1975 - The Joker in the Pack (14 page)

Hinkle beamed.

“Well yes, madame. I have long wanted to refurbish Mr. Rolfe’s study. Yes, if you really think you could manage, it would be an opportunity.”

It was as easy as that.

* * *

Helga had little idea how she passed the rest of the day or the following morning. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. It was only her steel control that kept her from screaming at the staff, at Hinkle, at Dr. Levi and Dr. Bernstein.

She held on because she was sure she had a retreat and in a day’s time she would have Dick with her.

Before leaving, Hinkle had said kind things to her. She forced herself to say nice things to him. She could see how relieved he was to go, but she didn’t envy him. Her life, she told herself, would begin when he had gone. From her living room window, she watched him get into the Rolls which she assured him she didn’t need. As he drove away, she heaved a sigh of relief: one less pair of eyes to watch her.

Dr. Levi brought Dr. Bernstein to see her in the evening. Dr. Bernstein was a short, excessively fat man. She disliked him on sight. He spoke with a heavy German accent and waved pudgy hands while he talked. In spite of his authority, his obvious confidence in himself, Helga, who was a good judge of men, realized after a few minutes that he was as baffled as Dr. Levi.

“The stroke, of course, as Dr. Levi has told you, was massive,” Bernstein said. “It has done damage, but let us hope, not irreparable damage. This relapse could possibly be the reaction of an overtaxed heart. I wouldn’t like to go further than this, Madame Rolfe. In fact until I have made various tests, it would be better not to go into details. I will observe the patient. It will take time.”

Bored with this fat, little man, Helga said, “So you don’t know what has happened? You have to make tests and you may find out. Is that the position?”

He looked at her, his eyes snapping.

“You can rely on me to make a searching examination, Madame Rolfe. This is an unusual case.”

She nodded, then turned to Dr. Levi.

“I am moving from here, doctor. Here is my new telephone number.” She gave him a card. “Please keep in touch with me.”

“Of course, Mrs. Rolfe.”

Turning to Dr. Bernstein who was frowning, she said, “You can give me no idea when my husband can go home?”

“An idea?” he lifted his heavy eyebrows. “Certainly not. It is far too soon to think of air travel. Much will depend on the results of the tests.”

That night she had to take three sleeping pills before she slept. Tomorrow, she told herself, as she lay waiting for sleep, her life would begin.

Waking, she reviewed the coming day. Hinkle had gone. Herman was in the Nassau hospital for an unspecified time. Winborn was safely in New York. She had a love nest! There was no need to wait any longer. Now for Dick!

She frowned. But how was she to contact him? Her first impulse was to get in the Mini and drive to the broken down bungalow and collect him, but she realized at once that the wife of one of the richest men in the world couldn’t do that. She could tell the hall porter she wanted to see Dick Jones. That too could be dangerous. Why should she want to contact a half-caste boy who used to work at the hotel? The hall porter would wonder.

Goddamn it! She thought. Must my life always be so complicated?

She had to be careful. She had to avoid gossip. So she lay in bed and thought. It irritated her to realize when one had something to conceal one had to cover one’s tracks, continually look over one’s shoulder and be cautious, and ‘caution’ was a word she loathed.

Then she thought of Frank Gritten.

She reached for the telephone and called his number.

“This is Mrs. Rolfe, Mr. Gritten,” she said when he came on the line. “Thank you again for what you did for me.”

“I hope you were successful,” Gritten said.

“I was. You were good enough to say you would help me if I needed help.”

“I am at your service, Mrs. Rolfe.”

“I want to get in touch with an ex-servant of my hotel. His name is Dick Jones and he lives at 1150 North Beach Road. Could you have a message sent to him to meet me at the Riviera Tavern at three o’clock this afternoon?”

There was a long pause. She could imagine Gritten puffing at his pipe. Then he said, “That’s no problem, Mrs. Rolfe.” Another pause. “Would you like me to accompany you when you meet Jones?”

Startled, Helga said, “What on earth for?”

“Jones is a J.D., Mrs. Rolfe. He served a year in a reform school when he was twelve years old. I suggest he isn’t the type you should meet without someone like me with you.”

