1977 - I Hold the Four Aces

by James Hadley Chase

  Grenville, in a dark immaculately cut suit, wearing the Old Etonian tie, took her hand and brushed it with his lips.

  “How beautiful you look!” he exclaimed. “It seems a century since I last saw you.” As he entered the suite, he saw the laid table. “But Helga! I was going to take you…”

  “Not tonight,” she said, a little breathlessly. “This is my turn. Let’s have a drink.” She waved to the bottles on a separate table. “I’ll have a vodka martini.”

  “My drink too,” Grenville said, and putting a briefcase he was carrying on a chair, he began to mix the drink. “Have you been shopping?” He smiled at her. “Buying up Balmain?”

  “No. I’ve been walking over a dreary building site with two very dreary colleagues. And you?”

  Grenville laughed.

  “I was doing exactly the same.” He carried the drinks to a table, and as Helga sat down, he pulled up a chair near her. “What are we going to eat?”

  She sipped her drink and nodded her approval.

  “This is as good as Hinkle makes.”

  “Hinkle?”

  “My old and faithful major-domo whom I have left in my Florida home. He makes the most divine omelettes.”

  Grenville wasn’t interested in old and faithful major-domos.

  “But you haven’t told me what we are going to eat?”

  “You sound hungry.”

  He gave her his flashing smile.

  “I am. I am only just back from Nice. I couldn’t face that awful stuff they serve on the plane, so I haven’t eaten all day.”

  He had, in fact, paused on the way back to Paris in the Maserati to have a light lunch, but Grenville could never resist gaining sympathy from women.

  “Nice? I love the south of France. Drink up then, and let’s eat.”

  While Grenville served the lobster mousse, Helga kept looking at him. She kept thinking: he really is marvellous! There is that wonderful thing about him no other man I’ve ever known has had.

  “Tell me about Nice,” she said, as they began to eat.

  “Actually, Helga, I want your advice. I may have to go to Saudi Arabia in a couple of days’ time and, frankly, I don’t want to go.”

  This was a shock to Helga. She looked at him, stiffening.

  “Saudi Arabia? But why?”

  She thought: Dear God! Am I going to lose him?

  “It is rather a long story, but if you can bear with it, I’ll tell you.” He took another helping of the mousse. “This is quite excellent. Won’t you have more?”

  Helga shook her head.

  “Tell me about Saudi Arabia.”

  “It’s this stupid project,” Grenville said. “For you to understand, let me lightly sketch in the background. I have an income from England, left me by my father (a lie). At one time, it was acceptable, but no longer. When the pound sterling was strong, I was very comfortably off, but now, with the present currency exchange, I am, frankly, having a struggle to live the way I wish to live, so I have accepted this stupid job which was offered me by an American property promoter. He is the world’s worst bore. He has a pipe dream of promoting holiday camps in the sunspots of Europe. He wants money. He decided I could raise the money. I’ve talked to a number of wealthy business men, but they aren’t interested. Now he imagines there is so much money in Saudi Arabia they will fall over themselves to give him the money. I am sure this is sheer nonsense, but he wants me to go. He offers to pay my expenses, and also, quite a handsome retainer.” He pushed his plate aside, then shrugged. “I think I’ll have to go.” Getting up, he took away their plates and served the noisette de veau. “This looks marvellous,” he said, as he carried the plates to the table. “I love this serve-yourself idea of yours.”

  But Helga’s mind was busy. She had only five more days in France, then she would be returning to Paradise City. She couldn’t bear the thought of Grenville going off to Saudi Arabia and leaving her on her own.

  She forced a smile.

  “I thought it would please you. Tell me about this project, Chris.”

  She’s biting, he thought, but waved his hand deprecatingly.

  “It just wouldn’t be interesting to you or to anyone,” he said as he began to eat. “Hmmm, this is really good!”

  “I want to know about it!” The sudden snap in her voice startled him.

  “All right, but later. Actually, I have all the papers here.” He nodded to the briefcase, lying on the chair, and that was his false move.

