1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve

by James Hadley Chase

  "No, ma'am ... he wasn't interested. He had other things on his mind."

  "What things?"

  Harry looked blankly at her. "He didn't tell me, ma'am."

  Helga pressed her hands to her face. Her whole future life was in the hands of these men. This magnificent-looking boy could have been an idiot for all the help she could get from him!

  After a long pause, Larry said, "There's a fat guy out there clearing the snow. As soon as he's through I'll bring up the car."

  Relieved to do something, Helga went to the window. Below her fat road sweeper friend shovelling the snow from the drive. A wheelbarrow full of grit stood nearby.

  "I'll bring the car up, Larry," she said. "You must keep out of sight. Village people talk. I don't want him to see you."

  "Yeah ... there's that. Have you finished?"

  "Yes ... thank you. It was beautifully cooked."

  He picked up the tray and took it into the kitchen.

  She stood by the window watching the road sweeper and when she saw he was finishing, she went into the bedroom took a fifty franc note from her bag, put on her coat, snow shoes and hat and went down the drive. The road sweeper lifted his cap when he saw her. She spent a few minutes chatting with him. He asked respectfully after her husband. He told her there would be no more snow but she didn't believe him. The village people always told foreigners that better weather was coming. She gave him the fifty franc note and he jerked off his cap, his face wreathed in smiles, then she went down to the car and drove it up to the garage.

  She returned to the villa. As she shut the front door, hearing Larry in the kitchen, the telephone bell began to ring. Stripping off her coat and dropping it on the chest, she started for the sitting-room as Larry appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  "It's all right," she said curtly. "I'll handle it."

  "Sure, ma'am," and he went back into the kitchen.

  She reached the telephone and picked up the receiver.

  "Mrs. Rolfe?"

  "Yes . . . who is it?"

  "A call from New York. Mr. Rolfe. A moment, please."

  She drew in a breath of exasperation, sat down and reached for a cigarette. As she was lighting, Rolfe's querulous voice came on the line. "Helga?"

  "Yes. Did you get my telex."

  "I did ... what's going on? I called the Eden and they told me you had checked out."

  "My dear man, the only way to get this goddamn villa ready for you is to be here," Helga said, her voice shrill. "I'm wearing my fur coat if that interests you and it is bloody cold! Why are you calling?"

  "Helga! You don't have to use such language!"

  "Don't tempt me, Herman. I'm cold and fed up. I can use a lot worse!"

  "I do wish you wouldn't talk like this. Now listen to me, I want you to come back to New York at once. I'm not coming to Castagnola. I have sudden business in the Bahamas. The Eden tells me it is snowing in Lugano. You know I don't like the snow. I've decided to go to Nassau. You'll join me. You'll enjoy the sun. There is a flight from Milan at four o'clock this afternoon to New York. We'll fly together to Nassau tomorrow."

  Helga gripped the telephone receiver so hard her nail turned white.

  "That's impossible," she said. "I have the cleaning women here and I can't and won't pack in a minute!"

  She heard her husband snort.

  "Oh, nonsense! You have plenty of time. Now don't start making difficulties."

  "I intend to make difficulties! I have things to do here. Besides, it is snowing and I'm not driving to Milan in this goddamn snowstorm just to please your whim! If you can't wait for me, then go ahead and I'll join you at the end of the week. Where will you be staying?"

  "I don't see why you should get so worked up," Herman complained. "I insist you moderate your language when you talk to me."

  "Where will you he staying?" Helga said, raising her voice.

  "The Emerald Beach hotel for two days, then I hope Hinkle will find us a furnished bungalow." Herman's voice had turned sulky. "I don't see why you can't come at once. You're always making difficulties, Helga."

  She wanted to scream at him to go to hell, but she bit that back.

  "That's a charming remark, Herman, considering I have been freezing in this damned place so you could arrive in comfort!"

  She heard him snort impatiently.

  "I don't see why you should even be there. You just don't know how to get things organized." "I'll fly to New York on Saturday and not before!"

  "I'm not going to wait for you. I'm leaving for Nassau tomorrow morning."