Helga stared into space. She saw the boy, saw his beauty, his fawn-like eyes.

“You surprise me, Mr. Gritten. Has he been in trouble since then?

“No, Mrs. Rolfe, but all the same, once in trouble, always in trouble.”

“Isn’t that being rather cynical, Mr. Gritten?”

“I am an ex-cop. One becomes cynical. We have a very high record here of J.D.’s. Most of them land up in jail. Do you still want to meet Jones now you know more about him?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Of course.” There was a snap in her voice. “Please arrange it for me. Three o’clock at the Riviera Tavern.”

“All right, Mrs. Rolfe.”

“And thank you for not asking questions.”

He laughed.

“If there is anything else I can do, it will be my privilege.”

She thanked him and hung up. Was she being utterly reckless and stupid?

She thought of the boy and her heart began to race.

I can be too cautious, she thought. I have him where I want him. I am glad Gritten told me he has been in trouble. That means he will be more ready to do what I want. He will know I could get him into very serious trouble with that tape.

She relaxed back in her chair.

To hell with caution! She wanted a man, so she was going to have a man!

She enjoyed her lunch in the grillroom, knowing it was the last time she would eat there. After lunch, she saw the hotel manager and arranged for her check to be ready the following morning. He said how much he regretted that she was leaving the hotel and how much pleasure it had given him and his staff to serve her. She said the appropriate things.

A few minutes to 15.00, she drove to the Riviera Tavern. As she pulled into the parking lot she saw a group of scantily dressed young people surrounding an Electra Glide motorcycle. There were more girls than boys. The girls were chattering and squealing like a flock of parakeets; the boys silent and envious.

Astride the motorcycle was Dick Jones. For a moment she didn’t recognize him. He was wearing a gondolier’s straw hat with a red ribbon. The hat was tilted sideways, giving him a cheeky, sexy look. He wore only a pair of skintight red trousers. Around his neck was a thick, gilt chain from which hung a replica of a tiny human skull, carved from bone.

Was this his off-duty gear? Helga wondered or had her money bought this finery? He was certainly a brash, handsome-looking little animal, she thought. No wonder the girls were swarming around him and the glittering white and red motorcycle was impressive.

She sat watching, a cigarette between her fingers. Suddenly Dick seemed to become aware of being watched. He looked sharply at her and their eyes met. Purposely, Helga gave him her cold, steel hard stare.

His happy expression, his wide smile, revealing perfect teeth, faded. He straightened his hat and said something to the group around him.

They all stopped chattering and turned to stare at Helga who stared back at them. They they broke up and all ran back to the Tavern, giggling and laughing, the boys shouting, all but one.

In the group Helga hadn’t noticed this particular girl, but the moment the girl became isolated as she stood by the motorcycle she seemed to Helga to be larger than life.

Around twenty-two or three, this girl was well above average height and as she stood sideways on to Helga there seemed nothing of her: tiny breasts, no rear, long legs. Her hair that reached to her waist was tinted Venetian red. Helga thought she would probably be a mousy blonde before she had tinted her hair. The girl was wearing a grubby white T-shirt and tight, sun-bleached Levis with rabbit fur around the cuffs. All this Helga took in in one searching stare, then she looked at the girl’s face. She felt a little pang of uneasiness: a strong face without being hard, a short nose, a wide, firm mouth and big eyes – no beauty, but by God! Helga thought, she was arresting, not like the other stupid puppy girls who had run away.

The girl continued to stare at her until Dick spoke to her. Then she shrugged and walked away with long, graceful strides, her head held high.

Getting off his motorcycle, removing his hat, Dick approached the Mini.

Helga saw the group of youngsters now standing in the shade of the restaurant’s veranda. They were watching. This was a mistake, she told herself, to meet him here, but she didn’t give a damn.

He came up to her and gave a stiff little bow.

Her voice cold and hard, she said, “Do you know the Blue Heron villa, Dick?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes were shifty.

“I have rented it. You will begin work tomorrow morning. It will be your job to keep it clean. Do you understand?”

