I sat at the desk, pressed the button and listened to the voice of the man I was impersonating. It was a distinct voice with the snap of authority in it. He was obviously dictating to his broker. I didn’t bother to listen to the words, I concentrated on the intonation, his pauses, and the quality of his voice. I felt confident I could do a good imitation. I played the tape through four times. Then as there was still unrecorded tape on the spool, I switched to record and, using Ferguson’s voice, I dictated bond selling orders and share buying orders as he had done until the tape ran out. I ran the whole tape back and started the playback. I left the desk and wandered to the window and listened. I only knew when I began recording by the bonds and share names I had invented. As I pressed the stop button, Mazzo wheeled in the lunch trolley.
‘That smells very good, Mazzo,’ I said in Ferguson’s voice. ‘I hope it’s as good as it smells.’
He was setting the table and he let fall the cutlery as he whirled around and gaped at me.
‘Jesus! You gave me a start!’ he exclaimed. ‘I could have sworn . . .’
‘Hurry it up, Mazzo,’ I said, still with Ferguson’s voice. ‘I’m hungry.’
He stood gaping.
‘You sound just like the Boss,’ he said.
‘That’s the idea.’ I sat at the table. By my plate was another one thousand dollar credit note. As I put it in my wallet, I said in my own voice, ‘Come on, Mazzo, don’t stand there like a stricken bull. I’m hungry.’
* * *
I spent the afternoon, wearing the mask, playing tennis with Mazzo.
There were four tennis courts at the back of the house, screened by high hedges. Mazzo was in the pro class and I was lucky to take two games off him in three sets. While I was retrieving a ball, I happened to glance up and saw Loretta, standing on a balcony, watching me. I gave her a wave, but she didn’t wave back. When next I looked, she had gone.
The game over, Mazzo and I walked back to the house.
‘If we run into the butler,’ Mazzo said, ‘keep going. His name is Jonas. He’s near sighted, and old enough to be dead.’
As we entered the vast hall, I saw a tall, dignified negro with snow white hair, crossing to the main living room.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, pausing. ‘May I say it is good to see you again?’
I waved in his direction and headed for the stairs.
In Ferguson’s voice, I said, ‘Good to be back, Jonas.’
When we reached the head of the stairs, Mazzo said, ‘Very nice. You’re doing fine.’
He left me in my suite and I took off the mask and had another shower. Then putting on a short toweling coat, I stretched out on the enormous bed. I idled the time away with my thoughts.
At 19.00, as I was dozing, I heard a buzzing sound.
It came from the living room. I slid off the bed and saw a red light flashing on the intercom on the desk. I thumbed down the switch, and said in Ferguson’s voice, ‘What is it?’ Then having an idea it was Loretta, I went on. ‘Is that you, Etta? I was waiting to hear
from you.’
I heard a quick intake of breath.
‘Marvelous!’ she said. ‘Tonight, we will have dinner with Mr. Durant at nine o’clock in the dining room. Wear the mask. Mazzo tells me Jonas was completely fooled. This is the big test . . . John,’ and she cut off.
This called for a very dry Martini. I went to the cocktail cabinet, but there was no ice. I hesitated for a moment, then going to the intercom, read off the print under the various buttons. I saw ‘Butler’ and pressed the switch. After a moment’s delay, Jonas answered.
‘I have no ice, Jonas,’ I said in Ferguson’s voice.
‘It is in the lower compartment of the cabinet, sir,’ he told me. ‘I will come immediately.’
I cursed myself for being so stupid.
‘No, don’t do that. I’m busy. It’s all right,’ and I switched off.
That’s what comes of being too confident, I told myself, opening the door of the compartment below the rows of bottles. Here, I found a well-stocked refrigerator.
What would he think? I wondered uneasily.
As I was mixing the drink, there came a tap on the door. Hurriedly moving to the window, my hands clammy, I called to come in.
‘Sir, may I make you a drink?’ Jonas asked.
Still keeping my back turned for I wasn’t wearing the mask, I shook my head.
