1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve Page 12

  She lit a cigarette and looked at her watch. The time was now 15.50. She thought of the long hours ahead of her. She thought of Larry speeding towards Basle. She hoped he wouldn't have an accident. The road to the Bernadino tunnel was narrow, twisting and dangerous. She told herself firmly she mustn't worry about him. He was an expert driver and he knew the risks. Then she thought of Archer locked in the small cellar. At least there was a light and a radiator. He wouldn't freeze. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he guessed she would try to forge his signature? It had been his own suggestion. Was he in pain? She thought of the brutal kick Larry had given him and she flinched. Had he really a bad heart? So many fat men had bad hearts these days, but it could have been a clever bluff just to stop Larry hitting him again. Archer had always been quick thinking and an expert bluffer. It was probably bluff. She hoped it was.

  She looked around the big room rather helplessly, wondering how she could occupy herself for the next twelve hours. There was some intricate tapestry work she had brought with her, but she knew she couldn't settle to that. She switched on the television set. A long–haired youth, howling into a microphone, swam into view and she hurriedly turned the knob to catch the German station. A fat man was talking about future plans for education and impatiently, she tried the Italian station: only the test chart greeted her and she turned the set off.

  She wandered around the room. The light was fading and the sun, setting behind the mountain, made an impressive splash of red in the sky. It had stopped snowing. For something to do, she lowered the shutters and pulled the drapes. She then went into her bedroom and did the same thing there. She looked around the elegant room, then remembered that Larry would be hungry when he returned. She must get something out of the freezer for him. She went into the kitchen, opened the freezer and looked at the neatly packaged assortment of food it contained. She finally decided on a fillet of pork. That, with a packet of peas and a packet of chip potatoes should satisfy his hunger. She put the food on the kitchen table to defrost.

  Then as she was leaving the kitchen, she paused, her heart suddenly racing. A heavy pounding sound was coming from the cellars!

  For a moment she stood rooted, her heart hammering so violently she had trouble in breathing. Archer! God! If he breaks out! she thought.

  In panic, she ran to the head of the stairs leading to the cellar. The noise he was making now terrified her. He was kicking steadily against the door. He could break out!

  She paused, then steeling herself, clutching hold of the banister rail, she went down, stopping at the foot of the stairs to look along the passage. She remembered the cellar door opened outwards. From where she stood, she could see the door shaking under the steady, pounding thuds. She sped along the passage, past the quivering door and locked the steel door, leading to the garage. She took out the key. She stood staring at the cellar door and her panic increased as she saw there was a split in one of the panels. "Jack!" she screamed.

  The thudding ceased.

  "Let me out of here!" Archer's voice sounded breathless and vicious. "Do you hear? Let me out!" She forced down her panic.

  "Stop it! You're not getting out!" Her voice sounded to her unnaturally shrill. "If you wake Larry, he'll come down and I won't be responsible!" "Is he in your bed, you bitch?"

  "I warn you! If you go on making that noise, he'll come down!"

  Through the cracked panel she could hear his heavy breathing.

  "Let him! He daren't touch me and you know it! You wouldn't dare let him touch me!"

  "I would! I know you're lying about your heart! If you don't stop this, he'll come down!"

  "By God! I'll make you pay for this!"

  "Shut up! If you make any more noise, I'll wake Larry and send him down to you!"

  "Damn you to hell!"

  Shaking, she walked along the passage and up the stairs. She locked the door leading to the cellars and took the key. She went into the living-room and put the two keys on the overmantel.

  She waited, listening, but now she could hear only the muffled roar of the central heating motor. She drew in a deep breath of relief. Her threat ... her bluff ... had worked! Then she thought of that split panel. If she hadn't gone down and stopped him, he would have broken out. Well, now, if he did get out of the cellar he would have to batter down the door to the hall. He would never hope to open the steel door leading to the garage. While there was time, should she do something about the door leading to the hall?

