1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve Read online

  When he saw her lying on the bed, the black chiffon wrap scarcely concealing the whiteness of her body, he stiffened and stepped back. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said awkwardly and began to back out of the room. "Oh, come on in, Larry!" Even to her, her voice sounded waspish. "Shut the door!"

  He shut the door, remaining still, his eyes shifted to her, then shifted away. "You're not shy of me, are you?" she said, thinking: God! if this flops, I'll kill myself!

  "I guess not, ma'am."

  "Come here."

  He moved slowly to the bed, then he stood over her, looking down at her.

  "Gee! You're beautiful! I've never seen anyone so beautiful!"

  It was a spontaneous outburst that set a flame to her body. She held out her hand. He took it and she pulled him down on the bed.

  "You're over dressed, Larry," and her fingers pulled his tie loose.

  "Is it all right, ma'am? You're sure it's all right."

  "For God's sake! You're not a kid, are you ?"

  Her frantic fingers began to unbutton his shirt He pulled away from her.

  "I'll do it, ma'am. May I see you ... may I look at you?"

  She opened her wrap, revealing her nakedness.

  "Oh, ma'am."

  He was gazing at her as she found the zip of his trousers.

  As she pulled, he began to struggle out of his jacket. His hand slipped and banged against the row of buttons which controlled the lights, the TV set and all the other gimmicks in the villa. There came a blinding flash and then complete darkness. She had his fly open. She felt him jerk away from her. She lay still, her heart hammering, her eyes blinded by the flash and the darkness. "What's happened?" she asked, her voice husky.

  "I touched something," Larry said out of the darkness. "I guess I've tripped a fuse. I'll fix it. You wait here."

  "To hell with the fuse! Larry!" She lifted herself up and stared into the darkness. "Larry!"

  "I'll fix it."

  From the sound of his voice he was already out of the room and she heard his footfalls as he stumbled down the corridor.

  I don't want you to fix it, you goddam, stupid fool! she thought as she lay back on the bed. Who the hell cares about a fuse! Come back! I want you to love me!

  She waited a long moment, hearing him blundering about somewhere in the darkness, then she got off the bed. Pulling her wrap around her, she groped her way to the door. She could see nothing in the darkness. "Larry!" She heard a door open and then slam shut.

  "Come back!" she screamed. "Larry? Do you hear me?"

  She stood in the darkness, listening. The silence and the darkness weighed down on her.

  She made the effort and controlled her frustrated anger. God! what a hick this boy was! Somehow he had blown a fuse and he had this stupid inferiority complex that he had to mend it immediately! She groped her way back to the bed. The distant lights on the highway made a small light in the room and she could see the outline of the bed. She sank on to it.

  She felt cold and she was shaking. The fool had blown a just when she had been offering herself to him. Yet he had left her to go down to the cellar to mend the fuse! Was she so undesirable? Or was there something wrong about him? Perhaps he was only excited by very young girls. Hot tears rose to her eyes and spilled over. Maybe he wasn't the young, sexual animal she had thought he was.

  She waited. Nothing happened and silence brooded over the villa, then she thought of him groping around in the blacked out cellar, trying to mend a fuse. He could kill himself! She remembered there was a flashlight in one of the many drawers built in by her bed. She had to scrabble through three drawers before she found it. She switched it on. Its bright beam was comforting. She searched for and found her pantie briefs and slipped them on, then picking up the flashlight, she went quickly from the bedroom, down the short corridor, past the living–room to the stairs that led to cellars. At the head of the stairs, she paused and called, "Larry!"

  Silence greeted her and a wave of cold panic ran over her. The fool couldn't have killed himself? Had he electrocuted himself in the dark? She stood motionless. Suppose he had? Suppose he was lying dead before the fuse boxes? What would she do? How would she explain what he had been g here to get himself electrocuted?

