1975 - The Joker in the Pack Page 12

  Returning to the hotel, she asked the hall porter to have her clothes packed.

  “I will be in tomorrow morning,” she said. “I won’t be in tonight.”

  “Certainly, madame. There is a cable just come in for your man, Hinkle.”

  “Give it to me. I will be speaking to him.”

  In her suite, she read the cable. The message was brief and from Paris: Impossible to come to Nassau. Daddy will survive. He always does. Sheila.

  The cards were still falling her way, Helga thought. She had been worrying about Herman’s daughter. To have her here would have been embarrassing, but she was a little shocked at the girl’s callousness.

  She put the cable in an envelope and addressed it to Hinkle at the Paradise City villa, then she packed an overnight bag, not forgetting two bikini swimsuits, a beach wrap and sandals. She then called down to the hall porter to send someone to take the bag to the car and ten minutes later she was driving to the Blue Heron villa.

  Putting the Mini into the four-car garage, she unlocked the front door and entered the big living room. She looked around. Mr. Mason, the estate agent, had paid tribute to her wealth. Roses, carnations and orchids were tastefully arranged in various vases. His card, on which was written: Have a pleasant stay, lay on one of the tables.

  Nice man! she thought and going over to the french windows, she threw them open and wandered out on to the terrace.

  This was just what she had hoped for, she thought. She made a tour of the villa, carried her suitcase up to the bedroom and put on a bikini. The time was now 17.36. There was time for a swim, then she would unpack the groceries, make herself a drink, then turn on the hi-fi set and spend the rest of the evening dreaming of tomorrow.

  She delighted in having all this wonderful beach entirely to herself. As she returned from her swim, she heard the telephone bell ringing. She ran into the living room and picked up the receiver.

  “I hope I didn’t disturb you, Mrs. Rolfe.” She recognized Dr. Levi’s voice.

  “No, of course not. How is my husband?”

  “His condition is the same. It is most puzzling. I can assure you that he is in no danger, but until he comes out of this strange coma, Dr. Bernstein is unable to commence his tests.”

  “And when will that be?” Helga asked impatiently.

  “We don’t know if it will be any moment or much longer. I thought I should tell you we are satisfied that you have nothing to worry about. We must just wait.” A pause, then he went on. “Dr. Bernstein has a very busy practice and he is returning to Berlin tomorrow. I am afraid I just can’t remain here either with so so many other patients needing my services. I will be returning to Paradise City tomorrow. Dr. Bellamy will alert us when Mr. Rolfe comes out of this coma.” Another pause. “Needless to say both Dr. Bernstein and I have complete confidence in Dr. Bellamy.”

  “Oh, very well. If there is a change please tell Dr. Bellamy to call me.”

  “That will be done of course, Mrs. Rolfe.”

  She replaced the receiver, shrugging. For some minutes she thought of her husband, then with a grimace, she put him out of her mind and going to the garage she carried in the groceries and the drink, making two trips, but enjoying it.

  Mr. Mason had turned on the refrigerator so there was ice. She made herself a large vodka martini and drank it while putting the groceries away.

  For the first time in years she would now prepare her own dinner. She looked through the various ‘heat and eat’ packs she had bought and decided on the goulash pack. She read the directions which seemed simple enough and finding another saucepan she half-filled it with water and put that on the second burner.

  By the time the goulash and the potatoes were ready, she had drunk another vodka martini and was feeling a little high. The potatoes were too sloppy, but the goulash smelt good. She served both from the saucepans onto a plate, then realized she hadn’t set the table. By the time she found the cutlery and a serviette, salt and pepper, the food was cold, but it wasn’t bad, she told herself. Not what she was used to and she giggled at the thought of Hinkle’s horrified expression if he had walked in at this moment.

  “Well, at least I won’t starve,” she said aloud. “This is fun!”

  Leaving the debris of the meal in the sink for Dick to clear up when he arrived the following morning, she made herself another vodka martini and went into the living room.