  She went into the hall and looked at the door. It didn't seem to her to appear very strong: one powerful kick might easily smashed it open. There was a heavy iron bound Medici chest standing under the window: yet another of her husband's collector's pieces. She dragged this across the door. It would be better than nothing, she told herself. She now felt so shaky, she went into the sitting-room and poured herself a large brandy.

  She sat down. She was sipping the brandy when the telephone bell rang. The sound so startled her she slopped some of her drink. Hastily putting down the glass, she crossed to the telephone and picked up the receiver. It was the Reception Manager of the Eden hotel.

  "Madame Rolfe ... a telex has just come in for you. Would you like me to send someone up to you with it?"

  Now what? she wondered, flinching.

  "No ... no ... please read it to me."

  "It's from Mr. Rolfe. It says: "Have instructed expert to fix central heating. He promises action this night. No wish to cancel my flight. Telephone me when fixed"."

  Helga turned cold.

  "Would you like me to repeat that, Madame?"

  "No, thank you. I have it. Thank you for calling," and she hung up.

  The grandfather clock that had cost Herman Rolfe more than six thousand dollars began to chime.

  Helga glanced at her watch. The time was 21.25. The Grandfather clock was a collector's piece and wasn't expected to keep faithful time.

  Since Herman's telex, Helga had sat with a blank mind, waiting for the central heating engineer. She was now beginning to think he wasn't coming. Inhere had been no sound from Archer. Her threat seemed to have cowed him. She had smoked innumerable cigarettes and she had drunk another brandy. She was feeling slightly light–headed, but in spite of the heat from the radiators, she felt cold.

  She had pulled up the shutter covering the smaller of the three windows and had pulled back the drapes. The distant lights of Lugano and the two red warning lights on the TV and radio masts on top of the mountain helped against the growing feeling of claustrophobia.

  Then she heard the noisy engine of an approaching car. She went to the window. She saw a Volkswagen, snow on its roof, pull up by the front door and a man get out. He leaned into the car and took from it a heavy tool case which he slung over his shoulder.

  She braced herself and went to the front door just as he rang. As she opened the door, an icy blast greeted her, making her shiver. She had had no idea it had turned so cold and her mind flew to Larry.

  "Schroder ... heating engineers," the man said in Italian. She could see the puzzled expression in his eyes as he felt the warmth coming from the hall. "You have trouble here, Madame?"

  "Come in." She couldn't bear the cold for a moment longer. The freezing air cut into her like a knife. He stepped into the hall and she closed the door.

  "I'm sorry Mr. Rolfe called you," she said. "When I arrived, I couldn't get the heating to work. I was being stupid. It's working perfectly now. I'm so sorry." The Engineer, a middle-aged, heavy-faced Swiss, smiled cheerfully.

  "That's all right, Madame. The great thing is it's working. My boss was worried. He didn't want you to freeze up. Mr. Rolfe was threatening to sue us." Helga forced a smile.

  "Mr. Rolfe is always threatening to sue someone ... he never does."

  "While I'm here, Madame, I'll check the motor. My boss wants to send a telex back to Mr. Rolfe."

  "No ... don't bother." It would be far too dangerous to let him down to the cellars. She spoke hurried. "It's working perfec
tly. I – I was just being stupid. I forgot to press the right button. I can't think why I forgot' The Engineer shifted the sling of his bag.

  "It's no bother ... it's my job." Then she saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. He was looking at the chest pulled across the door to the cellars. She knew he had been here before and knew the geography of the villa. "I'm sorry," she said firmly. "It is not convenient. I am very tired and I was just going to bed when you arrived. Wait a moment." She went quickly to her bedroom and with shaking hands, she opened her purse and took out a fifty franc note. Then as she was leaving the room, she heard the heavy thudding sounds from the cellars.

  Archer, she thought, panic seizing her, must have heard the front door bell ring and with new courage, was attacking the door again.

