1977 - I Hold the Four Aces (9 page)

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 voluptuously, 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 like 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.”

Grenville drew in a deep breath.

“All right. When will it be?”

“Three days after you have settled in at the villa, but we will meet again before then. I will let you know what I have arranged.” Archer paused, his eyes turning bleak. “She outsmarted me once, now it is my turn.”

chapter four

S
ome two years ago, when Jack Archer had been a senior partner of a reputable firm of international lawyers in Lausanne, he had received a telephone call.

A harsh American voice said, “This is Moses Seigal talking. You know me?”

Archer always read the Herald Tribune, so he knew Moses Seigal was one of the important Mafia men, and was being hunted by the F.B.I. for tax evasion.

“Yes, Mr. Seigal,” he said cautiously. “I have read about you.”

“Yeah. Now listen, I want your advice and I’ll pay. A guy who gives advice to a guy as big as Herman Rolfe is my idea of a guy. I’ll be at Bernie’s restaurant, Geneva, at eight o’clock tomorrow night. You be there, and you’ll pick up some dough,” and he hung up.

For some minutes Archer hesitated. He knew Seigal was on the run, but he also knew the Mafia people were dangerous to refuse. So, without telling his partners, who would have been dismayed, he decided it might be profitable to himself personally, to talk to this man.

Bernie’s restaurant was on a side street off Quai Gustave. It looked unimpressive, dark and shabby.

Entering, Archer had been greeted by a short, thickset, swarthy-looking man with a beard, who had told him Mr. Seigal was waiting.

The bearded man, introducing himself as Bernie, had taken Archer through the crowded restaurant to a room at the back where a fat, beetle-browed Italian was drinking Campari soda.

“Okay, Bernie,” the man growled. “Get us some of your swill. I’m in a hurry.”

He waved Archer to a chair.

“I ain’t got long,” he said as Archer settled himself. “I’ve got a load of hot money. I want to stash it. What do I do?”

Bernie came in with two plates of spaghetti, drenched in tomato sauce, plonked them down and went away.