1977 - I Hold the Four Aces

by James Hadley Chase

  “I am acting on behalf of Mr. Joe Patterson who has an option on a site at Vallauris,” Grenville said. “Can you tell me where the site is situated?”

  “Mr. Leger is on the site now,” the girl told him. “Madame Rolfe is with him.”

  Grenville felt a chilly sensation run up his spine.

  “It’s all right, don’t bother,” he said and hung up.

  He remembered Archer’s warning. Don’t ever imagine you can outsmart Helga.

  Well, all right, he thought, then I play along with her. The crunch will come after I have slept with her. That is what Archer has kept telling me. At least, I am covered. I have always told her this promotion is ridiculous.

  He put a call through to Archer.

  “It’s all right,” Archer said, after listening to Grenville’s tale. “By now, she has found out Patterson’s promotion is a lemon, but she is still interested in you. Play the innocent. I’m coming down, and I’ll be at the Clarice Hotel tonight. I am almost ready with my idea. Take it easy, Chris. We are going to get two million dollars out of her. She’s smart, but I am smarter.”

  Grenville hoped to God he was.

  He was in the lobby at 21.00, after spending a day wandering around the shops at Cannes, then taking a swim, but not enjoying a moment of it.

  Helga, in a turquoise-coloured silk chiffon dress and a white fox stole, swept out of the elevator and joined him.

  “Chris! I’m starving! We are going to the Boule d’or. Did you have a lovely day?”

  Without waiting for his reply, she swept through the lobby, and to where the Mercedes was waiting.

  They were driven swiftly to a restaurant overlooking the harbour where Helga received a royal welcome while Grenville, feeling more and more inadequate, stood around, until the welcome was over.

  “My husband and I always ate here,” Helga explained as they settled at a table on the terrace. “Louis can be relied on.” She smiled at the maître d’hôtel as he hurried to her side. “Louis! So good to see you again! We want a lovely dinner. Suggest something.”

  “Madame, why not your favourite: crepes with shrimps and tuna fish, and a boned duck with prunes?”

  Helga looked at Grenville.

  “It is wonderful. Why not?”

  Grenville hesitated. He longed to assert himself, but his confidence had gone.

  “All right.”

  “Now you choose the wines, Chris. You are so expert.”

  That, at least, gave him back some initiative. He began to examine the wine list as the wine waiter hovered. Then just as he was about to order, Helga said, “Jacques, have you that divine Margaux ‘29 which my husband so enjoyed?”

  The wine waiter bowed.

  “Just two bottles left, madame.”

  “Oh, Chris, you must try that, and they have a wonderful Domaine de Chevalier.”

  Defeated and deflated, Grenville closed the wine list.

  “Anything you say, Helga.”

  He now realized she was completely dominating him. A Margaux ‘29 would cost at least five hundred francs, but he remembered Archer’s advice: play along with her!

  She looked at him, her eyes sparkling.

  “This is fun, Chris. Tell me about your day.”

  “My day? Oh, I wandered around, had a swim, and missed you.”

  That pleased her and she patted his hand.

  “I missed you too, but tomorrow will be different. We can enjoy ourselves. I’m dying for a swim.”

  “And what did you do?” he asked, knowing already what she had done.

  “Let’s talk about that later.” The direct stare made him uneasy.

  So they ate the meal which was excellent, and talked about this and that. Grenville found he wasn’t able to launch into one of his monologues, although he wanted to tell her about Monte Carlo and the Rainiers. Somehow, Helga dominated the conversation, telling him of her experiences when Herman Rolfe and she had spent many weeks in Cannes.

  The meal finished, she said, “Let’s return to the hotel.”

  To his relief, she signed the check and gave a lavish tip.

  He said rather feebly, “This should be on me, Helga,” but apparently, she didn’t hear.

  Driven back to the hotel, they went together to her suite. She walked out onto the balcony and looked at the sea, the crowds, the palm trees and the lights.

  “I love Cannes,” she said, as Grenville joined her.

  “Yes: it is special.”