  She turned on the hi-fi set and found a station broadcasting strident jazz with heavy drum effects.

  Sitting in a lounging chair she watched the sun dip into the sea and she stayed there until the moonlight turned the sea to silver. She was more relaxed than she had been for a long time.

  Tomorrow, she thought. My first night in Nassau when I won’t be alone. She thought of Dick and her heartbeat quickened.

  No boy of his age could resist the urge of sex. He might not want her, but she had experience enough to know how to arouse him. It would be over quickly: the young with their excitement and lack of control were like that, but after he had rested, the second time would be good.

  Soon after 22.00, she turned off the radio, turned off the lights in the living room, locked the french windows and went up to the bedroom. She undressed, showered and putting on a shortie nightdress, she got into the king sized bed. She had a view to the sea, lit by the moon. The night was hot, still and utterly quiet.

  A love nest!

  Her hands moved over her breasts and she smiled.

  Tomorrow!

  * * *

  Helga woke with a start, frowned at the bedside clock, saw it was 07.20. For a moment or so she couldn’t remember where she was, then looking around the big, luxury bedroom, she remembered. She wondered what the owner of this love nest looked like. There was a motor accident and the lady died. Helga grimaced. Some people were unlucky. Poor man! Poor girl! She remembered her father’s cliché: ‘It’s an ill wind.’

  She took a quick shower, put on a white pajama suit and went down to the kitchen. She longed for a good cup of coffee, but coffee making proved difficult. She found an elaborate machine with tubes which she didn’t understand. There was a vessel into which she put coffee. When the water began to boil, the goddamn thing exploded, scattering coffee grounds over the wall and the built-in cupboards.

  She glared at the machine in frustrated fury. She was going to have coffee! She banged a saucepan of water on the burner and when the water began to boil, she ladled in two big spoonfuls of coffee. The sonofabitch promptly boiled over, messing up the whole stove.

  She turned off the gas and surveyed the scene helplessly. What with last night’s meal clogging the saucepans, the stains on the cupboards and the mess over the stove, she gave up. She hoped to God Dick could make coffee.

  Going to the refrigerator, she broke out ice and made herself a stiff vodka martini and immediately regained her spirits. Changing into a bikini she had a swim. As she swam, she told herself she would have to find some woman to do the laundry. Mr. Mason would be helpful.

  She got back to the villa a few minutes before 08.30. In a few minutes Dick would appear. She hurriedly changed back to her pajama suit, then turning on the radio to pop music, she flopped into a chair.

  The early drink had made her lightheaded and she longed for a cup of coffee. She thought of Hinkle, now so far away: his tap on her door and perfect coffee served.

  Another of her father’s clichés came to mind: ‘You can’t have your bun and your penny.’

  She laughed. Well, so far the bun wasn’t much!

  She closed her eyes. The relaxing swim and the cocktail sent her into a light sleep. The voice of the radio announcer giving the news brought her awake with a start.

  She looked at the clock on the overmantel. It was 09.20. She stared at the clock, then looked at her watch, then she jumped to her feet.

  “Dick?”

  He must have come in quietly and was cleaning up in the kitchen. She fluffed up her hair, smoothed down her pajama suit and walke
d into the kitchen.

  “Dick?”

  Her voice came back to her in silence.

  Moving quickly she went over the villa, out on to the terrace, then returned to the living room.

  He hadn’t come!

  Fury took hold of her. For some moments, she stood shaking, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing.

  Okay, little boy, she thought. You don’t get away with this! You little bastard! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll fix you!

  Then she heard the roar of an approaching motorcycle: a deep-throated roar that made her stiffen.

  Here he comes, she thought. You little creep! I’ll teach you to be late!

  There was a squeal of brakes, then the engine died.

  She stood there, waiting. Her heart was racing now, her hands damp. Well, he was here! She would tongue lash him and when he was sufficiently humble and frightened, she would take him up to the bedroom. She felt suddenly excited.