  "I'll join you when I'm ready." She paused, took hold of herself and softening her voice, she asked, "How are you?"

  They spent a few more minutes talking indifferently to each other, then she hung up.

  Well, at least now, she wouldn't have to worry about Herman and that was a relief.

  The sun was shining and the countryside from the picture window looked clean, white and sparkling.

  She went into the kitchen where Larry was finishing the washing-up. "You don't have to do that. There's a dishwasher."

  "Yeah ... I see that, but it foxes me. I've never used one."

  Helga realized she had never used a dishwasher either and she laughed. "There's a book of instructions somewhere."

  "I don't mind doing the washing-up," Larry said. "That's all I did in the Army."

  Then she remembered what Archer had said: that Larry was an Army deserter.

  "You were in the Army?"

  He looked at her, his face expressionless. "You know that, ma'am ... Archer told you."

  She nodded. "He told me you are a deserter."

  "That's it ... AWOL. That's me." He dried his hands and leaned against the double sink. "I had enough of the Army so I walked out."

  She studied him, then she hoisted herself on the kitchen table, swinging her shapely legs.

  "So all that talk about your father sending you to Europe was so much talk?" He ran his fingers through his blond hair.

  "Excuse me, ma'am. I didn't mean to snow you, but you asked and I guess I said the first thing that came into my head."

  "That's all right, Larry. I understand."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "So your position is more difficult than I thought. If the Army police ..." "There are no M.P.s here, ma'am. I'm not worrying." No, she thought, you may not be worrying, but I am.

  "I intend to fly back to New York on Saturday," she said. "What will you do when I've gone?"

  "Saturday?" This seemed to give him a jolt. He frowned as he thought. "I'll manage. I'll get a job at a hotel or at a filling station ... something like that." "We've gone over that before, Larry. You need a work permit."

  "Yeah." He rubbed the back of his head and his frown deepened. "Well, don't you worry, ma'am. I'll manage somehow." "But how?"

  He looked up and his frown went away. He gave her his warm, friendly smile.

  "I don't know right now. I'll have to think about it, but as Ron said: a problem is a challenge and I guess this is my problem."

  "I'd like to help you. You've helped me. Would you like to go home?" He stared at her.

  "I sure would, ma'am, but I can't. That's the first place the cops would look for me. No ... I can't go home."

  "But you would like to go back to the States?"

  "Yeah ... I guess I would."

  "If I gave you your ticket and some money, Larry, would you be able to get a job?"

  He nodded.

  "Sure ... I've got this faked passport. I could easily get a job if I went back."

  "All right, Larry, then that's what I'll do. When the bank sends the photos, I'll book a seat for you on the New York flight and I'll give you a present of five thousand dollars. Would that be all right?"

  He stared as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, then his face lit up: the face of a child who has seen Father Christmas for the first time. "Do you really mean that, ma'am?"

  "Yes … I mean it. I owe you a lot, Larr
y."

  He thought, then shook his head.

  "No, ma'am. I wouldn't say that. I got you into this mess." She was glad he said that.

  "That's honest of you, Larry. Yes, you did get me into this mess." She lifted her hands and let them drop into her lap. "But to be as honest as you, I admit I was heading for a mess anyway, and I'm lucky it was with you and not with some other man without scruples." She smiled at him as she slid off the table. "Now I'm going down to the village. I feel like a walk. I'll get some fresh bread. Is there anything you want?" "I'm getting short of gum ... if I could bother you."

  "I'll get you some. You must keep out of sight. Will you be very bored?" He grinned.

  "Bored? No, ma'am, I don't get bored. I'll get you a good lunch." She smiled.

  "Wonderful! I won't be more than an hour or so." She went into the hall and put on her coat. Larry came to the kitchen door. "If anyone comes ... if the telephone rings ... don't answer."

  "Sure, ma'am ... I know." He paused, then went on, "When do you think the bank will send the photos?"

  "Not until the day after tomorrow."

  "You think they will send them?"

  She nodded.

  "Yes ... the signature is convincing."

