An Ace up my Sleeve Page 10

  The garage doors, controlled by an electronic beam swung up and she drove in, parking beside Hinkle’s 1500 Volkswagen. Collecting the mail, her briefcase and the paper bag, she walked along the underground passage to the villa. She remembered she had left the door from the cellar to the villa unlocked and she frowned at her carelessness. Shrugging, she opened the door, shut and locked it, then walked up the stairs and into the big entrance hall. She put the mail on the table and took off her coat and hat which she left in a recess. She carried her purchases to the kitchen, then she looked at her watch. The time was now n. 15. Time for a drink, she told herself, then she must get down to work. It would take her an hour or more to check through all the stock lists… but first a drink.

  She walked briskly into the big living-room and then came to an abrupt standstill, her heart missing a beat.

  Standing awkwardly by the big picture window, his peak cap in his hand, was Larry.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a long moment, she stood staring at this big, blond boy aware only of the faint sound of the central heating motor below and the violent beating of her heart.

  During that moment, her mind was paralysed by shock, then her resilience absorbed the shock and fury gripped her, sending blood to her face, making the veins in her neck throb and giving her face an expression of vicious rage.

  “How dare you come back!” she screamed at him. “Get out! Do you hear me! Get out!”

  He flinched, then rubbed the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Excuse me, ma’am… I had to see you.”

  She strode to the door and threw it open.

  “Get out or I’ll call the police!”

  The moment she had said it, she knew she had lost control of herself. Police? The last thing she would want was a curious Swiss policeman here. She forced down her rage and her mind began to function. What was he doing here… more blackmail! He wouldn’t dare! He was an Army deserter… and yet Archer was a thief and a forger and he hadn’t hesitated to blackmail her. Could this lout of a boy realize what she stood to lose if he gave her away?

  But she was determined to intimidate him.

  “Get out!” she screamed at him.

  “Ma’am… please… won’t you listen to me? I want to say I’m sorry.” He twisted his cap, his face in despair. “Honestly, ma’am… I want you to believe me… I’m sorry.”

  She drew in a deep breath, controlling her fury.

  “Rather late, isn’t it?” she said bitterly. “Sorry? After what you have done? After the way I treated you? You have the impudence to come here and tell me you’re sorry. Oh, go away! The sight of you sickens me!”

  “Yeah… I guess you have reason.” He shuffled his feet. “Ma’am, I want to help you. When I told Ron, he said I was a dirty sonofabitch. He said if I didn’t do something about this, he’d never speak to me again.”

  Helga stiffened.

  “You told Ron?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I told him last night on the phone. You see, ma’am, I owe him money. This fat guy gave me fifteen hundred dollars. I guess I was a little excited. I haven’t had so much money in one lump before. I told Ron I was buying a second-hand car and then he wanted to know how I got the money… so I told him.”

  How many more were going to know what a reckless, mad fool she had been? she thought. This boy, that awful little queer, Archer and now this man, Ron.

  She went over to the bar, poured a large slug of vodka into a glass and without bothering to add ice, she gulped it down. The neat spirit made her eyes water, but it knitted her together so she ceased to tremble. She sat down, opened her bag and took out her cigarettes. She lit one, then she pointed to a chair away from her.

  “Sit down!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Awkwardly and sheepishly, he sat on the edge of the chair and looked down at his hands.

  “Ron was real wild with me, ma’am,” he said. “He said a blackmailer is the dirtiest thing on earth. He said I was a stinking creep to have done such a thing. I - I told him I wasn’t a blackmailer. I was paid to do a job and I did it. I wouldn’t blackmail anyone.” He looked up, staring miserably at her. “He said what I had done was blackmail and he’d never speak to me again unless I came to you and explained.”

  “Did you tell him who I was?” Helga asked.

  He nodded.

  “I guess I did. I told him everything: how you got my passport for me and about this fat guy. He said I had to help you… so I’m here, ma’am. I’ve been waiting for hours here hoping you would come. I’m going to help you, ma’am.”

  Helga made an impatient movement, sending her cigarette ash on the carpet.

  “Help me? You? What do you think you can do? It’s now much too late for anyone to help me! Now, get out! The sight of you sickens me!”

  “He’s got photos of us, hasn’t he?”

  “You know he has and he’s now blackmailing me!”

  “I’ll get them from him, ma’am, and I’ll give them to you!”

  “You’re talking like the fool you are! They are now out of reach. He’s mailed them to his bank!”

  There was a pause, then Larry said quietly, “Is he out of reach, ma’am?”

  There was this deadly note in his voice she had heard before when he had said to Friedlander: What would it cost you if you got your hands crushed in a door?

  She regarded him, her body suddenly tense.

  “What do you mean?”

  He put his cap down on the floor beside him and took out a pack of chewing gum. As he stripped off the wrapper, he said, “If I could get hold of him, ma’am, I could persuade him to get the photos from the bank and then you could have them.”

  She pressed her hands to her face.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. These photos are far too important for him to be persuaded to part with them. Just go away and leave this to me… you’re talking nonsense.”

  He fed a strip of gum in his mouth and began to chew.

