers. The body relaxed and lay soft under his. After a time, the head nodded once.

Bond slid off her. He lay beside her, still holding her hands prisoned behind her back. He whispered, ‘Get your breath. But tell me, were you after Goldfinger?’

The pale face glanced sideways and away. The girl whispered fiercely into the ground, ‘I was going to kill him.’

Some girl Goldfinger had put in the family way. Bond let go her hands. She brought them up and rested her head on them. Her whole body shuddered with exhaustion and released nerves. The shoulders began to shake softly. Bond reached out a hand and smoothed her hair, quietly, rhythmically. His eyes carefully went over the peaceful, unchanged scene below. Unchanged? There was something. The radar thing on the cowl of the chimney. It wasn’t going round any more. It had stopped with its oblong mouth pointing in their direction. The fact had no significance for Bond. Now the girl wasn’t crying any more. Bond nuzzled his mouth close to her ear. Her hair smelled of jasmine. He whispered, TJon’t worry. I’m after him too. And I’m going to damage him far worse than you could have done. I’ve been sent after him by London. They want him. What did he do to you?’

She whispered, almost to herself, ‘He killed my sister. You knew her – Jill Masterton.’

.Bond said fiercely, ‘What happened?’

‘He has a woman once a month. Jill told me this when she first took the job. He hypnotizes them. Then he – he paints them gold.’

‘Christ! Why?’

‘I don’t know. Jill told me he’s mad about gold. I suppose he sort of thinks he’s – that he’s sort of possessing gold. You know – marrying it. He gets some Korean servant to paint them. The man has to leave their backbones unpainted. Jill couldn’t explain that. I found out it’s so they wouldn’t die. If their bodies were completely covered with gold paint, the pores of the skin wouldn’t be able to breathe. Then they’d die. Afterwards, they’re washed down by the Korean with resin or something. Goldfinger gives them a thousand dollars and sends them away.

Bond saw the dreadful Oddjob with his pot of gold paint, Goldfinger’s eyes gloating over the glistening statue, the fierce possession. ‘What happened to Jill?’

‘She cabled me to come. She was in an emergency ward in a hospital in Miami. Goldfinger had thrown her out. She was dying. The doctors didn’t know what was the matter. She told me what had happened to her – what he had done to her. She died the same night.’ The girl’s voice was dry – matter of fact. ‘When I got back to England I went to Train, the skin specialist. He told me this business about the pores of the skin. It had happened to some cabaret girl who had to pose as a silver statue. He showed me details of the case and the autopsy. Then I knew what had happened to Jill. Gold-finger had had her painted all over. He had murdered her. It must have been out of revenge for – for going with you.’ There was a pause. The girl said dully, ‘She told me about you. She – she liked you. She told me if ever I met you I was to give you this ring.’

Bond closed his eyes tight, fighting with a wave of mental nausea. More death! More blood on his hands. This time, as the result of a careless gesture, a piece of bravado that had led to twenty-four hours of ecstasy with a beautiful girl who had taken his fancy and, in the end, rather more than his fancy. And this petty sideswipe at Goldfinger’s ego had been returned by Goldfinger a thousand, a millionfold. ‘She left my employ’ – the flat words in the sunshine at Sandwich two days before. How Goldfinger must have enjoyed saying that! Bond’s fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. By God, he’d pin this murder on Goldfinger if it was the last act of his life. As for himself…? Bond knew the answer. This death he would not be able to excuse as being part of his job. This death he would have to live with.

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