  "Yeah, I guess Maxie is smart."

  Smiling, she put her hand on his arm.

  "I don't know what I would have done without you, Larry."

  She opened the front door and feeling suddenly young and almost happy, she hurried out into the sunshine and the cold.

  The walk to the village with the cold nipping at her invigorated her. Her problems, she told herself, were slowly coming under control. Herman was out of the way. Archer was locked up. She would give Larry five thousand dollars and his ticket to New York and her debt to him would be paid. When she saw Herman she would tell him about the missing two million dollars, blaming herself as much as Archer, but insisting the account should be transferred to Spencer, Grove & Manly. She would be able to fly to New York with a completely free mind. Then Nassau! Yes, she felt in need of warm sunshine and the sea, and from now on, she told herself, no more men! She bought bread, and after some trouble, four packs of chewing gum. She was in an almost gay mood as she walked up the road, back to the villa. It was 11.50 by the time she reached the front door. She took her key from her bag and opened the door, pleased to come into the warm. "Larry?"

  She took off her coat. She wished the scaffolding pole hadn't to remain, jamming the cellar door. She disliked untidiness, and the pole spoilt the neatness of the hall. "Larry?"

  The silence that greeted her made her pause to listen. Hearing nothing, she took off her hat and went into the kitchen. There was a chicken in its plastic wrapping defrosting on the table, a packet of spinach and a packet of dehydrated potatoes, but no Larry.

  Suddenly alarmed, she went to the sitting-room and threw open the door.

  Facing her, sitting in a lounging chair, a whisky and soda in his hand, was Archer.

  The shock of seeing him sent the blood from her face. "Did you have a nice walk?" Archer asked mildly.

  Helga's hands turned into fists. She tried to speak but no sound came.

  "A bit of a shock? Of course ... let me get you a drink." He heaved himself to his feet and moved to the bar. The usual?" "Where's Larry?" Her voice was a croaking whisper.

  "Ah, Larry ... Larry is downstairs. He's a little under the weather, but he's all right." Archer rattled ice cubes in the cocktail shaker. "After all, he's young and tough. Sit down Helga."

  She stood motionless, her brain scarcely working as she watched him make the cocktail, pour it with a flourish and bring the glass to an occasional table. "Sit down ... sit down, Helga. I'm afraid you'll have to cook the lunch." He regarded her. "I hope you can cook ... I can't." He sank into his chair and picked up his glass.

  "What have you done to him? What happened?" Helga remained motionless. She now had control of herself and was desperately trying to absorb the shock.

  "It was really rather simple." Archer sipped his drink, then took his cigar case from his pocket and selected a cigar. "Larry isn't over bright. You have probably noticed that. I listening at the door and I heard your conversation. When you had gone, I called to him. I asked for a cup of coffee. He's young, and the young have too much confidence. He hasn't ever taken me seriously ... his mistake. He brought me a cup of coffee. I hid in the boiler room and as he went to the games room, I sneaked up behind him and hit him on the head with a billiard cue. So easy, Helga, it was almost ridiculous. I came up here, put your ingenious pole in place and that's that."

  Slowly, she moved forward and sat down. Her mind refused to work. "Have you hurt him?"

  He touched the side of his bruised face gently. "No more than he hurt me."

  "I want to go down and see him. You might have injured him seriously."

  "You're not going, so shut up!" His voice turned vicious. "I've had about enough of you! He's all right. I just stunned him. He was trying to get to his feet when I reached the hall." He lit his cigar, then went on, "You have the three aces now, Helga ... I have the four."

  She was shaking so badly that she had to keep her hands gripped between her knees.

  "I see now, Helga, you're damned dangerous," he went on. "I suppose I gave you the idea to forge my signature. Well, tit for tat. So the pansy made a good job of it?"

  Helga said nothing.

  "Well, my next move is to telephone the bank and tell them to ignore the letter." Archer got to his feet. "Then we are back on square A." "Wait!"

  The snap in her voice made him pause and regard her thoughtfully. "What little trickery is now going on in your mind?"