  The front door bell rang.

  She forced herself to wait. She must not let him know how eager she was. She waited until the bell rang again, then she walked into the hall and opened the front door.

  She had experienced many shocks in her life, but this shock was like a vicious punch to her solar plexus, leaving her breathless, cold and unable to move.

  The girl, called Terry Shields, her Venetian red hair glittering in the sunlight, stood on the front step. She was wearing the same gear as the previous day although the T-shirt had been washed. She regarded Helga, her big green eyes impersonal, no expression on her face.

  Helga absorbed the shock. Again the steel in her served her well.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, her voice hard.

  “Sorry to be late.” The girl had a soft, pleasant sounding voice. “I got held up at the hospital.”

  “Hospital? Has something happened?”

  “Dick had an accident,” the girl said. “I warned him the bike was too heavy for him. He’s broken his arm.”

  Helga drew in a long, deep breath of exasperation. God! she thought, nothing, will nothing go right for me?

  “You had better come in.” She turned and walked into the living room and dropped into a lounging chair.

  Terry came in, shutting the front door and she moved into the living room. Helga saw her give a quick glance around.

  “Sit down!” Helga snapped impatiently. “How did it happen?”

  Terry chose an upright chair. She sat down, her knees close together, her hands in her lap.

  “He skidded. The bike is too powerful for him.”

  “And yet you ride it?”

  Terry shrugged.

  “Girls are more careful than boys.”

  A wise and sensible remark, Helga thought.

  “So he has a broken arm?”

  “That’s it.” Terry shrugged. “He is worried about you. You’ve paid him to work for you. He is conscientious. He asked me to take over until he is well enough.”

  Helga reached for a cigarette, stared at it, then lit it.

  “Take over?”

  “Clean . . . run the place. I can do it if you want me to.”

  Helga thought of the mess in the kitchen, the unmade be upstairs and her need of a cup of coffee.

  “Dick gave me fifty bucks,” Terry went on. “So it won’t cost you anything and I can do with the money.”

  “I want a cup of coffee,” Helga said. “Can you make coffee?”

  “Oh sure.”

  Terry got to her feet, looked around and without being told, made her way into the kitchen.

  Helga smoked two cigarettes. Goddamn it! she thought. So I sleep alone again tonight! A broken arm! You don’t take a boy with a broken arm into your bed. So again she must wait! Her fists clenched. Would there ever be an end to this eternal waiting?

  Terry came into the living room with a pot of coffee, cup and saucer, sugar and cream on a tray. She set the tray on a table close to Helga.

  “That machine you were using for coffee,” she said, “is for making tea.”

  Helga felt a moment of an inferiority complex which she immediately shook off.

  “Oh? Who uses a machine to make tea for God’s sake?”

  Saying nothing, Terry returned to the kitchen. Helga heard her beginning to clean up.

  The coffee was excellent, just as good as Hinkle made for her. She drank two cups, then getting to her feet, she went into the kitchen. Terry had already cleaned the stove and was now washing the stains from the wall.

  “What is your name?” Helga asked although she already knew.

  “Terry Shields.” The girl didn’t pause as she rinsed a cloth in the sink.

  “All right Terry, until Dick is well enough you can work here.”

  Terry paused and looked directly at Helga who wished some kind of expression would light up the girl’s face, but the expression remained wooden.

  “Okay. Do you want me to cook?”

  “Can you cook?”

  “Most women can, can’t they?”

  “I will be lunching out every day,” Helga said preferring to ignore what the girl had said. “I would like dinner: nothing elaborate.”

  “Do you want to eat this junk in the cupboard?”

  Helga stared at her.

  “Junk?”

  “These ‘heat and eat’ packs.”

  “What’s the matter with them?” Helga demanded, now angry.

