I looked, she had gone.
The game over, Mazzo and I walked back to the house.
‘If we run into the butler,’ Mazzo said, ‘keep going. His name is Jonas. He’s near sighted, and old enough to be dead.’
As we entered the vast hall, I saw a tall, dignified negro with snow white hair, crossing to the main living room.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, pausing. ‘May I say it is good to see you again?’
I waved in his direction and headed for the stairs.
In Ferguson’s voice, I said, ‘Good to be back, Jonas.’
When we reached the head of the stairs, Mazzo said, ‘Very nice. You’re doing fine.’
He left me in my suite and I took off the mask and had another shower. Then putting on a short toweling coat, I stretched out on the enormous bed. I idled the time away with my thoughts.
At 19.00, as I was dozing, I heard a buzzing sound.
It came from the living room. I slid off the bed and saw a red light flashing on the intercom on the desk. I thumbed down the switch, and said in Ferguson’s voice, ‘What is it?’ Then having an idea it was Loretta, I went on. ‘Is that you, Etta? I was waiting to hear
from you.’
I heard a quick intake of breath.
‘Marvelous!’ she said. ‘Tonight, we will have dinner with Mr. Durant at nine o’clock in the dining room. Wear the mask. Mazzo tells me Jonas was completely fooled. This is the big test . . . John,’ and she cut off.
This called for a very dry Martini. I went to the cocktail cabinet, but there was no ice. I hesitated for a moment, then going to the intercom, read off the print under the various buttons. I saw ‘Butler’ and pressed the switch. After a moment’s delay, Jonas answered.
‘I have no ice, Jonas,’ I said in Ferguson’s voice.
‘It is in the lower compartment of the cabinet, sir,’ he told me. ‘I will come immediately.’
I cursed myself for being so stupid.
‘No, don’t do that. I’m busy. It’s all right,’ and I switched off.
That’s what comes of being too confident, I told myself, opening the door of the compartment below the rows of bottles. Here, I found a well-stocked refrigerator.
What would he think? I wondered uneasily.
As I was mixing the drink, there came a tap on the door. Hurriedly moving to the window, my hands clammy, I called to come in.
‘Sir, may I make you a drink?’ Jonas asked.
Still keeping my back turned for I wasn’t wearing the mask, I shook my head.
‘It’s all right. Thanks. Just leave me. I’m busy.’
‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson,’ and I heard the door close.
I drank three quarters of the Martini, set down the glass and wiped my face with my handkerchief, then I finished the drink and made another.
I was back on even keel, plus three Martinis, when Mazzo appeared a few minutes past 20.00.
‘Big deal, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, grinning. He went to one of the closets and took from it a tuxedo outfit. ‘It’s a dress affair.’ He produced a frilled white shirt and a black bow tie. ‘You get your face on.’
I went into the bathroom and put on the mask. I was now getting expert in this exercise. When I had completed the disguise, it gave me a lot of confidence to look once again at the face of John Merrill Ferguson.
Returning to the bedroom, I changed into the tuxedo. As I was fixing the bow tie, Mazzo said, ‘Jonas will be serving at the table. There will be a couple of women to help him. You don’t have to worry about any of them. The women are cows. Jonas is half-blind. There are two things to remember: the Boss doesn’t eat much. Don’t go making a hog of yourself. The other thing is the Boss doesn’t talk much: so lay off with the chatter. Get it?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Another thing: the Boss doesn’t drink nor smoke, so watch it.’
‘He must be quite a man,’ I said. ‘What does he do in his spare time?’
Mazzo leered.
‘There’s Mrs. F.’
Yes, there was Loretta. Seeing her in my mind, my blood ran hot: the most devastating and sexy woman I had yet met.
At a few minutes to 21.00, Mazzo escorted me down the stairs, and into the big dining room, big enough to entertain a hundred people without a crush.
Loretta, looking marvelous in a low cut scarlet evening dress, her neck and chest glittering with diamonds, was sitting in a lounging chair. Durant, wearing a tuxedo, stood by the empty fireplace, smoking a cigar. Jonas was hovering. In the center of the room was a table, laid for dinner.
As soon as she saw me, Loretta got to her feet and came to me and offered me her cheek. I brushed it with my lips, smelling her subtle perfume.
‘I hope you feel like eating tonight, John. The Chef has prepared a new dish.’
Remembering what Mazzo had said, I gave a weary shrug.
‘You must try to eat,’ Loretta said, smiling at me.
Aware all this was said for Jonas’s benefit, I again shrugged.
We sat at the table and a lobster mousse was put before me. My gastric juices rushed into action. Then I heard Mazzo, standing behind me, cough gently.
Reluctantly, I said, ‘I can’t eat this,’ while I stared greedily.
As if he expected me to say this, Jonas whisked away the dish and replaced it with a mixed salad. I fiddled with the salad while I watched with envious eyes Loretta and Durant eat the lobster mousse.
Loretta kept up a prattle that didn’t call for me to reply. Every now and then, Durant made business remarks while I nodded to show I was listening.
A dish, smelling like heaven, was presented to me. I peered at its contents: chicken with truffles in a rich cream sauce.
‘A small piece, Mr. Ferguson, sir,’ Jonas coaxed like a mother with a wayward child.
A small piece?
Goddam it! I could have devoured the lot!
‘Looks good,’ I said, aware Mazzo was coughing again. To hell with him, I thought. ‘Yes, I think I could manage some of that.’
Jonas placed a small piece of the breast on my plate.
‘Carry on, Jonas,’ I said. ‘Don’t let’s be mean.’
I was aware Loretta and Durant were staring at me while Mazzo was coughing like a refugee from a T.B. clinic.
Jonas beamed as he placed more chicken on my plate.
‘That’s fine, Jonas,’ I said when I was sure he had heaped my plate.
Jonas then served Loretta and Durant, both of whom sat in stony silence.
As I munched, I gave them an out.
‘Those new pills,’ I said to Loretta, ‘seem to have improved my appetite.’
‘I am glad,’ Loretta said with a stiff smile.
‘My congratulations to the Chef, Jonas,’ I said as I gorged myself. To Durant, I said, ‘Remarkable what these modern pills will do.’
‘So I understand,’ Durant snarled.
I couldn’t care less. I finished what was on my plate.
Durant and Loretta had laid down their knives and forks. Jonas came to me. ‘Just a little more, Mr. Ferguson, sir?’
Mazzo went into another fit of coughing which I ignored.
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It is excellent.’
Finally, at the end of the meal, when I had eaten two portions of apple pie which Durant, glaring at me, and Loretta, half smiling, refused, we left the table.