  "I don't intend to be blackmailed! I have had time to think and I have thought. My life with Herman is getting more and more deadly." Helga had control of herself. This was the time to bluff, but it would have to be expert bluff. "Rather than submit to blackmail, I'm prepared to give up my inheritance."

  "How dramatic! The dialogue is right out of a Victorian novel," Archer said and smiled. "Not you, Helga. That's something I'll never believe." She shrugged.

  "I couldn't care less what you believe or don't believe. I mean it. I intend to have those photographs. If I don't get them, then I'm going to call the police and I will charge you with embezzlement. Go ahead and call your bank ... then I'll call the police."

  "Oh come! It's nice bluff but it won't work with me," Archer said but he didn't move to the telephone. "Then I'll call the police and after, you call the bank."

  She got up and went to the telephone. She picked up the receiver and began to dial.

  He came blundering over and snatched the receiver from her hand.

  "Don't be so hasty, Helga." She saw the uneasiness in his eyes. "You haven't touched your drink. Let's sit down like civilized people and discuss this." She realized she had won the first move in the game. She had frightened him. Her face expressionless, she went back to her chair and sat down. She was pleased that when she picked up her drink, her hand was steady. She sipped and nodded. "Your martinis are always good." He lowered his bulk into his chair.

  "Thank you." He studied the end of his cigar. "Suppose I let you have the photographs ... what will be your contribution?"

  "I will tell Herman we both speculated and lost and the account must be taken from you."

  He shook his head. "No. That's back to square A. Let's move to square B. You take all the blame for the gamble and I keep the account."

  It was her turn to shake her head.

  "No, Jack. You're through. The only other alternative is you go to jail." "And you lose sixty million dollars?"

  "Yes, but I'm prepared to do just that, but are you prepared to spend ten years in jail? What are you now ... forty-eight? No one will want an ex–jailbird at fifty–eight, will they?"

  She watched him lick his lips.

  "You're very persuasive, Helga," he said finally, "but I simply don't believe you. You were always a good bluffer but you're not bluffing
me."

  "Then call the bank, Jack, and I'll call the police ... it's as simple as that."

  "Suppose we move to square C?" Archer said, studying the end of his cigar. "I told you: without Herman's account I am in financial trouble. I owe money everywhere and I'm being pressed. I would like to go back to the States. I could make a start. Now suppose I give you the photographs and give up the account and in return you give me a substantial sum of money so I can clear my debts and make a fresh start back home? What do you say?" "I will not submit to blackmail," Helga said quietly.

  "You could afford two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Helga. For that sum you get the photographs and the negatives and eventually you'll collect sixty million dollars. Come Helga, that's a fair bargain."

  She reached for a cigarette and lit it, then she sipped her drink.

  "And where do you imagine I'd find two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"

  "Any Swiss bank would lend you that against Herman's securities. He needn't know."

  She shook her head.

  "You have made a mistake, Jack. You should never have picked on me to blackmail. I'm not the blackmailing type. This morning as I lay in bed, I thought about my possible future. I discovered I am utterly bored and sick of Herman. I want my freedom. I want to be able to take a lover when I need one. I thought about all the money. Sixty million? It's too much. I wouldn't know what to do with such an enormous sum. Then I worked out what I would be worth if Herman divorced me and I was pleasantly surprised. I find I wouldn't be badly off if he threw me out." She was lying steadily and she hoped convincingly. "There are things you don't know. For instance you don't know that Herman gave me for my last birthday bonds that will bring me in an income of ten thousand dollars a year. (A lie.) He gave me for my birthday before last a cottage in Carmel where I could live very happily and comfortably. (Another lie.) I have two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewellery. (True.) I have five fur coats: all valuable. (Also true.) I have a car and a motor cruiser. (Again true.) Herman also gave me a Picasso which is worth at least a hundred thousand. (A lie there was no Picasso.) If I sell carefully and invest carefully, I will have an assured income of thirty thousand dollars for life, plus a cottage. (God! she thought, how I wish all this was true!) So I have come to the conclusion that it might be good to be rid of Herman so the answer to square C as you put it, is no."