He stared at her, then nodded.

“Can you cook?”

His eyes widened.

“Cook? Well, no ma’am. I can’t cook.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your hours will be from eighty-thirty until seven in the evening.”

He twisted his hat in his hands, looking away from her.

“Did you hear what I said?” Helga snapped.

He stiffened, then nodded.

“I will not have you nodding at me, Dick! You will say yes or no!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She regarded him as he stood in the hot sun, looking down, not meeting her eyes, his hands fidgeting with his hat, his expression sullen.

“Listen to me, Dick! I am doing you a favor! If I gave that tape to the police, with your record, you would be in serious trouble. You understand that?”

He flinched, then nodded.

“Yes, ma’am and thank you, ma’am.”

She tried to resist asking the question, but burning curiosity proved too much for her.

“Who was that girl?”

His fawn like eyes widened.

“What girl, ma’am?”

“The girl with the red hair.”

“That’s Terry, ma’am.”

“Terry . . . what is her other name?”

“Terry Shields, ma’am.”

Helga felt a wave of impatience run through her. Why should she have asked? She might have known the girl’s name would mean nothing to her.

“Then tomorrow at eight-thirty. I expect you to be punctual, Dick.”

His eyes shifted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right. Now go along and play with your friends.”

She started the car’s motor and without looking at him she drove past the restaurant. The girls and the boys were watching her, but she didn’t see Terry Shields. Was this girl Dick’s special? She had stood so possessively by him when the others had run off. She had stared at her with hostility until Dick had spoken to her.

Competition?

Helga smiled.

She had no fear of competition. Dick would do as she told him: he had no alternative.

She would pack a bag and spend the night in the love nest, getting the feel of the atmosphere. There were things to buy. Milk, coffee, vodka, even toilet rolls. She must make a list. It was a long time since she had fun. It was a long time since she had been in a self-service store. It was also a long time since she had had a man in her bed. She had been patient. She had waited and waited and waited.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough!

chapter six

H
elga pushed the market cart down the aisle stacked with canned food. It was years since she had done this and she realized what she had been missing. Before she married Herman, she had always had a sandwich desk lunch and gone out in the evenings.

She watched women putting cans into their carts, staring at the prices, rejecting one can, taking another. This was another world to her: not the magic world in which Herman Rolfe lived, but a more exiting world of ‘Can I afford this! Should I splash out on that?’ Lulled by Herman’s money, this was a world she had forgotten.

She had a compulsive urge to buy. There were so many cans on the shelves with attractive labels that tempted her: red beans, chili con carne, lobster, ravioli. Then there were packets of various soups, ham ready cut and so on.

She was like a first ever tourist gaping at the wonders of Rome. She kept filling her cart, happier than she could remember and when she reached the meat and poultry counter, she took a T-bone steak and was reaching for a chicken when she realized she had no idea how to cook them nor did Dick. So she reluctantly put them back and moved to the counter that displayed the ‘heat and eat’ foods.

She bought more than she wanted, but it was fun and she had plenty of money. She bought four bottles of vodka and three martini packs, beer and whiskey.

She loved standing in a queue, waiting for the goods to be checked. She felt in touch with people for the first time in years. Finally, she wheeled the cart to the Mini and loaded her purchases onto the backseat.

Returning to the hotel, she asked the hall porter to have her clothes packed.

“I will be in tomorrow morning,” she said. “I won’t be in tonight.”

“Certainly, madame. There is a cable just come in for your man, Hinkle.”

“Give it to me. I will be speaking to him.”

In her suite, she read the cable. The message was brief and from Paris:
Impossible to come to Nassau. Daddy will survive. He always does. Sheila
.

The cards were still falling her way, Helga thought. She had been worrying about Herman’s daughter. To have her here would have been embarrassing, but she was a little shocked at the girl’s callousness.

She put the cable in an envelope and addressed it to Hinkle at the Paradise City villa, then she packed an overnight bag, not forgetting two bikini swimsuits, a beach wrap and sandals. She then called down to the hall porter to send someone to take the bag to the car and ten minutes later she was driving to the Blue Heron villa.