1977 - I Hold the Four Aces

by James Hadley Chase

  “I would prefer to stand, madame,” Hinkle said with a slight bow.

  She laughed.

  “Oh, Hinkle! How correct you always are, and yet I regard you as my best friend. Please sit down.”

  “Thank you, madame, and very well, madame.” Hinkle perched himself on the edge of a terrace chair.

  “I must tell you! Mr. Grenville and I are going to get married,” Helga said. “He has agreed to become a senior partner of the firm.” She drew in a happy breath. “We plan to marry next month.”

  Hinkle’s expression was that of a man who had bitten into a quince, but he instantly assumed a deadpan look.

  “Then may I offer my congratulations to Mr. Grenville,” he said, “and my very best wishes to you, madame.”

  “Thank you, dear Hinkle. Chris is going to make me so happy!” Helga said. “I can no longer continue my life alone. I know you know how lonely I am. It will be marvellous to have him by my side. For me not to worry about going out alone: to be able to come alive after these dreary years with Mr. Rolfe.” She drew in a deep breath. “Hinkle! Do understand and do approve.”

  “Of course, madame,” but the disapproving note in his voice remained. He got to his feet.

  “Oh, sit down!” Helga exclaimed, suddenly angry with him. “We will leave for Paradise City at the end of this week. I want you to handle all the arrangements. It will be a big wedding.”

  Hinkle remained standing.

  “You may rely on me,” he said, in his lowest tone.

  Helga knew Hinkle. When he was upset, nobody could do anything with him. He had to be given time.

  “As long as I can always rely on you, Hinkle,” she said gently.

  “Yes, madame. You may always rely on me. Now, if you would kindly excuse me, I have things to do in the villa.”

  Helga watched him cross the terrace, his back stiff. If only he had been pleased, she thought, but she must give him time. She must talk to Chris. He must understand how important Hinkle was to her. Chris must make a sincere effort to win Hinkle’s approval. In the past, when she had married Herman, Hinkle had disapproved of her, but she had worked on him, and finally, at the most difficult period of her life, he had proved loyal.*4

  Moving quietly, she went to her bedroom, gently opened the door and peered in. Grenville, who was dying for coffee and a cigarette, heard her as she turned the door handle and quickly put his hand over his eyes.

  Helga regarded him, then softly shut the door.

  God! Grenville thought. What a hellish day this was going to be! But he must keep up this pretence until Archer’s men took him away. He consoled himself by thinking of what it would mean to own a million dollars. For the first time, since Archer had so smoothly outlined his plan for the kidnapping, Grenville began seriously to think about it. He was uneasy about Helga. There was this steel fibre in her that awed and worried him. There was a possibility, in spite of Archer’s glib assurances, that she could turn ugly once she realized she had been conned. Thinking about this, he decided it would be dangerous to remain in Europe once he had got his share of the money. After further thinking, he decided he would fly to the West Indies the moment Archer had given him the million dollars, charter a yacht, find some enthusiastic dolly bird and get lost. When the smoke had settled, he would then return to Europe which was his happy hunting ground.

  Then a thought entered his mind that made him stiffen and frown.

  Could he trust Archer? he asked himself. What did he know about Archer? They had met by chance in that depressing little hotel in Paris. Was Archer really an international lawyer? Grenville moved uneasily. Could Archer be one of these smooth con men you heard about? Admittedly, he must have known Helga. His knowledge of her proved that. Grenville thought of Archer’s shabbiness. The arrangement was for the ransom of two million dollars to be paid into Archer’s numbered account in a Swiss bank. On the face of it, that made sense, but what claim would he (Grenville) have on the money once it was in Archer’s account? Suppose Archer disappeared?

  Grenville began to sweat. Although a wastrel and a gigolo, he had an acute sense of self-preservation.

  How was he to safeguard himself against a possible con from Archer?

  Lying in the semi-darkness, Grenville considered this problem.