  Archer had warned him to be very careful how he handled Helga, but seeing her determined interest, he had allowed himself to be just too confident.

  Seeing his confident smile, Helga regarded him. A red light flashed up in her mind. Archer had told Grenville that she was shrewd and quick to smell a con and he knew Helga: this warning was meant to be taken seriously, but Grenville, so used to dealing with rich, stupid women, hadn’t taken the warning seriously enough.

  Helga was now asking herself if this was an opening gambit for some swindle. Now, looking at Grenville, who was happily eating, she told herself not to be so suspicious, but the red light was up. She wanted this man. She wanted him in her bed. But suppose this was a setup?

  Probing, she said casually, “Is this site in Nice?”

  “No. It is in Vallauris. It is quite an impressive piece of land with marvellous views.”

  “How many hectares?”

  Grenville had no idea. He shrugged.

  “It’s all in the plan, but let’s enjoy this, Helga. I had no idea they could cook so well here. Wouldn’t you like a little more?” He poured more champagne.

  “No more for me, thank you.”

  He was aware that she was studying him, her blue eyes uncomfortably direct.

  “Don’t look so serious, Helga,” he said. “I’ve told you this project couldn’t possibly interest you, and I am also certain that the new Arabian king wouldn’t part with a dollar.”

  “Who is this American you are working for? What is his name?”

  Grenville hesitated.

  “His name? Joe Patterson. Actually, he is staying in this hotel.”

  “Short, fat and pockmarked?”

  Grenville almost gaped at her.

  “That’s right, and the world’s worst bore.”

  “I have seen him. How much does he want to promote this holiday camp?”

  Grenville had an uneasy feeling that the initiative was slipping away from him. This woman, looking directly at him, began to worry him.

  “Two million dollars.” He laughed. “According to him, that takes care of buying the site and putting up the camp, but who in their right mind, these days, would put up two million?” He grimaced. “Not that it wouldn’t be a marvellous deal for me. I get a two per cent cut, and that would be nice money.”

  Again the red light flashed up in Helga’s mind.

  “Yes, I can understand why you are interested, Chris.” She sipped her champagne.

  “Well, I’m sure it won’t come off, but it might be amusing to go to Saudi Arabia. I’ve never been there.”

  “Have you any introductions?” The probing note in her voice again worried Grenville.

  “I believe Mr. Patterson is arranging that.”

  Helga nodded, then laid down her knife and fork.

  “Do help yourself, Chris. I’m sure you must still be starving.”

  “Well, it’s so good.”

  While he was helping himself at the trolley, Helga lit a cigarette.

  “A holiday camp?” she said. “That might not be a bad investment. Two million? Vallauris? What would Mr. Patterson’s terms be if someone advanced the money?”

  Grenville stared, then returned to the table, his plate loaded, and sat down.

  “He is offering twenty-five per cent on the money.”

  “That seems excessively generous. The banks would accept a lot less.”

  Grenville shrugged. He wished she would stop talking. He was thoroughly enjoying the meal.

&
nbsp; “I wouldn’t know about that, Helga.”

  “And how about control?”

  “From what I understand, he wants to keep control, but why bother? Surely you wouldn’t be remotely interested?”

  There was a long pause which made him uneasy. As he ate, he looked from time to time at her. She sat still, her blue eyes cloudy, her face expressionless.

  “Look, Helga…”

  She lifted her hand in an impatient gesture.

  “Enjoy it Chris, I’m thinking,” and the steely note in her voice made Grenville suddenly lose his appetite. He pushed aside his plate.

  “I’ve had more than enough.”

  “There is cheese and a sorbet,” Helga said. “Do help yourself.”

  “What about you?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  He got up, reluctantly deciding to pass up the cheese, and poured two cups of coffee and sat at the table again. He could sense a change had come over her, but he couldn’t define the change. She now seemed remote and her expression had hardened.

  “Let me see these papers, Chris.”

  Some forty minutes ago, her body had been yearning to be taken. All day long, she had thought of this man, but now, with a growing conviction that she was being set up for a con, her desire for him faded.