  When she regained the hall, she found the Engineer was examining the chest. The thudding sound from below created such a din that it set Helga's teeth on edge. Somehow she kept her face expressionless.

  Please take this. Thank you for coming. I'm telephoning my husband. There is no need for you to go to the expense of sending him a telex. I'll explain everything ... it is entirely my mistake."

  His eyes opened wide when he saw the fifty franc note.

  "Thank you, Madame ... thank you very much." His eyes went to the cellar door. The thudding sound was now alarmingly loud.

  "A friend of mine ... he's making something," Helga said huskily and opened the front door.

  "Well, Madame, if you're sure ..."

  "Yes. It's working perfectly!"

  He moved out into the cold.

  "Good night, Madame, and thank you."

  As she closed the front door, she heard a sudden sound of splintering wood and then a crash as the cellar door slammed open and banged against the wall. She clenched her fists. He was out!

  Her breath rasping in her throat, she looked at the heavy chest against the door. Would that be enough to stop him forcing the door open? Then as she heard Archer come pounding up the stairs she also heard the engine of the Volkswagen whirr into life and the car drive away.

  She leaned against the wall, staring at the door. She could hear Archer's laboured breathing, then she saw the door handle turn.

  "Jack! Get away from that door!" she cried. "This is your last chance! Get away from that door or I'll call Larry!"

  "He's not here," Archer panted. "I know! You can't bluff me! I heard the car and I know where he's gone ... he's gone to Basle! Open up or I'll break the door down! Do you hear? Open the door!"

  She stared at the door. How could she make it safe? Then she remembered a scaffolding pole the builder had forgotten that was in the garage.

  She ran to the front door, opened it and stumbled down the steps to the garage. The cold bit into her, but she ignored it. She opened the garage doors, found the pole and caught hold if it. It was heavy and clumsy to handle but she carried it back up the steps and into the hall.

  She paused to stare at the door. The lock was now broken and the door was open an inch, but the chest was holding it. She could hear Archer's heavy breathing as he paused for his final effort. Would the pole be too long? Her own breathing was laboured. She wedged one end of the pole against the skirting of the opposite wall, then lowered the other end against the door. She gave a little sob of relief as she saw it was a fit. She jammed the pole down, forcing the door shut.

  Archer made his effort and she heard his body thud against the door. The pole held the door solid and she heard his gasp of pain as his shoulder crashed against the door which didn't yield.

  She heard him curse. The step at the door wasn't wide enough to give him much purchase. He wouldn't be able to use his foot, she thought. He would soon get tired of bruising his shoulder.

  "You bitch!" Archer snarled. "Open the door!"

  She went into the kitchen to where the tool chest was kept. Herman was a great believer in having tools in all his homes. He never used them himself but expected Hinkle to cope with any small emergency. She found a heavy, wooden mallet and with that, standing on a chair, she hammered the pole more securely into place.

  While she was working, Archer called her every obscene name that came to his mind.

  Dropping the mallet, now sure the door was safe, she went unsteadily into the sitting-room. Again she looked at her watch. She had still three – possibly four – hours before Larry returned.

  Now she had to persuade Herman to cancel his flight. It wouldn't do to telephone him. He would only argue. If she couldn't persuade him to cancel his flight he would be arriving at Geneva the following evening and at Agno airport the morning of the next day. This was too dangerous. She had to keep him away from the villa for at least another three days.

  She listened, but heard no sound from the cellars, then she went to her desk and sat down. After thinking, she decided to ask the Eden to send a telex. Herman had a secretary at his New York apartment who would accept the message if Herman was out. She wrote the message out on a sheet of paper.

  Central heating now working, but villa still like ice box. Will take at least a day to warm up. Cleaners have been unable to work, due to cold. They arrive Thursday morning. Suggest you fly to Geneva Friday. I will meet you at Agno Saturday usual time. Think all will be ready by then. Snowing heavily here, Helga.

