1977 - I Hold the Four Aces (13 page)

Grenville cringed at the thought, but he gently stroked her hand.

“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said, thinking by tomorrow evening he would be free of her, never see her again, and own a million dollars.

A gentle tap sounded on the door and Hinkle said through the door, “Mr. Winborn is on the telephone, madame.” He spoke in his doleful, disapproving voice.

“Oh, damn the man!” Helga said furiously, but she snatched up the telephone receiver by the bed.

“What is it, Stanley?” She listened, then said, “No! We will not pay a dollar more! This is a try-on! For God’s sake, Stanley, can’t you handle this instead of bothering me. I’m trying to relax.”

Grenville slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. God! he thought, to be married to this commercial machine! She was still talking when, dressed, he wandered out onto the terrace.

“Some tea, sir?” Hinkle asked, appearing.

“A double whisky and soda,” Grenville said and sat down.

Helga didn’t appear for half an hour.

“I want to tell you about this deal, Chris,” she said, sitting by his side. “You will be handling it. It is going to be big and the French government are trying to be greedy. Let me begin from the beginning.”

For the next hour, Grenville nearly went crazy with boredom while Helga talked figures, costs, loans, interest rates and so on. Somehow, he managed to keep an intelligent expression and nod from time to time, but the crunch came when she paused and said, “Now you know the setup, Chris. What is your opinion?”

Grenville flinched. He had no opinion because he had scarcely listened to what she had been saying and even if he had been listening, all this financial talk meant nothing to him.

“Before expressing an opinion, Helga,” he said carefully, “I would like to study the papers and the figures. Would that be possible? I’ve warned you I’m green about finance, but I think I could be a bit intelligent if I had a couple of hours looking at the plans and the figures.”

Helga, looking disappointed, nodded.

“All right, Chris. I’ll get Winborn to fly copies of the contract and figures down here right away. I can see your point.”

She reached for the telephone at her side and called Paris as Hinkle arrived with a shaker of vodka martini and glasses.

Grenville thought: at least, I’ve gained time!

As Hinkle poured the drinks, Helga spoke to Winborn’s secretary and told her to send copies of the Versailles contract and the figures immediately.

“I want it by tomorrow,” she snapped and hung up.

“Will you be dining in, madame?” Hinkle asked.

“Let’s go out, darling,” Grenville said hurriedly. He felt he had to get away from the villa and away from financial talk. “Isn’t there somewhere amusing where we could eat?”

“Of course. That’s a good idea. We will go to Huguenin: it is simple, but good. No, Hinkle, we will go out.”

When Hinkle had left the terrace, Grenville, anxious to get Helga’s mind off business, began asking questions about her Paradise City home. Helga was happy to give him a description of the house and time moved swiftly. A little after 20.00, she went to her bedroom to change and Grenville remained on the terrace. Another twenty-seven hours, he thought.

After a good Italian-style dinner, they wandered, hand in hand, along the lakeside. Helga was now relaxed, her mind at ease. This man was going to be her husband! She kept looking at him, admiring his tall, lean figure and his handsome face. She thought of the excitement of the wedding preparations. What a surprise it would be for Loman and Winborn! She wondered when she should tell them. She decided it would be wise to hold back the news until they had met Grenville and until she had told them that he would be a senior partner. She imagined they wouldn’t be happy about this, but there was nothing they could do about it! She was in complete control of the corporation, holding seventy-five per cent of the shares. The other directors would also raise their eyebrows, but to hell with them! It was a little disappointing that this tall, handsome man hadn’t shown any real interest in the corporation as yet, but she mustn’t rush him. Working with him, she was sure she could ignite his interest.

She realized she was neglecting him so she asked about his game of golf.

Grenville too had been wandering along, thinking of tomorrow night’s kidnapping, still a little uneasy about the results. He began to tell her about his game of golf with the pro, and like most golfers, he gave her a blow-by-blow account of his game, which rapidly bored Helga who thought golf a complete waste of time, but she simulated interest and said, “Bravo!” when Grenville concluded by saying he had thoroughly beaten the pro.

Returning to the villa, they found Hinkle waiting up for them.

“Now, Hinkle,” Helga said firmly, “in the future, after dinner, you must go to your room. I know you like TV. If there is anything I want, I will ring for you, but I do not want you to wait up for us. Is that understood?”

Hinkle inclined his head.

“Very well, madame, if that is your wish.”

“Mr. Grenville will lock up. So after dinner, please relax.”

Listening to this, Grenville drew in a sigh of relief. Maybe Archer was right when he had said everything was going their way.

* * *

Grenville came awake soon after 07.00. Helga, by his side, was sleeping.

This was the day, Grenville thought, but he had to get through twenty-two hours before he was liberated. He was sure those awful papers and accounts would arrive in a few hours. Then Helga would expect him to study them and then express an opinion. This he couldn’t face. His only escape was to feign illness. This was nothing new to him. Time and again, when he could no longer bear the company of his various old women, he had pleaded migraine. It was a certain winner.

He lay still until Helga began to move, then he released a little moan. Over the years he had perfected this sighing moan that was very convincing.

Helga came awake and sat up.

“Chris? What is it?”

“Nothing.” He put his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just the usual damn thing.”

She leaned over him anxiously.

“Are you in pain?”

“Pain? It’s migraine. Once in a while I get these attacks.” Grenville suppressed a moan. “Look, darling, just leave me be. If I stay still, it’s not all that bad.”

“Migraine! My poor darling!” Helga slid out of bed. “I’ll get you something.”

“No, please don’t. I always ride it out.” He managed to sound brave. “I’m sorry about this, but just leave me. Even talking hurts.”

“Of course, Chris. Would you like some tea? Can’t I do anything for you?”

“No, nothing. It’ll probably go away in an hour or so.”

“I’m so sorry.” Helga hesitated, then as he continued to remain still, his hands covering his eyes, she went into the bathroom, took a hasty shower, then moving silently, she dressed.

Watching her between his fingers, Grenville now and then released his little moan.

“Chris, darling let me call a doctor.”

“No doctor has ever cured migraine,” Grenville said. Then with an obvious effort, he took his hands from his face. “I’ll be all right. Just leave me here, please, and darling, don’t fuss.” Then he closed his eyes.

Worried and upset, Helga went onto the terrace where Hinkle was watering the flowers. Seeing her, he turned off the hose and came over to her.

“You are early, madame. Is something wrong?”

“Mr. Grenville has an attack of migraine,” Helga said. “We mustn’t disturb him.”

Hinkle’s fat face became expressionless.

“Yes, madame. It is a disagreeable ailment. Will you have coffee on the terrace.”

“Yes, please.”

She drank the coffee while she worried about Grenville. As Hinkle came to take the tray away, she said, “You wouldn’t imagine a man such as Mr. Grenville could be a migraine victim, would you, Hinkle?”

Hinkle lifted his eyebrows.

“I believe it is a nervous complaint. No, madame, you wouldn’t have thought so.”

Helga felt an urgent need to confide in him.

“Don’t go away Hinkle. I want to talk to you. Please sit down.”

“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.”