  As Archer, who knew her so well, had warned Grenville: “I believe that sex would take second place, if she suspected she was being taken for a ride.”

  Sex was now taking second place.

  “Are you sure you want to be bothered?” Grenville had an uneasy feeling that she was beginning to dominate him, and this worried him. Always, he had been able to control the women who had fallen for him.

  “I asked you to show me these papers, Chris!” There was sudden steel in her voice.

  A little flustered, and losing his cool, Grenville opened the briefcase and took out the coloured brochure and the plan of the site.

  “Give yourself a brandy, nothing for me,” Helga said, and sitting back, studied the brochure, then the plan of the site, while Grenville, sure now he had lost control of the situation, wandered to the drinks table and poured himself a brandy.

  “You will see…” he began, but she silenced him with an impatient wave of her hand.

  “Let me read this first!”

  He cut himself a piece of cheese and ate it. Holding his brandy glass, he wandered over to the window, drew aside the drapes and stared down at the traffic. This woman, he warned himself, was going to be difficult, but he thought of the possibilities. Although his confidence in himself had been shaken, he was still sure, that once he could get her to bed, all would go well.

  Finally, she put down the papers. Her sharp mind had absorbed the details. She realized this promotion would never get off the ground, but she did see how she could control this man who meant so much to her. It was ridiculously easy.

  “This could be interesting,” she said. “Let us talk about it.” She moved to the settee, and Grenville came over, and sat by her side. “I have so much money and I believe money should always be put to work. If Mr. Patterson is really prepared to pay twenty-five per cent on two million, yes, it is interesting.”

  Grenville stared at her.

  “But, Helga, dear! Surely you…”

  She waved him to silence.

  “Two million is nothing to me, and it would be nice for you to get two per cent. Now, this is what we will do. You and I will look at this site at Vallauris. I love the south of France. It’ll be fun, and also business. We will stay at Cannes for a couple of days. The Carlton Hotel is always so kind to me. Don’t worry about expenses: leave all that to me. Tell your Mr. Patterson that I am interested, and that you have persuaded me to look at the site. Telling him that will ensure, if the deal goes through, that you will get your commission.” She patted his hand. “Let us catch the 22.30 night flight tomorrow. What do you think?”

  Dazed, Grenville nodded.

  “That would be wonderful. I’ll tell Mr. Patterson. He will be delighted.”

  “I am sure he will.” The blue eyes were steely. “All right, Chris, this has been very exciting. I have had a long day. Leave all the arrangements to me. Let us meet in the lobby tomorrow evening at 19.00. Then together, we will fly to Nice.”

  He realized, with a sense of shock, that she was dismissing him.

  “I was hoping…” he began, but stopped as she got to her feet.

  “Later, Chris, tomorrow then.” As he reached for the papers and the brochure, she said curtly, “Leave those. I want to study them. Good night, Chris. I am sure we are going to have fun.”

  For the first time in his career as a gigolo, Grenville felt completely dominated. He kissed her hand, then bewildered, he let himself out of the suite. He stood in the corridor for several moments, then pulling himself together, he hurried to his own suite. He telephoned Archer and gave him a blow-by-blow account of the evening.

  He heard Archer draw in a deep breath of exasperation.

  “I told you she was nobody’s fool!” Archer exploded. “I warned you! You’ve blown it! She now knows this is a con!”

  “But she is taking me to Vallauris tomorrow!” Grenville said, his voice high-pitched. “If she knows it is a con, why should she do that?”

  “That shows how little you know about her, but you’ll learn,” Archer said sourly. “She is after your body. Now listen, Chris, do exactly what she wants you to do. Don’t argue with her. Go along with her. My idea is germinating.”

  “For God’s sake! What idea?”

  “Give me a few more days, and remember, Chris, don’t ever imagine you can outsmart Helga. She is very special.” He paused, then went on, “But I can. Go along with her, and leave the rest to me,” and hung up.