‘It’s all right. Thanks. Just leave me. I’m busy.’
‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson,’ and I heard the door close.
I drank three quarters of the Martini, set down the glass and wiped my face with my handkerchief, then I finished the drink and made another.
I was back on even keel, plus three Martinis, when Mazzo appeared a few minutes past 20.00.
‘Big deal, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, grinning. He went to one of the closets and took from it a tuxedo outfit. ‘It’s a dress affair.’ He produced a frilled white shirt and a black bow tie. ‘You get your face on.’
I went into the bathroom and put on the mask. I was now getting expert in this exercise. When I had completed the disguise, it gave me a lot of confidence to look once again at the face of John Merrill Ferguson.
Returning to the bedroom, I changed into the tuxedo. As I was fixing the bow tie, Mazzo said, ‘Jonas will be serving at the table. There will be a couple of women to help him. You don’t have to worry about any of them. The women are cows. Jonas is half-blind. There are two things to remember: the Boss doesn’t eat much. Don’t go making a hog of yourself. The other thing is the Boss doesn’t talk much: so lay off with the chatter. Get it?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Another thing: the Boss doesn’t drink nor smoke, so watch it.’
‘He must be quite a man,’ I said. ‘What does he do in his spare time?’
Mazzo leered.
‘There’s Mrs. F.’
Yes, there was Loretta. Seeing her in my mind, my blood ran hot: the most devastating and sexy woman I had yet met.
At a few minutes to 21.00, Mazzo escorted me down the stairs, and into the big dining room, big enough to entertain a hundred people without a crush.
Loretta, looking marvelous in a low cut scarlet evening dress, her neck and chest glittering with diamonds, was sitting in a lounging chair. Durant, wearing a tuxedo, stood by the empty fireplace, smoking a cigar. Jonas was hovering. In the center of the room was a table, laid for dinner.
As soon as she saw me, Loretta got to her feet and came to me and offered me her cheek. I brushed it with my lips, smelling her subtle perfume.
‘I hope you feel like eating tonight, John. The Chef has prepared a new dish.’
Remembering what Mazzo had said, I gave a weary shrug.
‘You must try to eat,’ Loretta said, smiling at me.
Aware all this was said for Jonas’s benefit, I again shrugged.
We sat at the table and a lobster mousse was put before me. My gastric juices rushed into action. Then I heard Mazzo, standing behind me, cough gently.
Reluctantly, I said, ‘I can’t eat this,’ while I stared greedily.
As if he expected me to say this, Jonas whisked away the dish and replaced it with a mixed salad. I fiddled with the salad while I watched with envious eyes Loretta and Durant eat the lobster mousse.
Loretta kept up a prattle that didn’t call for me to reply. Every now and then, Durant made business remarks while I nodded to show I was listening.
A dish, smelling like heaven, was presented to me. I peered at its contents: chicken with truffles in a rich cream sauce.
‘A small piece, Mr. Ferguson, sir,’ Jonas coaxed like a mother with a wayward child.
A small piece?
Goddam it! I could have devoured the lot!
‘Looks good,’ I said, aware Mazzo was coughing again. To hell with him, I thought. ‘Yes, I think I could manage some of that.’
Jonas placed a small piece of the breast on my plate.
‘Carry on, Jonas,
’ I said. ‘Don’t let’s be mean.’
I was aware Loretta and Durant were staring at me while Mazzo was coughing like a refugee from a T.B. clinic.
Jonas beamed as he placed more chicken on my plate.
‘That’s fine, Jonas,’ I said when I was sure he had heaped my plate.
Jonas then served Loretta and Durant, both of whom sat in stony silence.
As I munched, I gave them an out.
‘Those new pills,’ I said to Loretta, ‘seem to have improved my appetite.’
‘I am glad,’ Loretta said with a stiff smile.
‘My congratulations to the Chef, Jonas,’ I said as I gorged myself. To Durant, I said, ‘Remarkable what these modern pills will do.’
‘So I understand,’ Durant snarled.