  He stood by her side, uneasy and worried.

  “Now let’s talk business.” She dropped into a chair.

  Grenville wished Archer was here. This woman was demoralizing him. He had never met a woman with her strength of character; never before heard such sudden steel in her voice, or had to meet such a direct stare.

  “Business? Of course.” He sat beside her. “You mean the Patterson thing.”

  She smiled at him.

  “Chris, you have many splendid talents, but property promotion is not for you.”

  Grenville crossed his long legs and opened his gold cigarette case, which he offered. Helga took a cigarette and he did. He lit the cigarettes before saying, “You could be right.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. Looking at her, Grenville suddenly realized she was really a beautiful woman. Her throat line was superb.

  “When you told me about this Blue Sky promotion and that you had become involved,” Helga said, “I decided to check. Yesterday, I instructed my people to investigate Joe Patterson. This morning I inspected the site at Vallauris. Now, let me tell you what I have discovered. First, Joe Patterson: he has spent five years in a U.S. jail for fraud. He has very little money: just enough to keep up appearances. The Blue Sky promotion is yet another of his many swindles. I went this morning to the cadastre at Vallauris. They told me that there are two footpaths through this piece of land, so it would be impossible to build. Leger, the agent, is a crook. You now have to face the fact, Chris, that you have got yourself involved in a swindle.”

  Taking out his handkerchief, Grenville wiped his damp hands.

  “I did say, didn’t I, Helga, no one in their right minds?”

  “Yes,” she broke in. It irked him that she kept cutting him short. “We can forget Patterson. I’m sorry, because you won’t get the two per cent on this so-called deal.”

  Grenville shrugged.

  “Life is like that, isn’t it? I never really thought I would.” He stared down at the crowd, moving on the promenade. “Maybe I had better see this farce to the end. If Patterson really wants me to go to Saudi Arabia, it could pay me to do so.”

  He thought this was a smart move, and looked at Helga. But her searching stare made him immediately uncomfortable. He forced himself to smile at her.

  “Forget Saudi Arabia,” Helga said curtly. “I have a suggestion to make.”

  “You have? What is it, Helga?”

  “My corporation can use your talents. I want you to become a member of my executive staff.”

  With an effort, Grenville kept his face expressionless.

  “But I know nothing about electronics.”

  “You won’t need to. I want you as my personal assistant.” Helga put her hand on his. “You can’t imagine how many things I have to deal with, and with you at my side, my work would be halved. What do you think?”

  Here it is, Grenville thought and suddenly gained confidence. His fingers caressed Helga’s wrist.

  “I would love that, but tell me first: your personal assistant?” He looked at her with that sensual look he could produce for middle-aged or elderly women that had never failed. “How personal?”

  “Very, very personal, Chris, darling,” Helga said and got to her feet.

  As he went with her into the bedroom, Grenville thought that this time he hadn’t fluffed it. He could almost hear Archer applauding on the sidelines.

  * * *

  The warm sun, coming through the slats of the shutters, woke Helga. She moved volup
tuously, sighing, then opened her eyes. Looking at the bedside clock, she saw it was 10.00.

  She had never slept so well. Turning on her side, she looked at the pillow beside her and touched it.

  Grenville had left her soon after 03.00, and she hated him going, but both had agreed he must return to his room for appearances’ sake.

  She ran her fingers through her silky hair.

  What a lover! The best ever!

  She arched her body, longing for him to be by her side, and longing for him to take her yet again.

  What a lover!

  For some minutes, she lay still and re-lived the events of the night. Perfect! And it must be repeated and repeated and repeated! This wonderful man must be her husband! She now couldn’t bear the thought of ever being parted from him. He had everything: looks, intelligence, talents, and was magnificent as a lover!

  Hooked! she told herself and laughed. Yes, and why not? He loved her as fiercely as she loved him.

  She knew it by the way he looked at her and had caressed her. Of course she must be careful. She mustn’t rush this. He was English, and there was this reserve about him. He was certain to have a stupid bias that as she was so rich, he shouldn’t marry her, but this, she felt sure, she could handle.

