An Ace Up My Sleeve (15 page)

"Don't take risks, Larry. For God's sake, don't have an accident." "I'll watch it, ma'am. Will you get the letter ready?"

"Yes."

She went back to the sitting-room, found two sheets of typing paper and put the letter between them, leaving room for the signature space to protrude. She taped the two sheets together, completely concealing the letter. She folded it carefully and put it in a large envelope.

It would mean another day's delay, she thought. She had to see the letter before she posted it to the Bank. She had to be sure the signature would be acceptable.

Then she went into the room. Herman used as a study, pushed back one of the oak panels to reveal a small safe. She spun the dial, opened the safe and took from it a leather folder. From the folder, she counted our forty one hundred franc notes. Returning the folder and relocking the safe, she went back to the sitting-room. "Larry?"

As he didn't reply, she went to the kitchen, but he wasn't there. She went to the top of the stairs leading to the cellar. She could hear him talking. Moving quietly, she went down a few of the stairs to hear better.

She heard him say, "Make yourself at home, Fatso. You've got food now and it won't be long before we let you go. Just take it easy."

She heard a door slam, then Larry came running along the passage, pausing when he saw her. He grinned.

"Nothing to worry about, ma'am. Just keep clear of him. He can't get out. I'll get going. You got the letter?"

They climbed the stairs together and went into the sitting-room.

"Here's four thousand francs, Larry. Do you think it'll be enough?"

"Yeah, ma'am. I'll talk him into it. Sure, it's more than enough." "And here's the letter."

She took the letter from the envelope and showed him how she had concealed the letter.

"Stay with him while he does it, Larry. Make sure he doesn't see what's written here."

"You bet, ma'am."

She put her hand on his arm. "And thank you, Larry, for all you're doing for me."

He smiled. "Thank you, ma'am for giving me the chance to put things right. Don't you worry ... I'll fix it. See you around two tonight."

"Don't take risks."

"I won't. Well, so long, ma'am ... be seeing you," and he went out of the living-room, out into the hall, snatched up his baseball cap, then opening the front door, he ran down the steps to the garage.

Standing by the big window, Helga watched him drive down the grit strewn road until the car disappeared from sight. She suddenly felt very alone.

For some moments, Helga stood thinking. There must be no loose strings, she told herself. Had Archer checked out of the Eden hotel? It would be awkward if the hotel began an inquiry. Then she remembered he had booked an air taxi to take him back to Lausanne.

She knew Toni Hoffman, the secretary of the Flying Club at Agno. Quickly she looked up the telephone number and in minutes, was speaking to Hoffman.

As soon as she introduced herself, he became friendly and attentive.

"A wonderful surprise, Madame Rolfe! Are you needing a plane?"

"No, but my husband will be arriving next week. Mr. Hoffman, I believe Mr. Archer has chartered an air taxi?"

"Mr. Archer? Yes ... that's right He's due to take off in an hour."

"Would you please cancel the flight? Mr. Archer has been detained. He will, of course, cover the cost. When he is ready to leave, he will make another reservation."

"Certainly, Madame Rolfe. I'll tell the pilot. How is Mr. Rolfe?" They chatted for a few minutes, then Helga hung up.

Should she call the Eden hotel? She thought for a moment. If there was a suitcase in Archer's car she would know he had checked out. Slipping on her coat, she left the villa and went to the garage. She found a suitcase lying on the back seat of the Fiat. So he had checked out, she thought as she closed the garage door.

Then she remembered it was possible that Herman might send her a Telex. He had a mania about sending messages by Telex. She had to be sure the Eden didn't Telex back that she had checked out.

She returned to the villa and called the Eden. As soon as she was put through to the Reception Manager, she asked if there had been a Telex from her husband.

"No, Madame Rolfe. Are you expecting one?"

"It is possible. If one comes would you be kind enough to telephone me? I am at my villa."

"Certainly, madame ... a pleasure."