I couldn’t care less. I finished what was on my plate.
Durant and Loretta had laid down their knives and forks. Jonas came to me. ‘Just a little more, Mr. Ferguson, sir?’
Mazzo went into another fit of coughing which I ignored.
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It is excellent.’
Finally, at the end of the meal, when I had eaten two portions of apple pie which Durant, glaring at me, and Loretta, half smiling, refused, we left the table.
Durant stalked into the living room.
Feeling relaxed and very well fed, I escorted Loretta as far as the living room door, then paused. I saw Durant was lighting a cigar and was settling in an armchair.
I had no intention of spending the rest of the evening with him.
‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ I said, and looked directly at her.
She smiled.
‘You have done very well, John,’ she said. ‘Sleep well,’ and she moved past me to join Durant.
With Mazzo at my heels, I returned to my suite.
‘Look, palsy,’ Mazzo said as soon as he closed the door, ‘I told you . . .’
‘Who the hell do you think you’re speaking to?’ I demanded, rounding on him. ‘Shut up! Get the hell out of here!’ and I stamped into the bedroom and slammed the door.
I stood waiting to see if he would come in and start trouble, but he didn’t. After a long moment, I went into the bathroom and removed the mask, took a shower and, putting on pajamas, I got into bed.
I turned off all the lights except the tiny pilot light at the head of the bed, then I relaxed in comfort and thought back on the day.
The day seemed to me to have gone satisfactorily. I had passed a test with Jonas, and that was important. I had now four thousand dollars in the bank. I was controlling Mazzo. I was even getting the edge on Durant.
Yes, it had been a satisfactory day.
I closed my eyes and let my mind dwell on Loretta. I was still thinking about her when I drifted off into sleep. I slept for several hours, then came awake.
The room was in darkness.
The warmth of a naked body pressed against me.
Gentle fingers caressed me.
Only half awake, I reached out, rolled over, letting her hand guide me into her.
* * *
‘No, don’t move. Stay still.’
She was whispering to me, her face against mine. She was holding me tight inside her. I eased my weight off her on my elbows.
‘No, don’t do that. Crush me,’ she whispered so I relaxed, feeling drained and drifted off into an erotic sleep.
Later, much later, with the light of the dawn coming through the shutters. I came awake. I was now lying beside her, and in the dawn light I could see her, awake, looking at me, a half-smile to welcome me out of a satiated sleep.
‘Hi, Jerry,’ she said.
I put my arms around her and pulled her to me.
We made slow, marvelous love, then I went back to sleep again.
The sun was bright through the shutters when I again opened my eyes.
She was talking to Jonas who was wheeling in a trolley. She had on a turquoise robe and her Cleopatra hairdo was immaculate.
As I watched her, half hidden behind the sheet, I thought she looked the most marvelous woman in the world.
Jonas poured the coffee, not looking in my direction, then he bowed and went away.
I rolled out of bed.
She was now sitting by the trolley, sipping coffee and she smiled at me as I joined her.
‘Sleep well, Jerry?’
I sat down, sipped coffee, then lit a cigarette.
‘An exceptional woman: an exceptional night.’
She laughed.
‘John would never think of saying that, but John isn’t a romantic lover.’
I looked directly at her.
‘Where is your husband?’
‘Yes, it is time you knew. I’ll have one of your cigarettes.’
I lit the cigarette and passed it to her.
After a long pause, she went on, ‘Jerry, this is a very complicated and difficult situation. I don’t have to tell you who my husband is and what his position is.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ I said.
‘Everything I am going to tell you is in strict confidence,’ she went on, looking straight at me. ‘Is that understood?’
‘Sure.’
‘John is suffering from an obscure and incurable mental illness. It attacked him two years ago. This illness begins with loss of memory, vagueness and inactivity. The progress of the illness is slow. He was already beginning to react to this illness when I first met him. I thought he was preoccupied with business and when he was with me in the evenings, I tolerated his long silences, believing he was planning some new deal. Six months ago, he began to deteriorate fast.
