Read Online Bond 03 - Moonraker by Ian Fleming - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ian Fleming
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answer is yes.’
He cut the cards to Drax with his left hand and with his right knocked the ash off his cheroot into the copper ashtray in the corner of the table. Bond heard the faint hiss as the burning ash hit the water.
Drax squinted sideways at M. He picked up the cards. ‘Of course, of course,’ he said hastily. ‘I didn’t mean … ’ He left the sentence unfinished and turned to Bond. ‘Right, then,’ he said, looking rather curiously at Bond. ‘Five and Five it is. Meyer,’ he turned to his partner, ‘how much would you like to take? There’s Six and Six to cut up.’
‘One and One’s enough for me, Hugger,’ said Meyer apologetically. ‘Unless you’d like me to take some more.’ He looked anxiously at his partner.
‘Of course not,’ said Drax. ‘I like a high game. Never get enough on, generally. Now then,’ he started to deal. ‘Off we go.’
And suddenly Bond didn’t care about the high stakes. Suddenly all he wanted to do was to give this hairy ape the lesson of his life, give him a shock which would make him remember this evening for ever, remember Bond, remember M., remember the last time he would cheat at Blades, remember the time of day, the weather outside, what he had had for dinner.
For all its importance, Bond had forgotten the Moonraker. This was a private affair between two men.
As he watched the casual downward glance at the cigarette-case between the two hands and felt the cool memory ticking up the card values as they passed over its surface, Bond cleared his mind of all regrets, absolved himself of all blame for what was about to happen, and focused his attention on the game. He settled himself more comfortably into his chair and rested his hands on the padded leather arms. Then he took the thin cheroot from between his teeth, laid it on the burnished copper surround of the ashtray beside him and reached for his coffee. It was very black and strong. He emptied the cup and picked up the balloon glass with its fat measure of pale brandy. As he sipped it and then drank again, more deeply, he looked over the rim at M. M. met his eye and smiled briefly.
‘Hope you like it,’ he said. ‘Comes from one of the Rothschild estates at Cognac. About a hundred years ago one of the family bequeathed us a barrel of it every year in perpetuity. During the war they hid a barrel for us every year and then sent us over the whole lot in 1945. Ever since then we’ve been drinking doubles. And,’ he gathered up his cards, ‘now we shall have to concentrate.’
Bond picked up his hand. It was average. A bare two-and-a-half quick tricks, the suits evenly distributed. He reached for his cheroot and gave it a final draw, then killed it in the ashtray.
‘Three clubs,’ said Drax.
No bid from Bond.
Four clubs from Meyer.
No bid from M.
Hm, thought Bond. He’s not quite got the cards for a game call this time. Shut-out call – knows that his partner has got a bare raise. M. may have got a perfectly good bid. We may have all the hearts between us, for instance. But M. never gets a bid. Presumably they’ll make four clubs.
They did, with the help of one finesse through Bond. M. turned out not to have had hearts, but a long string of diamonds, missing only the king, which was in Meyer’s hand and would have been caught. Drax didn’t have nearly enough length for a three call. Meyer had the rest of the clubs.
Anyway, thought Bond as he dealt the next hand, we were lucky to escape without a game call.
Their good luck continued. Bond opened a No Trump, was put up to three by M., and they made it with an over trick. On Meyer’s deal they went one down in five diamonds, but on the next hand M. opened four spades and Bond’s three small trumps and an outside king, queen were all M. needed for the contract.
First rubber to M. and Bond. Drax looked annoyed. He had lost £900 on the rubber and the cards seemed to be running against them.
‘Shall we go straight on?’ he asked.
He cut the cards to Drax with his left hand and with his right knocked the ash off his cheroot into the copper ashtray in the corner of the table. Bond heard the faint hiss as the burning ash hit the water.
Drax squinted sideways at M. He picked up the cards. ‘Of course, of course,’ he said hastily. ‘I didn’t mean … ’ He left the sentence unfinished and turned to Bond. ‘Right, then,’ he said, looking rather curiously at Bond. ‘Five and Five it is. Meyer,’ he turned to his partner, ‘how much would you like to take? There’s Six and Six to cut up.’
‘One and One’s enough for me, Hugger,’ said Meyer apologetically. ‘Unless you’d like me to take some more.’ He looked anxiously at his partner.
‘Of course not,’ said Drax. ‘I like a high game. Never get enough on, generally. Now then,’ he started to deal. ‘Off we go.’
And suddenly Bond didn’t care about the high stakes. Suddenly all he wanted to do was to give this hairy ape the lesson of his life, give him a shock which would make him remember this evening for ever, remember Bond, remember M., remember the last time he would cheat at Blades, remember the time of day, the weather outside, what he had had for dinner.
For all its importance, Bond had forgotten the Moonraker. This was a private affair between two men.
As he watched the casual downward glance at the cigarette-case between the two hands and felt the cool memory ticking up the card values as they passed over its surface, Bond cleared his mind of all regrets, absolved himself of all blame for what was about to happen, and focused his attention on the game. He settled himself more comfortably into his chair and rested his hands on the padded leather arms. Then he took the thin cheroot from between his teeth, laid it on the burnished copper surround of the ashtray beside him and reached for his coffee. It was very black and strong. He emptied the cup and picked up the balloon glass with its fat measure of pale brandy. As he sipped it and then drank again, more deeply, he looked over the rim at M. M. met his eye and smiled briefly.
‘Hope you like it,’ he said. ‘Comes from one of the Rothschild estates at Cognac. About a hundred years ago one of the family bequeathed us a barrel of it every year in perpetuity. During the war they hid a barrel for us every year and then sent us over the whole lot in 1945. Ever since then we’ve been drinking doubles. And,’ he gathered up his cards, ‘now we shall have to concentrate.’
Bond picked up his hand. It was average. A bare two-and-a-half quick tricks, the suits evenly distributed. He reached for his cheroot and gave it a final draw, then killed it in the ashtray.
‘Three clubs,’ said Drax.
No bid from Bond.
Four clubs from Meyer.
No bid from M.
Hm, thought Bond. He’s not quite got the cards for a game call this time. Shut-out call – knows that his partner has got a bare raise. M. may have got a perfectly good bid. We may have all the hearts between us, for instance. But M. never gets a bid. Presumably they’ll make four clubs.
They did, with the help of one finesse through Bond. M. turned out not to have had hearts, but a long string of diamonds, missing only the king, which was in Meyer’s hand and would have been caught. Drax didn’t have nearly enough length for a three call. Meyer had the rest of the clubs.
Anyway, thought Bond as he dealt the next hand, we were lucky to escape without a game call.
Their good luck continued. Bond opened a No Trump, was put up to three by M., and they made it with an over trick. On Meyer’s deal they went one down in five diamonds, but on the next hand M. opened four spades and Bond’s three small trumps and an outside king, queen were all M. needed for the contract.
First rubber to M. and Bond. Drax looked annoyed. He had lost £900 on the rubber and the cards seemed to be running against them.
‘Shall we go straight on?’ he asked.
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