  * * *

  At exactly 14.00, Max Segetti, with Jacques Belmont at the wheel of a battered VW, pulled up outside the Hotel de Suisse. Archer, who had already checked out, was waiting for them in his rented Mercedes. He waved to them to follow him and drove through the busy streets of Lugano to the lake front and then on to Paradiso. He kept looking in his driving mirror to make sure the VW was following him.

  After a ten-minute drive, he pulled up outside the rented villa. The VW parked by the Mercedes and Segetti and Belmont, carrying shabby suitcases, joined him. They were both wearing dark suits and looked slightly more respectable than when he had first seen them in Geneva.

  “No problems?” Archer asked, speaking in Italian.

  “No, sir,” Segetti said and smiled.

  “You have the hoods and the guns?”

  “Yes, sir. We came via Zurich to avoid the Italian customs, No problems.”

  “Well, come in.” Archer led the way through the small neglected garden, unlocked the front door and entered the living-room. “Sit down.”

  The two men sat down in armchairs.

  Archer began pacing the room.

  “The operation will be at eleven o’clock tonight. You will find the front door of this villa unlocked. Burst in, threaten the man and the woman with your guns and take the man away. You will bring him here and that terminates our agreement. I will pay you, and you will leave immediately for Geneva and forget that it happened.”

  Segetti nodded while Belmont sat motionless staring down at the threadbare carpet.

  “And where is this villa, sir?” Segetti asked.

  “I will take you there in a few minutes. There could be one difficulty. There is a manservant. He could be awkward. If he appears, one of you must take care of him.” Archer paused, then went on, “There must be no violence.”

  For the first time, Belmont spoke. With an evil little grin, he said, “That’s okay. I’ll take care of him.”

  The menacing note in his voice made Archer stare at him.

  “I repeat, no violence.” He looked at Segetti. “Is that completely understood? I would rather the kidnapping failed than to have violence.”

  “It won’t be necessary, sir,” Segetti said.

  “The man to be kidnapped will offer only a token resistance,” Archer went on, “but nothing more. He wants to convince the woman that he is being kidnapped. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Segetti said.

  “All right. Now I’ll sum up: at exactly eleven o’clock tonight, you will arrive at the villa, using my car. You will park at the bottom of the drive. You will walk up the drive to the villa. The front door will be unlocked. You will burst in. The man and the woman will either be in the living-room or out on the terrace. As you enter the lobby, the door, leading to the living-room, will face you.” Archer took a sheet of paper from his wallet. “Here is a plan of the villa. Look at it.”

  Segetti studied the plan, then nodded.

  “That is fine, sir,” he said.

  Archer produced another slip of paper.

  “I have written down the exact words you are to say to the woman and I want you to memorize these words.” He handed the slip of paper to Segetti.

  After reading the words, Segetti smiled.

  “Jacques, this will be your job,” and he handed the paper to Belmont. Looking at Archer, he went on, “Jacques can do this very well.”

  “I don’t care who says them so long as they are said convincingly,” Archer said. “You will take the man to the car and drive him here. That’s it. I will pay you, and you leave for Geneva immediately.”

  “No problem, sir,” Segetti said.

  “All right. I will now take y
ou to the villa. Let’s go.”

  Archer, feeling more satisfied that these two men would do a successful job, drove them in his Mercedes to Castagnola. He drove slowly. From time to time, he asked Segetti, who was sitting at his side, if he could remember the route.

  Segetti kept saying, “No problem, sir.”

  As Archer drove up the steep hill that led past Helga’s villa, he slowed, but didn’t stop.

  “That’s it. Villa Helios. I’ll come back the same way.”

  Both Segetti and Belmont peered at the wrought-iron gates that led to the villa as the Mercedes crawled by. At the top of the road, Archer reversed and then again drove slowly past the villa.

  “Have you got it?” he asked.

  “Sir, there is no problem.”

  “All right. You have about eight hours. Do you want to stay at my villa or what do you want to do?”

  “We would like to look at Lugano, sir,” Segetti said. “We have never been here before. May I ask you to take us back so we can use our car?”

  Archer was relieved. The thought of having these two with him for eight hours didn’t appeal to him.