  “Please yourself.” Terry shrugged and she scraped the rest of the goulash from the saucepan into the trash bin. “If you want me to cook for you, give me some money to buy decent food.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Helga went into the living room, found her purse, took from it four fifty-dollar bills and returning to the kitchen put the bills on the kitchen table.

  “Go ahead. I’m going out now. You don’t have to stay her all day. Fix the place and come back to cook tonight. I like to eat at eight-thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  Helga felt this was the moment to exert her authority.

  “I would prefer you to say, ‘Yes, Mrs. Rolfe,’ instead of just okay.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Rolfe.” Terry looked at the four fifty-dollar bills. “Do you want to feed an army?” She flicked aside three of the bills. “Fifty is enough.”

  Helga picked up the remaining bills, feeling irritated.

  “You seem competent Terry.”

  “If I had your money, I wouldn’t need to be,” the girl said and began to clean one of the saucepans.

  Helga stared at her, then, as the girl paid her no attention, she went upstairs, changed into a green linen dress, took a beach bag with a wrap and a bikini in it and returned to the living room.

  “I will be back about six,” she said. “Lock up, please. I have a duplicate key. I expect you here around seven.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Rolfe. Rest easy. I won’t steal anything.”

  “You will stop being insolent if you want to continue to work for me! Helga snapped. “I don’t expect you to steal anything!”

  Terry looked at her, her face expressionless.

  “You won’t be surprised, Mrs. Rolfe,” and she moved by Helga and went up the stairs to the bedroom.

  For a long moment, Helga stood motionless, then with an impatient shrug, she went to the garage and started the Mini. As she drove to the Diamond Beach hotel, she considered the new situation.

  Dick out of action and now this girl. She had to admit the girl intrigued her. From her she might learn more about Dick and she wanted to know more about him. She realized to her surprise that her sexual need had faded. She was lonely. This girl cold provide a stopgap until Dick was well enough to come to bed.

  Her bags, carefully packed, were in the hotel’s lobby. She paid her check, shook hands with the hotel manager, lavishly tipped the hall porter and then accompanied by smiles and bows, she drove back towards the Blue Heron villa. She would unpack, she told herself, then drive to the Ocean Beach club and become a member. She just couldn’t go o
n living here without company. From the club’s brochure she had read in the hotel the club offered everything pass time: there was a casino, a swimming pool, tennis, golf, dancing, bridge and high-speed motorboats to hire.

  The traffic was heavy and she was forced to crawl along the main sea road, but she was relaxed and didn’t mind. Passing a big self-service store, she saw Dick’s mother standing at the bus stop, two big shopping bags at her feet.

  Helga swerved into the bus stop and pulled up.

  “Hello, Mrs. Jones,” she called. “Can I give you a ride?”

  The big fat woman’s face broke into a beaming smile.

  “That’s a nice little car, ma’am and I guess I’m a big woman.”

  She came up to the car, leaning forward smiling at Helga.

  “We’ll manage.”

  Helga opened the offside door.

  Mrs. Jones heaved her two shopping bags onto the backseat, the laboriously climbed into the front seat. The car sagged a little. As she closed the door, Mrs. Jones said, “That’s real nice of you, ma’am. Not many folk stop to give a lift. I guess my dogs are giving me gyp this morning.”

  Dogs? Helga thought. Feet?

  “My son has been telling me about your place, ma’am,” Mrs. Jones went on. “He says it is fin and big and splendid. I told him he was a lucky boy to have a room like that.” She looked searchingly at Helga. “Ma’am, I hope he is taking proper care of you. I told him he has to be conscientious. This is a chance of a lifetime. I told him. He knows. My boy is no fool. He knows when he is well off.”

  Helga’s mind raced.

  “So he likes his room?” she said. “I’m so glad.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He described it. He even has a TV set!”

  “He only began working this morning,” Helga said, fishing for information.

  “That’s right, but you remember, ma’am, he came to see you yesterday evening. He came right back to me and told me all about it. I thought he would stay home with me while he worked for you, but he explained you needed someone around all the time.”