  “Ma’am… do you want me to help you?” There was an edge to his voice: a male edge which told her he was getting bored with her hysterics.

  “How can you help me?” She was shrewd enough to soften her voice. “Nothing would persuade him to part with those photographs.”

  He regarded her, his Slav features without expression.

  “I don’t know about nothing, ma’am… but I could.”

  Again there was this note in his voice and she looked closely at him and she felt as if an icy draught had brushed over her, leaving her cold.

  “But how?”

  “With these.” And he held up his huge hands. “He’s soft and fat… there would be no trouble.”

  Her eyes opened wide as a flicker of hope came to her. Her heart began to pound.

  “But the photos are in the bank by now.”

  He shrugged.

  “All he has to do is to write to the bank and tell them to send the photos here… they’d do that, wouldn’t they?”

  She got up, her legs unsteady, and went to the bar.

  “You’d better have a drink, Larry.”

  “Not for me, ma’am… unless you have a beer.”

  She took a beer out of the refrigerator, poured it, then gave herself another vodka, adding ice and martini. While she was preparing the drinks, she was thinking.

  Could this boy force Archer to sign a letter to the bank? She thought of Archer, massive, but soft and fat. She looked at Larry: built like a fighter and she could see his lumpy muscles straining against his jacket.

  She handed him the beer and sat down.

  “If the bank got a letter from him, they would act on his instructions,” she said, “but he wouldn’t sign.”

  “He’ll sign, ma’am. That’s no problem.”

  The way he spoke gave her hope and suddenly she felt as if a burdensome, crushing weight had been lifted off her.

  “You mink you can make him sign?

  He nodded.
r />   “Yes, ma’am.”

  She sipped her drink, put down the glass and lit another cigarette.

  “Let me mink about this, Larry.”

  After a long pause, she asked, “How long will it take you to make him sign?”

  Larry considered this question as he chewed, then he shrugged.

  “That’s hard to say, ma’am. It depends on how stubborn he is. If he was younger, it wouldn’t take long: a couple of hours, but he’s getting old and he’s fat and soft. I’d have to handle him carefully.” He looked up, his eyes remote. “I’d say twenty-four hours: that’s the outside limit. He’ll sign before then I reckon, but let’s say twenty-four hours to be on the safe side.”

  She shuddered. There was something so clinical and cold about this boy now that he was beginning to frighten her, and yet, here was the solution: a solution she couldn’t afford not to accept. She had to have those photographs. She had an instinctive feeling that Archer would again dip into the account once he was sure he had her where he wanted her and she would have to lie again and again to Herman.

  I can’t wait that long, Larry. My husband is arriving here the day after tomorrow. The bank will take at least a day to return the photographs. Archer will have to stay here until they arrive. We’ve left it too late.”

  “Archer… is that his name, ma’am?”

  “Yes. We’ve left it too late.”

  “A problem is a challenge… that’s what Ron always says. Can’t you mink of some way around this one?”

  She was in the mood to face a challenge. Her mind worked swiftly and she came up with a possible solution. She looked at her watch. Her husband would be in his New York apartment clearing up final business before flying to Geneva the day after tomorrow. She got up and crossed to the telephone and dialled his New York number. There was a long pause, then she heard the ringing tone.

  “This is Mr. Rolfe’s residence.”

  She recognized Hinkle’s fruity voice.

  “Oh, Hinkle, this is Mrs. Rolfe. Is my husband available?”

  “No, madame. He is in conference. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes… the wretched central heating system has broken down at the villa. I’m calling from the Eden hotel. There is a spare part broken and the engineer tells me the heating won’t be working for at least four days. I think Mr. Rolfe should cancel his flight. He can’t possibly stay in the villa… it’s like an ice box, and you know how he detests staying at an hotel.”

  “Yes, indeed, madame. You say four days? Mr. Rolfe will be disappointed.” 105

  “As soon as the heating is working, I will telephone.” She hesitated, then went on, “If he decides to come in spite of this will you send me a telex at the Eden?”

  “I assure you, madame, he will postpone the flight,” Hinkle said, and she drew in a quick breath of relief. She remembered Hinkle detested staying at an hotel even more than Herman did and from the tone of his voice, she was sure he would persuade Herman not to come.

  “How is Mr. Rolfe?”

  “Very fair, madame.”

  This was Hinkle’s stock answer which could mean anything.

  “Then I won’t expect him?

  “No, madame.”

  “All right, Hinkle… I’ll be telephoning as soon as I have news. She hung up.

  “That was smart, ma’am,” Larry said. “You see… a problem is a challenge… Ron’s right.”

  She wasn’t listening. She was thinking now of Archer. Here was another problem: suppose he wouldn’t come to the villa? Suppose he became suspicious that she might be up to something? He held the whip hand. He could refuse to come and insist that she should come to the hotel.

  As if following her thoughts, Larry said, “How about Archer? Can you get him up here?”

  “I’m not sure… let me think.”

  She walked to the window and looked down at the lake, her mind busy. The whole plan would be defeated if Archer refused to come and he might well refuse. She would refuse if she were in his place. Why should he come? He had said she was dangerous. She felt suddenly sure that he wouldn’t come, but he would insist she brought the stock list to the hotel… unless she could trick him into coming.

