“You’d better have a drink, Larry.”
“Not for me, ma’am… unless you have a beer.”
She took a beer out of the refrigerator, poured it, then gave herself another vodka, adding ice and martini. While she was preparing the drinks, she was thinking.
Could this boy force Archer to sign a letter to the bank? She thought of Archer, massive, but soft and fat. She looked at Larry: built like a fighter and she could see his lumpy muscles straining against his jacket.
She handed him the beer and sat down.
“If the bank got a letter from him, they would act on his instructions,” she said, “but he wouldn’t sign.”
“He’ll sign, ma’am. That’s no problem.”
The way he spoke gave her hope and suddenly she felt as if a burdensome, crushing weight had been lifted off her.
“You mink you can make him sign?
He nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She sipped her drink, put down the glass and lit another cigarette.
“Let me mink about this, Larry.”
After a long pause, she asked, “How long will it take you to make him sign?”
Larry considered this question as he chewed, then he shrugged.
“That’s hard to say, ma’am. It depends on how stubborn he is. If he was younger, it wouldn’t take long: a couple of hours, but he’s getting old and he’s fat and soft. I’d have to handle him carefully.” He looked up, his eyes remote. “I’d say twenty-four hours: that’s the outside limit. He’ll sign before then I reckon, but let’s say twenty-four hours to be on the safe side.”
She shuddered. There was something so clinical and cold about this boy now that he was beginning to frighten her, and yet, here was the solution: a solution she couldn’t afford not to accept. She had to have those photographs. She had an instinctive feeling that Archer would again dip into the account once he was sure he had her where he wanted her and she would have to lie again and again to Herman.
I can’t wait that long, Larry. My husband is arriving here the day after tomorrow. The bank will take at least a day to return the photographs. Archer will have to stay here until they arrive. We’ve left it too late.”
“Archer… is that his name, ma’am?”
“Yes. We’ve left it too late.”
“A problem is a challenge… that’s what Ron always says. Can’t you mink of some way around this one?”
She was in the mood to face a challenge. Her mind worked swiftly and she came up with a possible solution. She looked at her watch. Her husband would be in his New York apartment clearing up final business before flying to Geneva the day after tomorrow. She got up and crossed to the telephone and dialled his New York number. There was a long pause, then she heard the ringing tone.
“This is Mr. Rolfe’s residence.”
She recognized Hinkle’s fruity voice.
“Oh, Hinkle, this is Mrs. Rolfe. Is my husband available?”
“No, madame. He is in conference. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes… the wretched central heating system has broken down at the villa. I’m calling from the Eden hotel. There is a spare part broken and the engineer tells me the heating won’t be working for at least four days. I think Mr. Rolfe should cancel his flight. He can’t possibly stay in the villa… it’s like an ice box, and you know how he detests staying at an hotel.”
“Yes, indeed, madame. You say four days? Mr. Rolfe will be disappointed.” 105
“As soon as the heating is working, I will telephone.” She hesitated, then went on, “If he decides to come in spite of this will you send me a telex at the Eden?”
“I assure you, madame, he will postpone the flight,” Hinkle said, and she drew in a quick breath of relief. She remembered Hinkle detested staying at an hotel even more than Herman did and from the tone of his voice, she was sure he would persuade Herman not to come.
“How is Mr. Rolfe?”
“Very fair, madame.”
This was Hinkle’s stock answer which could mean anything.
“Then I won’t expect him?
“No, madame.”
“All right, Hinkle… I’ll be telephoning as soon as I have news. She hung up.
“That was smart, ma’am,” Larry said. “You see… a problem is a challenge… Ron’s right.”
She wasn’t listening. She was thinking now of Archer. Here was another problem: suppose he wouldn’t come to the villa? Suppose he became suspicious that she might be up to something? He held the whip hand. He could refuse to come and insist that she should come to the hotel.
As if following her thoughts, Larry said, “How about Archer? Can you get him up here?”
“I’m not sure… let me think.”
She walked to the window and looked down at the lake, her mind busy. The whole plan would be defeated if Archer refused to come and he might well refuse. She would refuse if she were in his place. Why should he come? He had said she was dangerous. She felt suddenly sure that he wouldn’t come, but he would insist she brought the stock list to the hotel… unless she could trick him into coming.
She moved away from the window, picked up a cigarette and lit it. She was aware that Larry was watching her. She looked at her wristwatch. The time was 12.05. There was a chance Archer would have returned to the hotel for a pre-lunch cocktail. He was expecting her to call at 15.00. She decided the only way to trap him was to bustle him into coming so he would have no time for caution nor to suspect this could be a trap.
A fidgeting movement from Larry broke her concentration. She looked impatiently at him.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I could do with something to eat. Is there anything to eat?”
She pressed her hand to her forehead.
“For God’s sake, don’t bother me… I’m trying to think. Go to the kitchen and help yourself!”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
As he left the room she sat down and picked up her drink. She sat still, her mind concentrating on the problem. Finally, after ten minutes of thought, she came up with a possible solution. Considering this solution, she was now fairly satisfied that she could get Archer to come to the villa. But once he was there, would Larry be able to handle him? He seemed certain he could, but suppose Archer refused to sign the letter? He might have more steel in him than he appeared to have. If Larry failed, Archer would take his revenge. Then she remembered the deadly note in Larry’s voice and the remote, cold look in his eyes when he said:
Sink or swim, Archer had said. Well, she too wasn’t the sinking type.
“It’s all ready, ma’am,” Larry said coming to the door. “Come on… you gotta eat.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Oh, come on, ma’am. We could have a rough afternoon. Have you thought of something?”
“Yes.”
“Fine… let’s eat.”
Shrugging she went with him into the kitchen. He had made a vast bowl of spaghetti, using the peeled tomatoes, the tomato puree and the onions she had bought.
It looked so appetising that she suddenly felt hungry. Together, in silence, they demolished the pasta.
“You’re quite a cook, Larry.”
He gave her his warm, friendly smile. “Yeah… I’m not bad… my Ma taught me.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When are you getting him up here, ma’am?”
She stood up, pushing the kitchen chair away from her.
“If he’s coming… in about half an hour.”
She went into the living-room for a cigarette. Larry followed her.
“Any idea how he will come, ma’am?”
“He has a hired car.”
As Larry stripped the wrapping from a piece of gum, she lit her cigarette.