  Cold and shaking, she started down the stairs. Ahead of her was the door leading to the fuse boxes and the central heating apparatus. She could hear the motor roaring behind the heavy steel door. The door was shut. She hesitated before opening it, then pushed down the steel lever and forced the door open. "Larry?"

  Except for the violent beat of the electric motor, she heard nothing. She hesitated to go further, then bracing herself, she lifted the beam of the flashlight and shakily moved the beam into the big–hot room.

  There was no sign of Larry. She moved into the room and played the beam on the fuse boxes. She saw the green button was out and the red button was in. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed the green button home. The light in the boiler roam came on. Turning, she moved into the corridor turned on the switch and the three overhead lights in the corridor came on.

  Puzzled and frightened, she hurried back up the stairs to her bedroom. The defused light above her bed was now on. She whirled around and ran along the corridor, down the stairs, turning on the switches as she went until she came to the corridor leading underground to the garage and the staff quarters. Holding her wrap around her, she opened the door, turned on the light and hurried along the corridor, up the stairs until she reached the three rooms reserved for the staff. She went to the end room and threw open the door to find the small room empty.

  She stood in the doorway, her heart beating violently, looking around. She remembered Larry had left the cheap plastic suitcase by the bed. It had gone. The bed was undisturbed. She turned around, flicked up the light switch and walked to the bathroom and then to Hinkle's room. Both rooms were empty. She paused for a moment, then walked with shaking legs back to her bedroom. In her bedroom, she paused. Where was Larry? What had happened to him?

  She pressed her cold hand against her forehead as she tried to think. There must be some explanation. He had either panicked and had run away or he had met with an accident while groping around in the dark. He could have fallen in the pool, down some of the many stairs ... anything!

  She must get some clothes on! She dressed swiftly and as she slipped on her shoes, she began to feel calmer. There was a fibre of steel in her that always supported her in emergencies and she drew on it now.

  Bracing herself, she went through all the rooms in the villa. Then not finding Larry, she returned to her room, put on her mink coat and gloves and went down to the garage.

  The Mercedes was where Larry had parked it. She even opened the boot to make certain he wasn't playing some fool practical joke on her. She went to the outdoor swimming pool and shone the beam of the flashlight over the blue water, half expecting to see Larry's submerged body, but only the glittering water met her eyes. It was bitterly cold and the frosty air nipped at her. Where was he ... damn him!

  She looked with despair at the dark garden spread out below her, now lit by the rising moon. She had to be sure he hadn't stumbled down the steep steps and hurt himself. She had to be sure.

  She started down the steps, moving the beam of her flashlight, and every now and then, she stopped and called, "Larry!" It wasn't until she reached the wrought iron gates that led directly to the St. Moritz highway that she convinced herself he wasn't on the estate. The fool! The hick! The damn, stupid, juvenile jerk!

  Seeing her half naked must have panicked him. This stupid, clumsy act that had fused the lights had been an excuse to run away from her. He was incapable of loving a matured woman. All he wanted was some giggling, stupid, undeveloped teenager! She felt so frustrated and furious that she raised her clenched fists above her head and shook them. She rode back in the chair lift to the villa.

  Back in her bedroom, she stripped off her mink coat and let it drop on the floor. She pressed her hands against her cold
face, then she looked in the mirror, opposite the bed. She stiffened. Was this white–faced, gaunt, desperately old looking woman her? Could it be her?

  Damn him to hell!" she said, half aloud, staring at her reflection. "I must be going out of my mind! A gum–chewing little bastard like that! I've got to stop this! I've got to control myself! If I go on like this, I'll be found out, then my life as I know it, as I like it, will be finished! I've got to stop it and I'm going to stop it!"

  Aware she was trembling, she stood motionless, drawing in slow, deep breaths, then when she felt steadier, she left the room and went along to the sitting–room. She stood in the vast room, looking around: its vastness and loneliness crushed her.