  But certainly not in the Carlton Hotel.

  She turned on her side as she thought, then suddenly, she smiled. Of course! The villa in Castagnola!

  The perfect love nest: away from the prying eyes of the press. Chris and herself. Nothing could be more perfect!

  Herman Rolfe had always liked to spend a month or so in Switzerland and had bought a villa, owned by a successful American movie producer, just outside Lugano, with a wonderful view of the lake. It was in this villa that Archer had unsuccessfully tried to blackmail her, but that was now in the past. It was the ideal place for a discreet love affair.

  Her mind became active. There were things to arrange. First, she would need someone discreet to run the villa. The local women would gossip. Then she smiled and hugged her pillow.

  Hinkle!

  That tubby, kindly man who had looked after Herman Rolfe for over fifteen years, and who had now transferred his loyalty to her, and who was almost like a father figure to her.

  Of course, Hinkle!

  She snatched up the telephone receiver and asked the concierge to find out details of a flight from Miami to Geneva, and another flight from Nice to Geneva.

  Then breaking the connection, she called Signor Transel who looked after the Castagnola villa. She told him to have the villa opened and cleaned, saying she would be arriving the day after tomorrow.

  Signor Transel said he would arrange it immediately.

  She then ordered coffee.

  The concierge called, giving her times of the two flights, and she told him to book a single from Miami and two from Nice.

  Her coffee arrived.

  She called the hotel operator and asked her to connect her with her residence in Paradise City. The operator said it would take only a few minutes.

  Helga drank her coffee, lit a cigarette and waited, thinking of Grenville.

  The telephone bell rang.

  “I have your residence on the line, madame,” the operator said.

  “Hinkle?” Helga said excitedly.

  “Yes, Madame. I trust you are well.”

  She stifled a giggle. This was so like Hinkle.

  “I’m marvellous! I have news!”

  “Indeed, madame?” His fruity, bishop’s voice came clearly to her. “It would seem it is good news.”

  “I am in love, Hinkle!”

  There was a pause, then Hinkle said, “That would appear to be excellent news, madame.”

  “I have found a man I want to marry!”

  Again a pause, then Hinkle said, “I trust this gentleman is worthy of you, madame.”

  She laughed.

  “Oh, Hinkle, don’t be so stuffy! He’s marvellous! Now listen. I have arranged to have the Castagnola villa opened. I want to stay there for a week or two, so I can get to know Mr. Grenville better, do you understand?”

  “Certainly, madame, and you would like me to be with you.”

  “Yes! Drop everything. I’ve booked you a flight.” Picking up the paper on which she had made notes, she read out to him the flight number and time of departure.

  “Certainly, madame. I will be at the Geneva airport the day after tomorrow at 22.30.”

  “Mr. Grenville and I will be arriving a little later. Oh, Hinkle, I’m so happy!” She blew a kiss in the air.

  “Then I am happy for you, madame.”

  She hung up.

  Now for a car.

  She called the Rolls-Royce agent in Lugano.

  “I want a Rolls,” she said, after she had introduced herself.

  “You are fortunate, Madame Rolfe, we have just had delivery of the new Camargue. It is truly a magnificent car: two tone, silver and black.”

  “I want it! I shall be arriving at Geneva airport at 22.30 the day after tomorrow. Please contact Signor Transel, who is my agent in Lugano. He will arrange all that is necessary.”

  “The car will be waiting for you, madame, at the airport.”

  Herman Rolfe’s magic key!

  Chris! Dear Chris! How she longed for him to be with her now! Two more days, and they would be utterly together, safe from the press, just he, she and Hinkle!

  * * *

  “Relax, Chris,” Archer said soothingly. “Things are going our way.”

  They were sitting in a shabby bistro on the rue de Canada.

  “You can say that!” Grenville said explosively, “but I have to live with her! God! She is now so possessive! She is like a female spider who eats her male!”