Again she stood thinking. Knowing how busy Archer always was it was certain his secretary had set up appointments for him the following day. She must stop her making inquiries. She hesitated, then dialled Archer's office number.

While she waited for a reply, she calculated how long Archer would have to remain under lock and key. When Larry returned, she would drive to Lugano's Central Post Office and post the letter to catch the first mail out. The letter wouldn't reach the Bank until the following morning. The Bank would post the envelope to the villa the same day and it would arrive the following morning. Say three days. Today was Tuesday. To be on the safe side, she would say Archer wouldn't be back in Lausanne until Sunday evening.

A moment later he was speaking to Betty Brownlow who had worked under her when she had been Archer's personal assistant and who had taken over from her when she had married Herman. "Hello Betty, this is Helga."

"Why, Helga, how nice to hear your voice again. How are you?"

They chatted for a few moments, then Betty said, "Have you seen Jack? He is in Lugano."

"Yes ... that's why I'm phoning. Something important has come up. My husband has sent a Telex. He has asked Jack to go to Rome to fix a deal. Jack asked me to call you to cancel all his appointments. He won't be back until Sunday night."

"He's gone to Rome? But he can't have!"

Helga stiffened and her heart missed a beat.

"He has. What do you mean?"

"He hasn't his passport with him!"

Helga flinched. Fool! Not to have thought of that. Why hadn't she said Archer had gone to Zurich? "Are you sure?" She forced her voice to sound casual.

"Yes. His passport is in my drawer. I asked him if he wanted it and he said he
didn't."
Helga forced her mind to work.

"It'll be all right. The last time I went to Milan I forgot my passport. There was a bit of a fuss, but they accepted my driving licence. Jack will manage." "Do you think so?" A pause, then Betty went on, her voice worried, "He usually stops at the Grand. I could post the passport to him express. He might get it tomorrow. It would save a fuss when he leaves."

God! Helga thought, couldn't this woman stop being so damned efficient?

"Not the Grand," she said. "He phoned ... they're full. He is taking pot luck. Don't send the passport, Betty. He would be furious if it got lost. I'd forget it ... I know he will manage."

"Well ... if you think so. Anyway he will be telephoning me. He always does when he's away and I can ask him what to do."

Helga closed her eyes, then opened them. She should have thought of that too.

"I don't think you will hear from him, Betty. He's going to be very busy. In fact he told me to tell you not to worry if you don't hear from him."

"Not hear from him?" Betty's voice became alarmed. "But I have a mass of queries I have to ask him about!"

Helga had had enough of this.

"That's what he said, darling. You'll manage ... I always did. 'bye now," and she hung up.

Her hands were moist and she sat for some moments trying to convince herself that she had convinced Betty. She decided there was nothing Betty could do. At least she wouldn't be alarmed and start making inquiries. What else had she to do? Then she remembered that the cleaning woman would be arriving the following morning. Still another telephone call. She found the number, called the cleaning agency and told them to stop the woman from coming. She said she would telephone again when she wanted the woman.

She lit a cigarette and looked at her watch. The time was now 15.50. She thought of the long hours ahead of her. She thought of Larry speeding towards Basle. She hoped he wouldn't have an accident. The road to the Bernadino tunnel was narrow, twisting and dangerous. She told herself firmly she mustn't worry about him. He was an expert driver and he knew the risks. Then she thought of Archer locked in the small cellar. At least there was a light and a radiator. He wouldn't freeze. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he guessed she would try to forge his signature? It had been his own suggestion. Was he in pain? She thought of the brutal kick Larry had given him and she flinched. Had he really a bad heart? So many fat men had bad hearts these days, but it could have been a clever bluff just to stop Larry hitting him again. Archer had always been quick thinking and an expert bluffer. It was probably bluff. She hoped it was.

She looked around the big room rather helplessly, wondering how she could occupy herself for the next twelve hours. There was some intricate tapestry work she had brought with her, but she knew she couldn't settle to that. She switched on the television set. A long–haired youth, howling into a microphone, swam into view and she hurriedly turned the knob to catch the German station. A fat man was talking about future plans for education and impatiently, she tried the Italian station: only the test chart greeted her and she turned the set off.