  She moved away from the window, picked up a cigarette and lit it. She was aware that Larry was watching her. She looked at her wristwatch. The time was 12.05. There was a chance Archer would have returned to the hotel for a pre-lunch cocktail. He was expecting her to call at 15.00. She decided the only way to trap him was to bustle him into coming so he would have no time for caution nor to suspect this could be a trap.

  A fidgeting movement from Larry broke her concentration. She looked impatiently at him.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I could do with something to eat. Is there anything to eat?”

  She pressed her hand to her forehead.

  “For God’s sake, don’t bother me… I’m trying to think. Go to the kitchen and help yourself!”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  As he left the room she sat down and picked up her drink. She sat still, her mind concentrating on the problem. Finally, after ten minutes of thought, she came up with a possible solution. Considering this solution, she was now fairly satisfied that she could get Archer to come to the villa. But once he was there, would Larry be able to handle him? He seemed certain he could, but suppose Archer refused to sign the letter? He might have more steel in him than he appeared to have. If Larry failed, Archer would take his revenge. Then she remembered the deadly note in Larry’s voice and the remote, cold look in his eyes when he said: He’s soft and fat. That would be no problem.

  Sink or swim, Archer had said. Well, she too wasn’t the sinking type.

  “It’s all ready, ma’am,” Larry said coming to the door. “Come on… you gotta eat.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Oh, come on, ma’am. We could have a rough afternoon. Have you thought of something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine… let’s eat.”

  Shrugging she went with him into the kitchen. He had made a vast bowl of spaghetti, using the peeled tomatoes, the tomato puree and the onions she had bought.

  It looked so appetising that she suddenly felt hungry. Together, in silence, they demolished the pasta.

  “You’re quite a cook, Larry.”

  He gave her his warm, friendly smile. “Yeah… I’m not bad… my Ma taught me.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When are you getting him up here, ma’am?”

  She stood up, pushing the kitchen chair away from her.

  “If he’s coming… in about half an hour.”

  She went into the living-room for a cigarette. Larry followed her.

  “Any idea how he will come, ma’am?”

  “He has a hired car.”

  As Larry stripped the wrapping from a piece of gum, she lit her cigarette.

  “Do you think if I opened the garage door, he’d drive in?”

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, ma’am, it would be best if we did the talking in the games room downstairs.” He looked around the elegantly furnished room. “This is a nice room. It would be a shame to mess it up.”

  Again she felt as if an icy draught had blown around her.

  “You’re not going to… hurt him?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. I hope not.” He smiled. “But some of these elderly finks think they are younger than they are. I might have to smack him a couple of times. I don’t reckon I’ll have to, but if I did and he fell over, the best place for him to fall over would be in the games room, wouldn’t it?”

  Suddenly, she felt slightly sick.

  “He’s no fool, Larry. I couldn’t persuade him to go down to the games room. He would immediately suspect something.”

  Larry chewed and thought about this.

  “Yeah… well, that’s okay. I won’t smack him so hard then. If I have to soften him, I’ll take him down to the game
s room. So maybe we’d better not waste any more time, ma’am. Will you get him up here?”

  She hesitated for a few moments. Should she do this? Was she bringing further disaster on herself? Then she remembered Archer’s merciless eyes as he had said: Decision? You have no choice! I have you where I want you!

  She went to the telephone and dialled the number of the Eden hotel.

  “Is Mr. Archer in the hotel, please?”

  “A moment, madame.”

  She waited several moments.

  “Hello, yes? Who’s that?” Archer’s voice boomed over the line. She could tell by the pitch of his voice that he was on his third cocktail.

  “Jack! I have to see you! Something’s happened!” She put urgency in her voice.

  “Is that you, Helga?”

  “Yes… of course! Will you come to the villa at once?”

  “What do you mean? I’m about to have lunch.” All the charm had gone from his voice now. “We have an appointment at three and I’m expecting you here.”

  “I’m catching a train to Milan in two hours, Jack. I’m flying back to New York tonight.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” She caught an uncertain note in his voice.

  “Don’t ask questions, Jack. We’re on an open line. Hinkle has just telephoned. There is an emergency. It’s bad. I’m flying back tonight.”

  “Good God! Is it…?”

  “Jack!” Her scream cut him short. “Not on an open line. Hinkle says it is touch and go. Not a word, Jack! This could upset the market… it could plunge… will you come?”

  “You damn well bet I’m coming! Be with you in ten minutes,” and the line went dead.

  Slowly she replaced the receiver: a surge of triumph running through her. It had been an inspired thought and it had worked. She had conveyed to Archer that Herman was either dying or dead. She had mentioned the Stock Market. That would stop him trying to check if it was a lie or not. She knew even the slightest rumour that Herman was ill would send prices plunging. For Archer, this would be the time to sell before the news hit the headlines, men when the market had absorbed the shock, to buy back. He would also realize as he came storming up the St. Moritz highway that with Herman dead, he would lose his power over Helga. He would be in the mood to try to make a bargain.