  She couldn't spend the night here, she told herself. She must have contact with other people. She would call the Eden hotel. They would have a room for her. She would have a lonely, but good dinner in the grill room, then sleeping pills would give her release until the morning but first she had to have a drink. She crossed to the well-stocked bar and poured a heavy slug of vodka into a crystal tumbler. She added ice from the refrigerator and a dash of martini, then she carried the drink to one of the big settees. She sat down, sipped her drink and lit a cigarette.

  She stared through the picture window at the distant view, the haze and the lights. She refused to let herself think until she had finished the drink, then getting up, she made another and then returned to the settee.

  She was now calmer and her shrewd mind began to regain its keenness. She was suddenly appalled at the risk she had taken. To bring an unknown boy to her home as she had done had been utter lunacy! Her sex urge must be stamped out! She drew in a long shuddering breath. Well, he was gone! Thank God he had been a hick, and thank God the sight of her nakedness had frightened him away!

  She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. Never again!

  If she had to have a man she must look for an hotel servant in an hotel in which she wasn't known ... something like that.

  But at the back of her mind there was a growing feeling of uneasiness. The gum–chewing boy had taken a lot of money from her. The passport alone had cost three thousand francs. Might he not come back for more? Might he not consider her an ideal subject for blackmail?

  Helga had been trained in law, had worked with ruthless business men and she was well aware of the dangers of blackmail. She felt her hands turn moist as she sat, thinking.

  But after a little thought, stamping down on her panic, she began to relax. No, he wouldn't dare blackmail her. He couldn't! She knew his passport was faked. Of course she had more to lose than he, but in a showdown, she had a weapon she could and would use. She finished her drink.

  Fortified now by two cocktails, she felt much more relaxed. She remembered his warm, friendly smile. A boy who could smile like that couldn't be a blackmailer nor could he have anything bad in him. Then she remembered his quiet words to that little pansy: What would it cost you if you got your hands crushed in a door? She felt a chill run up her spine. But he was bluffing, she assured herself. He had told her he fed on the violence of television. That had been the threat of a small boy ... no, it was all right: he was a hick, and that was that. She could put him out of her mind.

  It had been a moment of madness ... now she must forget it.

  She went across the room and telephoned the Eden hotel.

  The Reception manager's welcome flattered, soothed and pleased her.

  "Yes, of course, Madame Rolfe. I have your usual suite. Only too delighted. And how is Mr. Rolfe?"

  She said her husband was fairly well, that she would be arriving in about half an hour and would he reserve a table for her in the grill room?

  She hung up and went to her bedroom. Taking a small suitcase from one of the many closets, she packed what she would need for the night. As she was closing the lid of the suitcase, she paused and stiffened.

  Had she heard something? She listened again, hearing only the beating of her heart. Moving silently, she went to the bedroom door and opened it. She stood in the open doorway, looking along the lighted corridor, tense, her ears straining. She now could only hear the muffled roar of the motor, driving the central heating and then the slight whirr from the deep freeze cabinet in the kitchen. She frowned, annoyed with herself for imagining odd sounds, then as she was about to turn back to her room, she again paused and stiffened. She was sure now she had heard a sound. A footfall? A door shutting? A door opening? Some sound that didn't blend in with the expected sounds of the villa. She listened but could hear nothing now. Had Larry come back?

  She moved into the corridor, her heart thumping, her breathing a little laboured. She waited, listening, then she heard the sound again: a door closing softly. There could be no mistaking that sound. All the doors in the villa were of heavy oak. It was impossible to close them silently. Every one of them gave out a little clicking sound no matter how carefully they were shut. There was someone in the villa! Was it Larry?

  Panic surged through her until she got hold of herself. She turned swiftly back into her bedroom, ran across to one of the closets, opened the door, slid open a drawer and her hand dropped on a .22 automatic pistol: a tiny, but vicious weapon she had often carried in the streets of New York when a woman with her looks had to have protection after dark. The gun gave her a feeling of security, and with this feeling of security, she began also to feel angry. She went to the open door of the bedroom. "Who's there?" she called, pitching her voice high.