She wandered around the room. The light was fading and the sun, setting behind the mountain, made an impressive splash of red in the sky. It had stopped snowing. For something to do, she lowered the shutters and pulled the drapes. She then went into her bedroom and did the same thing there. She looked around the elegant room, then remembered that Larry would be hungry when he returned. She must get something out of the freezer for him. She went into the kitchen, opened the freezer and looked at the neatly packaged assortment of food it contained. She finally decided on a fillet of pork. That, with a packet of peas and a packet of chip potatoes should satisfy his hunger. She put the food on the kitchen table to defrost.

Then as she was leaving the kitchen, she paused, her heart suddenly racing. A heavy pounding sound was coming from the cellars!

For a moment she stood rooted, her heart hammering so violently she had trouble in breathing. Archer! God! If he breaks out! she thought.

In panic, she ran to the head of the stairs leading to the cellar. The noise he was making now terrified her. He was kicking steadily against the door. He could break out!

She paused, then steeling herself, clutching hold of the banister rail, she went down, stopping at the foot of the stairs to look along the passage. She remembered the cellar door opened outwards. From where she stood, she could see the door shaking under the steady, pounding thuds. She sped along the passage, past the quivering door and locked the steel door, leading to the garage. She took out the key. She stood staring at the cellar door and her panic increased as she saw there was a split in one of the panels. "Jack!" she screamed.

The thudding ceased.

"Let me out of here!" Archer's voice sounded breathless and vicious. "Do you hear? Let me out!" She forced down her panic.

"Stop it! You're not getting out!" Her voice sounded to her unnaturally shrill. "If you wake Larry, he'll come down and I won't be responsible!" "Is he in your bed, you bitch?"

"I warn you! If you go on making that noise, he'll come down!"

Through the cracked panel she could hear his heavy breathing.

"Let him! He daren't touch me and you know it! You wouldn't dare let him touch me!"

"I would! I know you're lying about your heart! If you don't stop this, he'll come down!"

"By God! I'll make you pay for this!"

"Shut up! If you make any more noise, I'll wake Larry and send him down to you!"

"Damn you to hell!"

Shaking, she walked along the passage and up the stairs. She locked the door leading to the cellars and took the key. She went into the living-room and put the two keys on the overmantel.

She waited, listening, but now she could hear only the muffled roar of the central heating motor. She drew in a deep breath of relief. Her threat ... her bluff ... had worked! Then she thought of that split panel. If she hadn't gone down and stopped him, he would have broken out. Well, now, if he did get out of the cellar he would have to batter down the door to the hall. He would never hope to open the steel door leading to the garage. While there was time, should she do something about the door leading to the hall?

She went into the hall and looked at the door. It didn't seem to her to appear very strong: one powerful kick might easily smashed it open. There was a heavy iron bound Medici chest standing under the window: yet another of her husband's collector's pieces. She dragged this across the door. It would be better than nothing, she told herself. She now felt so shaky, she went into the sitting-room and poured herself a large brandy.

She sat down. She was sipping the brandy when the telephone bell rang. The sound so startled her she slopped some of her drink. Hastily putting down the glass, she crossed to the telephone and picked up the receiver. It was the Reception Manager of the Eden hotel.

"Madame Rolfe ... a telex has just come in for you. Would you like me to send someone up to you with it?"

Now what? she wondered, flinching.

"No ... no ... please read it to me."

"It's from Mr. Rolfe. It says: "Have instructed expert to fix central heating. He promises action this night. No wish to cancel my flight. Telephone me when fixed"."

Helga turned cold.

"Would you like me to repeat that, madame?"

"No, thank you. I have it. Thank you for calling," and she hung up.

The grandfather clock that had cost Herman Rolfe more than six thousand dollars began to chime.