  She re-read the message, decided Hinkle would be consulted and would veto flying tomorrow, then she rang the Eden and dictated the message to the clerk in charge of the telex. He promised to send the message immediately. As she replaced the receiver, she suddenly felt utterly drained and exhausted. She realized she hadn't had any food since lunch time, but the thought of preparing something was too much of an effort. She hesitated about having more brandy and decided against it. Getting to her feet, she walked slowly into the kitchen and put on the coffee percolator. She sat on a kitchen chair, her head in her hands, her eyes closed and remained like that until the coffee was ready. She sipped the strong black coffee which revived her a little, then as she was putting down the empty cup, she heard a sound that brought her alert.

  She sprang to her feet and went to the kitchen door and looked across the hall to the cellar door. As she stood listening, her heart beginning to thump, the sound came again: a low moaning sigh. It was such an uncanny sound that it turned her cold.

  Shakily, she crossed the hall and stood close to the cellar door, holding her breath, so tense, her muscles began to ache. The sound came again. Was Archer having an attack? He had been behaving like an infuriated bull and if he did have a bad heart as he said he had he might have brought on an attack. She cringed at the thought. Suppose he died?

  Then very faintly through the door panel as if he were crouched against the other side of the door, she heard him murmur, "Helga? Helga?" "What is it?" Her voice quavering and husky.

  "It's my heart' He made a low whimpering sound. “ There are tablets in my overcoat pocket. Get them ... quickly."

  She looked at the black overcoat lying on the hall chair. With shaking hands she searched the pocket and her fingers closed around a glass phial. She took it out and stared at it. It contained about eight oval shaped tablets. There was no label attached to the phial. The moan came again.

  Without thinking, now in a blind panic, she caught hold of the pole to jerk it free, but it was jammed so tight, she couldn't move it.

  "For God's sake, Helga ... I'm dying," Archer called. "Give me those tablets!" The harsh note in his voice tinged with angry impatience her pause. Was he bluffing? She looked at the phial. These could be anything: digestive tablets, sleeping pills ... anything.

  "Helga? Are you there?" His voice was stronger as if he was afraid she might have moved away and wouldn't hear him.

  If he was bluffing and she opened the door, she would be at his mercy, she thought. But suppose he wasn't? Suppose he really was having a heart attack?

  She moved to the door. "They're not there. Would they be in the car?"

  "They're there!" There was now a snarl in his voice. "You haven't l
ooked! A phial with white tablets in it. Look again! Open the door ... I can't breathe! For God's sake, Helga, don't let me die!"

  The snarl in his voice stiffened her resolve not to open the door. Moving unsteadily, she went into the sitting-room and closed the door. She crossed to the bar and poured brandy into a glass and swallowed it in one shuddering gulp. Then she dropped on to the settee.

  If he died ... he died! She dare not risk opening the cellar door. He had shown no mercy to her. Why should she show mercy to him? A blackmailer is the dirtiest thing on earth. Let him die! She would be free of him then forever! But she knew she was desperately trying to justify her action. She knew that it was only because she was exerting tremendous control over herself she wasn't rushing to his aid.

  He's bluffing, she tried to assure herself. He's unscrupulous, ruthless and an expert bluffer. She held her head in her hands. But was he bluffing? Suppose, when Larry returned, they found Archer dead? The thought sickened her. What would they do? How would Larry react? She touched her dry lips with her tongue. If he died she would have to call a doctor. Would the news of his death travel fast? Would the Bank hear of it before they posted the letter? In the event of my death! They certainly wouldn't post the letter to a dead man. They would act on his instructions and get a messenger to hand the envelope to Herman when he arrived at Geneva.

  She struck her clenched fists together in an agony of indecision and despair. Getting to her feet, she opened the sitting-room door to listen.

  Faintly, she could hear a sound on the lower panel of the cellar door. Irregular sounds, as if feeble fingernails were tapping on the panel.

  "Helga ... the tablets ..." Archer's voice was now so faint she could scarcely hear it. "The tablets."