“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.
Marquis sunk his putt to get it out of Bond’s way. Bond took the Odyssey putter from the bag and stood over his ball. It was 25 feet to the pin, so he had to give the ball a good, firm tap. His stroke sent the ball across the green, where it spun around the lip of the cup and stopped a foot away from the hole.
“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.