  “Yes.”

  He drove them back to the villa.

  As they got out of the Mercedes, Segetti said, “We will be here at 22.15 tonight, sir.”

  Archer watched them drive away. He unlocked the door of the villa, went into one of the bedrooms and stretched out on the bed. He had a long wait, but at least, the operation was now in motion.

  A million dollars! he thought. With that money he would go to New York. He would be able to start his own business as a tax consultant. There was nothing that bitch could do once he had her money. He was sure she would never cry “thief. She wouldn’t want to face the blaze of publicity that she had been conned by a handsome gigolo as Herman Rolfe hadn’t prosecuted because he knew Archer would have talked of his affair with Helga. No, he had nothing to worry about as far as she was concerned. But these two men did worry him a little. There was something sinister about them, especially the young one. He would have been very worried if he had been able to see these two as they parked near the Lugano post office.

  Leaving Belmont in the car, Segetti hurried into the post office and, shutting himself in a telephone booth, he called Bernie in Geneva. He talked briefly. Bernie listened, then said, “Call me back in two hours, Max,” and he hung up.

  Bernie had many contacts in Switzerland. One of his most reliable contacts was in Lugano: Lucky Bellini, so called because, many years ago, a jealous woman had plunged a knife into his fat back and he had survived.

  “Lucky?” Bernie said. “I want information. Who lives at a villa called Helios at Castagnola?”

  “Helios?” Lucky's voice went up a note. “That’s the Herman Rolfe home. He’s dead, but his wife uses it from time to time. She’s there now.”

  Bernie grinned.

  “Stick around, Lucky,” he said. “I’ll be at your place sometime this evening,” and he hung up.

  He called the airport and booked an air taxi that would get him to Agno, close to Lugano, at 18.00.

  When Segetti called back, Bernie told him he would be joining him.

  “Do just what this fink Archer tells you, Max. Collect this guy, then I’ll handle it.”

  “Sure, Bernie,” Segetti said. “Where do we meet?”

  “At the Agno airport at six o’clock. Pick me up there. Okay?”

  “No problem, Bernie.”

  Still smiling, Bernie hung up.

  * * *

  At midday, Grenville, not only bored to distraction, but also hungry, made his appearance on the terrace.

  Helga was sitting at one of the big terrace tables, studying a file of papers. Seeing him, her face brightened.

  “Dear Chris! Are you feeling better?”

  Wearing a wan expression, Grenville crossed to her and kissed her lightly on her cheek.

  “I’ll survive.” He sank into a chair near hers. “Do you think Hinkle could get me some coffee?”

  “Of course, darling.” She rang the bell at the table. “Are you really feeling better?”

  “A bit shaken.” He gave her a brave smile. “It’s most odd. I haven’t had an attack for months.”

  Hinkle appeared.

  “Coffee please, Hinkle. Mr. Grenville is feeling better.” Looking at Grenville, she went on, “Wouldn’t you like an omelette?”

  Grenville, who would have preferred a steak, said he thought he could manage an omelette.

  Inclining his head, Hinkle went away.

  “I see you are working, Helga,” Grenville said. “You carry on. I’ll relax,” and leaning back, he closed his eyes.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Helga picked up the file.

  When Hinkle brought the tray of coffee, toast and a herb omelette, Helga closed the file.

  “Thank you,” Grenville said as Hinkle removed the silver cover to reveal the omelette. “This looks marvellous.”

  Hinkle inclined his head and walked away.

  “We can talk business tomorrow,” Helga said. “At last, Winborn is seeing sense. I had a long telephone call from him this morning. We are getting the site at our price.”

  “Oh, good.” Grenville winced. “Right now, darling, my brain feels scrambled. Do let’s have a real discussion tomorrow,” he said, knowing there would be no tomorrow. He poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Of course.” Helga regarded him, then went on, “You know, you are the very last person I would have thought was a migraine sufferer.”