  * * *

  Grenville stood on the balcony of his room at the Carlton Hotel, Cannes, feeling the hot sun against his face. He looked down at the crowded Croisette. For the first time in his gigolo life, he felt unsure of himself and unhappy.

  The previous day, in Paris, he had talked to Patterson, telling him that Helga wanted to see the site at Vallauris. Patterson beamed and clapped Grenville on his shoulder.

  “So she’s biting! You’re doing a swell job, Grenville! When she sees the site, she’s going to get really steamed up! It’s a beaut! Now, here’s what you do: call Henri Leger when you get to Cannes. You’ll find him in the book. He’s the guy who is handling the site. He’ll take you both there. Once she has seen it, the deal’s as good as fixed!”

  Grenville had hoped to see Helga, but the concierge at the Plaza Athenee Hotel had told him that Madame Rolfe had gone out and he had no idea when she would be returning.

  After a lonely, unhappy day, wandering around Paris, Grenville was in his suite when Helga telephoned. The time was 18.00.

  “See you in an hour, Chris, in the lobby,” she said briskly. “Everything is arranged. Bring enough clothes for a week.”

  Never before had a woman given him orders. He attempted to assert himself.

  “Helga, I…”

  She cut him short.

  “Later Chris, I have people here,” and she hung up.

  Then Archer telephoned.

  “How is it going?” he asked.

  “God knows!” Grenville said. “She’s getting on top of me! I don’t know if I can stand her much longer! She’s treating me like a damned gigolo!”

  Archer laughed sourly.

  “That’s what you are, aren’t you? Take it easy. My brain child is getting underway. When you get to the Carlton, telephone me. Now, remember, Chris, be her gigolo, get her into bed!”

  Angrily, Grenville slammed down the receiver.

  But he was in the lobby at 19.00 with a suitcase. He was aware that Patterson, sitting in an alcove, a whisky in his hand, was watching.

  Helga appeared with the manager of the hotel. There were elaborate good-byes, tips, handshaking while Grenville stood and watched.

  Finally, Helga came to him, smiling.

/>   “Let’s go, Chris.” She laughed. He thought she was looking young and marvellous, and very alive.

  There was a chauffeur-driven Cadillac waiting. While they were being driven to Orly airport, Helga chatted. She had had a dreadful day with her colleagues.

  “The fuss men make about buying a site!” she exclaimed and threw up her hands. “I’m so glad to get away from them! Tell me, Chris, what have you been doing today?”

  What had he been doing? Nothing, but he pulled himself together, and launched into a fictitious visit to a picture gallery on the Left Bank, but he quickly realized she wasn’t listening.

  There were two porters to handle the luggage at the airport. There was an air hostess to take them to the V.I.P. lounge. Grenville was aware that he was just an onlooker, a role that irritated him, and he realized for the first time the power of Rolfe’s millions. On the plane, two air hostesses administered to them. The Flight captain came and shook hands with Helga, ignoring Grenville. She seemed to know him for she asked after his children. Grenville found he was no more than a stooge, and he turned sulky, but Helga apparently didn’t notice. She talked gaily, laughed and enjoyed herself.

  There was a Mercedes waiting for them at the Nice airport. The chauffeur, an elderly man, took off his cap as Helga approached. She shook hands with him, and asked after his wife, while Grenville waited, feeling like a dummy.

  The drive to Cannes took only twenty minutes. The manager of the Carlton Hotel was there to greet Helga. He bowed distantly to Grenville, scarcely seeing him as Helga introduced him to Grenville.

  “Chris, I’m tired, tomorrow,” she said, and was whisked away, while he took the second elevator to his room.

  Now, this morning, a note arrived with his breakfast.

  Bore! I have business. Enjoy yourself. Meet me in the lobby at 21.00. Helga.

  This woman was beginning to frighten him. He had told her he had visited the site at Vallauris. Now, he realised how stupid that lie had been. She would expect him to take her there tomorrow, and he hadn’t the vaguest idea where the site was! He had to do something about that! He called Henri Leger's office.

  A girl said, “Monsieur Leger is out. He won’t be back until this afternoon.”