  “Come! come!” Archer spoke sharply. “You and I will make a million each out of her. You must expect to work for it. So far you have done a wonderful job, but there is still more for you to do. Before she is completely hooked, she has to imagine you want to marry her.”

  Grenville stiffened.

  “Marry her?”

  “I will leave it to you to convey the impression you want to be her husband,” Archer said. “I know Helga. She is lonely: she has fallen for you, and once she believes you will marry her, we have a hook in her that will not come out.”

  Grenville had already told him that Helga was taking him to the villa at Castagnola for two weeks and Archer was delighted.

  “It couldn’t be more perfect. That’s why I am telling you things are going our way. How well do I know that villa!” He eyed Grenville. “So she has given you some money?”

  “She forced it on me. She told me to go out and buy clothes!”

  “Well, you will need clothes. Don’t sound so annoyed. After all, you did tell me you are a professional gigolo, didn’t you?” Archer smiled. “How much did she give you?”

  “A hundred thousand francs!”

  Archer nodded.

  “Helga is always generous to her lovers. It is a little exaggerated, but after all, she is worth millions.”

  He paused, his eyes sharp. “I need money, Chris, if I am to carry out my plan. Suppose you give me fifty thousand?”

  “Suppose you tell me about this plan you keep hinting about?” Grenville demanded.

  “Yes, of course.” Archer sat back in his chair. “It is really quite simple: all good plans should be simple. After three days in the Castagnola villa, and after you have convinced Helga you want to marry her, and after you have screwed her blind, if you will excuse the coarse expression, you will be kidnapped and held to ransom, and the ransom will be two million dollars.”

  Grenville gaped at him.

  “Have you gone out of your mind? Me? Kidnapped?”

  “This will be a faked kidnapping, but the ransom won’t be faked,” Archer said. “I know Helga. Once you have convinced her you want to marry her, we have her exactly where we want her. Consider the situation. Everything is wonderful: love, marriage, no longer lonely. She will be spinning li
ke a top, then suddenly you are kidnapped. If she doesn’t pay two million dollars, she will never see you again. She has so much money, to get you back she won’t hesitate. We collect the two million: one for you and one for me. What do you think?”

  “Well, for God’s sake!” Grenville looked stunned. “Suppose she goes to the police?”

  “She won’t. I assure you, I shall so frighten her that she will not go to the police. I know Helga. She’ll pay.”

  “So, she pays, then what?”

  “As soon as I have the money, we leave Switzerland. Again, I repeat I know Helga. Once she realizes she has been taken for a sucker, her pride won’t let her cry thief!”

  “How will she pay this money?” Grenville asked.

  “A good point. She and I are old enemies. Once you have been kidnapped, I shall call on her. It will give me the greatest pleasure. I have a numbered account in a private Swiss bank. She will pay this money to this account, and I shall transfer half to you.”

  “But who is going to do the kidnapping?” Grenville asked uneasily.

  “That I am going to arrange. I have a good contact in Geneva. Don’t worry about that.” Archer looked at his watch. “Now, give me fifty thousand francs. I must be on my way to Geneva in an hour.”

  Grenville hesitated, then took a bundle of French francs from his pocket. He gave Archer half the bundle and Archer stuffed the bills into his pocket.

  “From Geneva, I shall go to Lugano,” Archer said. “I shall be staying at the Hotel de Suisse. Contact me there. Your job is to convince her you can’t live without her. Leave everything else to me.” He smiled at Grenville. “Kidnapping is very fashionable these days. She won’t be suspicious. When it happens, don’t act brave. Put up a little show of resistance, but nothing more. It will happen unexpectedly. You will be taken from the villa, and after that, all you will have to do is to keep me company until we get the money.”

  “This worries me,” Grenville said uneasily. “I have done a few shabby deals in the past, but I’ve never gone so far as to do anything criminal.”

  “This is not criminal, Chris.” Archer got to his feet. “The police won’t come into it. Think what you will be able to do with a million dollars. With that kind of money you will be free of all those old, rich women. Love her, Chris: that’s your job. The more she needs you, the easier it will be to get the money from her.”