Long before I did, his mother suspected that he was becoming mentally ill. There is a specialist in Vienna who is discreet. He examined John and told his mother find me that in a few months’ time, John would become a vegetable, and there was no hope of a cure.’
‘That’s tough,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to believe.’
‘Yes, but there are complications. It is absolutely necessary to keep his illness a secret. This is the reason why you have been hired to impersonate him to give us time to reconstruct the Ferguson kingdom. It is a fantastic kingdom put together by John. Durant was and is John’s right hand, but even Durant wasn’t let into a number of secret and big deals John negotiated. Now, John can’t handle any of this, Durant is trying to put the pieces of the scattered jigsaw, that makes up John’s kingdom, into place, and he is discovering that without John at the helm, without his signature on various documents, the kingdom could collapse.’
I was listening hard, and I stared at her.
‘Why should it collapse?’
‘John has over expanded. He has been borrowing enormous sums of money from the banks and the insurance people. He has such a reputation, his name is gold, but if it became known he was mentally ill, his creditors would call in their loans. There are several vast deals due to be finalized in a month’s time. John’s signature is essential. Once the deals are completed, then the news can slowly leak that John is ill, and finally, that he is no longer in control. By that time Durant will have set up a board of directors with himself in John’s place, and the Ferguson kingdom will continue on its prosperous way.’
‘Nice for Durant,’ I said, my mind busy.
‘Yes.’ She regarded me. ‘You are a marvelous lover, Jerry.’
‘You are too,’ I said, startled by this swift change of mood.
‘I have been watching you. You take to the role of a billionaire marvelously. There are moments when I believe you feel you are John Merrill Ferguson.’
I gave her a crooked grin.
‘We actors get carried away sometimes.’
She studied me.
‘The disguise is marvelous, and the voice. You could be John.’
‘I’m not.’
‘I said you could be.’
I looked at her. There was a long pause. I felt a sudden tingle of excitement.
‘Yes, maybe I could.’ Again we looked at e
ach other, then I went on, ‘There’s something I should know. Where is your husband?’
‘In the left wing. He has his own suite. A nurse looks after him. He is well paid and trustworthy.’
I thought of Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine. I wondered when the time came for the news of Ferguson’s mental illness to be leaked whether the nurse would also have a fatal accident.
This beautiful, sensual woman, sitting opposite me, telling me secrets, gave me no confidence. I had an instinctive feeling that once I had done what they wanted me to do, I too would be murdered.
She looked at the clock on the overmantel.
‘I must go. This morning you will be taken to the office with Durant.’ She stood up, smiling at me, then coming around the trolley as I got to my feet, she moved close to me. I put my arms around her.
‘Shall I come tonight?’ Her kiss was soft and inviting.
‘Of course. Does Mazzo know what’s going on?’
‘Don’t worry about him.’ She drew away from me. ‘Remember, Jerry, you could be John,’ then turning, she left me.
I drew in a long, deep breath. What did she mean: You could be John ? She was planning something, but what? I had time. I needed all the information I could get from her. I was sure I was walking on a lethal tightrope.
I now knew Ferguson was with a nurse in the left wing of this enormous house, and he was rapidly turning into a vegetable. I now had learned that his vast kingdom was built on borrowed money and one leak that he was mentally ill could bring his kingdom crashing down.
Mazzo came in at this moment.
‘Office today, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said. ‘Get with the mask.’
Twenty minutes later, wearing a dark business suit, the mask, the dark goggles, plus the hat, I followed Mazzo down the stairs to the waiting Rolls.
Durant was sitting in the car, reading documents. I sat by his side.
Mazzo got in beside the Jap chauffeur.
As Durant put the papers back in his briefcase, he said, ‘There are always pressmen waiting outside the building. When you get out of the car, walk with Mazzo. Your bodyguards will keep the press away. You have papers to sign. Your new secretary is Sonia Malcolm. She hasn’t seen Mr. Ferguson. There will be no problem. You will not meet any of the other staff.’
‘Anything you say, Joe.’
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