partner who is a thief, a forger and a blackmailer. I’m not convinced. If I give up sixty million dollars, I will still have my freedom, but you won’t. You’ll be in jail… and God! how you will hate that.” She picked up the stock list. “I’ll let you know my decision at three o’clock tomorrow. Give me a telephone call at the villa,” and she went out of the room.
Back in her bedroom, Helga walked over to the window and drew back the drapes. She stood for several minutes looking at the lights of Cassarate, the red sign that spelt out B-R-E, the outline of the mountain and the headlights of the cars coming down from Castagnoia. Snow was beginning to fall: something unusual in Lugano. The lake, glittering in the moonlight, looked like a black mirror.
She was surprised at her calmness and how evenly her heart was beating. She had absorbed the shock. She had been manoeuvred into a trap, and now, she had to consider what she was to do.
Turning away from the window, she undressed and put on pale blue pyjamas. With a pack of cigarettes and her lighter in her hand, she got into bed. She settled herself, turned on the reading light and the room lights off. She lit a cigarette, then relaxed. It was in bed with a cigarette that she always did her best thinking.
First, she asked herself how important was it to her to remain the wife of one of the richest men in the world? To make a comparison, she thought back and considered how she had lived while acting as her father’s personal assistant and then later, as Archer’s. She had earned reasonable money; she had had a lot of fun, freedom and sex. Against this, she had lived in a tiny, rather dreary apartment She had always had snatched meals and no car of her own. She liked clothes but could never afford the clothes she wanted. When on vacation she had to stay at the less grand hotels and she remembered envying those who could afford the best hotels. She had to queue for a cinema or a theatre seat, not being able to afford the best seats. She ate at a good restaurant only when dated. She never had any jewellery until she married and she liked top class jewellery: especially diamonds. She didn’t know until she married the joys of skiing, of tearing through the water in her own high speed motorboat nor owning a Mercedes 300SEL. She thought of her various homes and the servants who gave her constant attention. She thought of the flattering V.I.P. treatment she received at the airports, hotels and luxury restaurants of the world as soon as the name of Rolfe was mentioned.
She finally came to the conclusion that she must cling to her position even if it meant accepting Archer as a partner.
But did she have to accept him?
She shook her head.
No! This was stupid and untidy thinking. She knew she could never take a life: even the life of a creature like Archer.
So what was the solution… if any?
She thought about this for some time. For her, she finally decided, the ideal solution would be if her husband dropped dead. Men of his age - he must be nearly seventy - were always dropping dead. What a marvellous and fantastic solution to her problem it would be if the telephone bell rang at this moment and Hinkle broke the news to her that Herman had suffered a heart attack. By dying, Herman would free her from this blackmail threat. She would automatically inherit the estate: no doubt, he would leave his daughter something, but if he didn’t, she could afford to be generous with all that money. But that wasn’t the real magic of Herman’s death. The magic of his death would mean she would have Archer in her power as he now had her in his power. She imagined letting him wait until three o’clock the following day, then she would ask him to come to the villa. “Something I want to discuss with you, Jack,” she would say. “No, not over an open line. Besides, you want the stock sheets, don’t you?” He would come, cautiously perhaps, but triumphant, knowing she had surrendered. She would play with him as a cat plays with a mouse until it would dawn on him he was not going to get the stock list. Then she would listen to his threats and bluster and she would laugh at him.
She paused in her thinking, her eyes narrowing.
Archer had said that and Archer was also dangerous.
No, before she had her showdown with him, she would have to alert Spencer, Grove amp; Manly. She had already met Edwin Grove, a tall, dried up looking man at a cocktail party in Lausanne. She would telephone him before Archer arrived, telling him the facts and asking him to take all the necessary action; that Archer would be at her villa in two or three hours, and would he alert the police?
Then when she had finished her tongue-lashing, the police would arrive and take him away.
All this… but only if Herman dropped dead.
She stubbed out her cigarette and stared up at the ceiling. She knew instinctively that Herman was going to live for at least another ten years. He had a daily visit from his doctor. He took the greatest care of himself. She remembered the doctor telling her that Herman had a heart of a young man.
She moved restlessly under the sheet.
Dreams!
She forced her mind to become realistic. She was trapped and she might as well admit it. At any rate she would make that fat swine sweat until three o’clock tomorrow, then she would tell him to come to the villa and she would hand him the initialled stock list.
She had been asking for trouble these past four years and now it had arrived. Accept the inevitable, the Dean of the School of Law had once said in one of his dry lectures.
She would have to do that, but that wouldn’t stop her hating Archer and hoping something horrible would happen to him… but he mustn’t the.
She reached for her sleeping pills, took three of them, swallowing them 97
without water with practised ease, then with a little shiver of self-disgust, she1 reached up and turned off the light.
At 10.00 the following morning, Helga telephoned down to the concierge’s desk.
“Is Mr. Archer still in the hotel?”
“No, madame: he left about twenty minutes ago.”
“Thank you… it’s not important.”
She felt sure Archer would have gone out by now, but she wanted to check. She couldn’t have borne running into him in the lobby to see his smirking, fat face and his questioning eyes.
She slipped on her mink coat, glanced in the mirror, adjusted her hat, then picking up the briefcase holding the stock list, she left her suite.
She had the stock lists for the previous month at the villa and she wanted to check the prices against the prices Archer had given her. She wanted to be certain just how much money he had stolen. He had said glibly two million dollars, but she wanted to know the exact sum.
The doorman opened her car door with a flourish. She nodded to him, started the engine, then joined the traffic crawl along the lake.
Drugged by the pills, she had slept heavily and she still felt heavy headed and irritable. The day after tomorrow, she thought, she would have to drive to Agno to meet Herman’s plane. She wondered in what mood she would find him. Usually, after a plane trip, he was testy and difficult. She would have to get something out of the deep freeze ready for Hinkle to cook. Herman was faddy about his food. One of his favourite dishes was breaded veal with spaghetti: this Helga never ate. She had the middle-aged woman’s horror of getting fat. There would be filets of veal in the freezer. She would get them out tomorrow.
She stopped at the Migros store at Cassarate and bought onions, a tin of peeled tomatoes and a tin of tomato puree. She knew there would be packets of spaghetti in the store cupboard. She bought a dozen eggs and a litre of milk. Hinkle was a genius at making an omelette which she could always eat. She paused for a moment thinking, but could think of nothing else to buy. With her purchases in a paper bag, she got into the car and drove up the twisting road to Castagnola. She stopped at the Post Office and collected some dozen letters. The girl behind the counter gave her a friendly smile.
“Will you be staying long, madame?”
“Till the end of the month. Please have the letters delivered tomorrow.”
She drove up to the villa. The snow plough had been at work and the road was clear but there were high banks of snow either side of the road and once when she pressed too hard on the gas pedal, the back wheels of the car slipped, a slip she quickly corrected. The private drive to the villa had also been cleared and the roadman had