  Silence greeted her. She hesitated only for a moment, then lifting the gun, she aimed it at the door at the far end of the corridor and squeezed the trigger.

  The bang of the gun sounded very loud in the stillness of the villa. A tiny hole appeared in the woodwork of the door and splinters flew.

  At least, she thought, whoever it was in the villa now knew she had a gun. Bracing herself, she went down the corridor and threw the door open. There was nothing to see: only the lights, the thick royal blue carpet and the corridor leading to the front door. Again she paused to listen, but although she remained motionless for several nerve–racking minutes, she heard nothing to alarm her further.

  Still holding the gun, she went back to the bedroom. She put on her coat, her hat and gloves. She was fighting off a growing panic as she paused to look at her pale, drawn face in the mirror. Then holding the gun in her right hand and the suitcase in her left hand, leaving all the lights on, she walked warily down the corridor, opened the front door, hesitated for a moment, then switched on the lights to the garage. She put down her suitcase and locked the front door. Turning, she walked swiftly to the security of the Mercedes.

  chapter four

  In her luxury suite at the Eden hotel, Helga had just finished dressing for dinner when the telephone bell buzzed.

  She looked at the telephone for a brief moment, frowning. She wasn't expecting any calls. With Larry still on her mind, anything unexpected made her uneasy. As the buzzer sounded again, she crossed the room and picked up the receiver. "Is that you, Helga?"

  Her eyebrows lifted. She would know that booming voice anywhere. There was a time when Jack Archer went in for amateur theatricals. He had often said that only two men in the world had real actor's voices: Sir Laurence Olivier and himself.

  "Why, Jack ... this is a surprise. I've only been here an hour."

  "How are you? Did you have a good run from Bonn ?"

  "Not bad ... a lot of snow. Where are you, Jack?"

  "I've just blown in. I'm in the bar."

  "You mean you're in the hotel?"

  "That's it. I flew in from Lausanne yesterday. You said you would be arriving today... remember?"

  She now did remember she had written to him from Paradise City giving the date of her arrival, but she had forgotten. She stiffened, thinking what an escape she had had. Suppose he had come to the villa in search of her and had walked in when she and Larry were there!

  "I was planning to drive over to Lausanne tomorrow and see you," she sa
id, forcing her voice to sound casual.

  "I have other business here, Helga, so I thought I'd save you the trip. Are you alone?"

  "Of course."

  "Well, how about dinner together?"

  "Yes ... lovely." She looked at her watch, noticing her hand was a little unsteady. The time was 20.35. "I'll come right down." "In the bar."

  She hung up and stood motionless for some moments. Every six months she went to Lausanne and she and Archer checked through Rolfe's investments. Their intimacy had died abruptly on the day Helga had married. Neither of them ever referred to it. They had now an easy friendship and a good business relationship. Archer had a flair for investment Sometimes he was a little reckless, and it was then that Helga put the brakes on, but this seldom happened, and when she refused one of his more reckless suggestions, he would grin at her, shrug and say, "Well, eventually it'll be your money. If you don't want to speculate that's okay with me."

  She found him sitting at a corner table, away from the sprinkling of people in the bar. He stood up and waved to her as she came in.

  She thought a little sadly that age never helps anyone. Five year ago, Archer had been one of the handsomest men she had seen off the movies. Now his straw–coloured hair was thinking and receding. He had put on too much weight. Standing over six feet, powerfully and heavily built, he still made an impressive figure, but she could no longer call him handsome. He must be five years older than herself, she thought as she smiled at him, taking his hand. He had already ordered her a double vodka martini, knowing her drink, and he began asking her questions about her trip as he led her to the table. She felt relaxed in his company. He had a soothing manner and a lot of charm: one of his major assets when dealing with the very rich. She skirted around her journey, not mentioning she had stayed at the Adlon hotel in Basle. She told him about the new car.

  "And what news of Herman?"

  She lifted her shoulders. "The same ... always busy."