  “I inherited it from my father,” Grenville lied. “He was a martyr to it.” He drank the coffee and poured another cup, then began to eat the omelette which he found excellent. “Hinkle can certainly throw an omelette together.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that,” Helga said uneasily. “He creates omelettes, and, Chris dear, I want you to be really nice to him from now on. I must tell you, he doesn’t approve of us getting married.”

  Grenville stared at her, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Doesn’t approve? He’s your servant, isn’t he? Who cares if he approves or not? There are plenty of other servants.”

  Helga stiffened, and the steely look came into her eyes.

  “Chris, please. We must come to an understanding about Hinkle. There is no one, except you, who means so much to me. He has helped me so often in so many ways. He understands me. He…” She broke off and forced a smile. “I don’t want to sound dramatic about this, but Hinkle is part of my life, and I wouldn’t lose him for all the money in the world!”

  Grenville realized he had moved onto very dangerous ground, not that it mattered, but he didn’t want to antagonize her.

  Smiling, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t realize that he meant so much to you. I will do everything I can to make him approve of me. I promise you.”

  “He does mean so much to me,” Helga said seriously. “He is loyal and kind and utterly dependable.”

  “I promise,” Grenville said and touched her hand.

  “Thank you, Chris. I am sure he will come to know you as I know you and give you the same wonderful loyalty and service he gives me.”

  God! Grenville thought. This drivel about a fat, pompous old butler! But he turned on his charm.

  “I do hope he does.”

  Just after 13.00, Hinkle appeared with a shaker of vodka martinis and two glasses. Grenville, remembering he was still supposed to be recovering from a severe attack of migraine, reluctantly refused, then turning to Hinkle, he went on, “That was the most marvellous omelette! I can’t imagine how you can make an omelette so light and delicious.”

  “I am glad it pleased you, sir,” Hinkle said stiffly, then turning to Helga, “For lunch, madame, I suggest a mignon de veau in a mushroom sauce and there is an excellent Brie to follow.”

  “Wonderful.” Helga looked at Grenville. “Do you feel like some?”

  Grenville hesitated. The omelette hadn’t taken the edge off his appetite.


  “I think I could manage a little,” he said.

  He felt Hinkle’s disapproving eyes on him. When Hinkle had gone, Grenville said, “He’s not exactly loving me, is he?”

  “You must give him time, darling.” Helga gathered up the papers. “I have just time for a swim. You stay quiet,” and she went away.

  Grenville longed for a swim, but that would be unwise. He counted the hours: only ten more! They would be dreary hours, but then he would be free! He lit a cigarette and relaxed back in his chair.

  They lunched under sun umbrellas, then Helga insisted that Grenville should take a nap. He was willing enough and went to his own bedroom while she opened her file and reached for the telephone.

  At 16.30, Grenville came out onto the terrace to find Helga still making notes and still studying the file.

  “You never seem to stop working,” he said in dismay.

  She smiled up at him.

  “I am the head of a kingdom that is worth more than a billion dollars, Chris. You are going to be my strong right hand. When you own such a kingdom, it is very difficult to stop working. Ring for tea. I’ve just finished.”

  To be married to this woman! Grenville thought. I would become a button on a calculator!

  They spent the evening, talking. Helga eagerly made plans for their honeymoon. She had a yacht, she told him. Would he like to cruise around the Florida keys? Grenville agreed with all her suggestions, knowing thankfully that in a few more hours he would be free of her, plus a million dollars.

  Watching her in the soft evening light, he felt a pang. She was really a beautiful woman, he thought.

  If only she wasn’t so terrifyingly efficient, so frighteningly hard at times and so possessive. That steely look that came into her eyes and her voice when things weren’t going her way scared him. No, he thought, I could never handle this woman to my advantage. The ball would always be in her court. Yet, he had regrets: she was marvellous in bed, she was lovely to look at and she was worth millions, but he knew she was too strong for him, and he knew, once married to her, she would completely dominate him. He wanted to be free, to have lots of money and to be able to pick up a dolly bird, use her, drop her and find a replacement. That was his idea of how to live: no complications and no more dreadful, fat old women. He looked furtively at his watch.