An Ace up my Sleeve

by James Hadley Chase

  “It is… it was once owned by a movie director. Take your coat off. Look around.”

  Together they explored the house. At first, he made exclamations of surprise as the luxury of the place unfolded before him. He gaped at the indoor, heated swimming pool, looked through the double-glazed windows at the outdoor swimming pool and the big terrace and the distant view of Lugano. He began to grow silent as he stood in the movie projection room with its twenty plush seats and the vista-vision screen. He just stood, saying nothing as she showed him the four bedrooms, each with their deluxe bathrooms. Then she began to realize that so much luxury and comfort was making a bad impression on him. There were other things to show him: two sauna baths, the tiny elevator that conveyed logs from the cellar right to the big fireplace, the two chair lifts that would take you down to the main highway if you wanted to go for a walk and didn’t want to descend the hundred steps through the garden. There was the kitchen with its push button miracles, fully equipped to produce a dinner for twenty people, the stereo radio and gramophone that could produce music in every room or in any room provided you pressed the right button. Also the colour TV set in every room, me deep freeze cabinet, the speaker-boxes hooked to the telephone which allowed you to talk to anyone in any city in the world without moving from your chair: tiny loudspeakers so finely tuned you could hear someone breathing in Tokyo… so many other things but she saw now that like a child fed too many chocolates, he was turning sour, perhaps even sick at so much luxury.

  She broke off the sight-seeing tour and said, “I’ll show you your room. It’s just across the way.”

  She opened a door and led him through a covered passage to another door. She unlocked it, mounted stairs and into a narrow passage with three doors leading from it. The first door led to Hinkle’s room. The next door led to a bathroom. The third door led to a small room which was seldom used. She opened the door.

  “Make yourself at home, Larry. Use the bathroom. I want to unpack and change. I’ll telephone you in an hour or so. If you want to wander around, go ahead. Be at home.”

  He looked into the room, his jaws moving as he chewed.

  “I guess you must have a lot of money, ma’am,” he said and she was aware of a sullen note in his voice.

  “My husband has… I haven’t.” She smiled. “We’ll have a picnic tonight. There s plenty of food in the deep freeze,” and moving around him, she walked back to the villa.

  She had unpacked, taken a bath and then dropped on to the bed.

  The time was now 1745 and it was dark. The San Salvatore mountain with 69

  its twin radio and TV masts was obscured by cloud. The lights of Lugano showed dimly through the haze. The amber light in the big bedroom emphasized the apricot coloured walls and was kind to her reflection in the mirror.

  Now was the time for love, she thought and her body melted with her desire. She lifted the telephone receiver and pressed button 10 which connected her with Larry’s room. There was a long pause and her heart contracted. Surely he was there? Then just when she was getting into a panic, his voice came over the line.

  “Yeah, ma’am?”

  “Come and see me. Follow the blue lights. They will bring you to me.”

  “What was that again, ma’am?”

  She moved impatiently, closing her legs tightly together.

  “When you leave your room, you will see blue lights in the ceiling, Larry,” she said, controlling the impatience in her voice. “If you will follow the lights, they will lead you to my room.”

  “Sure, ma’am. I’ll do that,” and he hung up.

  She reached for the battery of buttons built into the side of the bed and pressed the blue button, then she waited. She looked a little anxiously at her reflection in the opposite mirror. Suppose he turned shy? Suppose… no! He was a young animal. He had admitted to her he had this sexual urge. Again she looked at the reflection in the mirror and she was satisfied.

  She waited, and as she waited, she heard him coming up the stairs. She hoped he wasn’t chewing gum. There was a long pause, and then a tap came on the door.

  Instinctively she pulled the wrap around her, suddenly worried it might be too transparent.

  “Come on in, Larry,” she called, and now she wanted him as she had never wanted any other man before.

  He came in.

  Could it be possible? she thought as she forced a smile. He was still wearing his dark suit, his white shirt and black tie!

  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 way 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 vi
olence 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.