He stared at her for a long moment and she met his eyes without flinching. "Do you really mean that, Helga? You're not bluffing?"
"No, I'm not bluffing." She finished her drink. "I think I would like another, please."
His set face relaxed a little.
"Let's both have another." He went over to the bar.
"You see, Helga," he said as he mixed the cocktail, "if you really mean all you've been saying, then I'll be forced to move to square D. I don't want to do that, but if you're not bluffing, then I'll have to."
The tone of his voice and the expression on his fat face made Helga alert. "And what is square D?" she asked.
"I will sell the photograph of you showing everything you've got to Herman."
She kept the expression of her face deadpan with an effort. "And do you imagine he will buy it?"
"Yes, I think he would if I threatened, unless he did, I'll send it to the pornographers. As a dirty postcard it would have a very wide sale."
Inwardly she flinched.
"And in the meantime you would be in jail?"
"I don't think so. I have also been doing some thinking. I have an idea that Herman wouldn't prosecute if I convinced him that on a dirty postcard his wife would be quite a star attraction."
She forced herself to brazen it out.
"Then you don't know Herman. He would divorce me and not only prosecute you for embezzling but also for blackmail. You could go to jail for twenty years."
Archer shrugged.
"Desperate situations need desperate measures. I think Herman would play. The last thing he would want would be to know his cronies were sniggering over your pretty nakedness."
There came a sudden thudding sound from the hall that brought Archer to his feet. Helga also stood up. Then Archer smiled.
"Your pimp trying to break out," he said and sat down again. "That's something he won't do. That pole was a bright idea of yours, Helga. It is strong enough to pen in a bull. I know ... I've tried."
Still standing, she stubbed out her cigarette. Her mind was working swiftly. She knew she was caught unless she could find another way out. She was sure Herman would pay rather than let the photograph go into circulation. Archer would get his money and his freedom and she would lose everything! Her bluff had failed!
"Are you all right, ma'am?" Larry bawled through the door.
"Don't move, Helga," Archer said, stretching out his long, thick legs. "Never mind about him. Sit down. What do you think of square D?"
She picked up her drink.
"Ma'am!" Larry's voice crashed into the room.
She braced herself, then taking a quick step forward she threw the contents of her glass in Archer's face. Spinning around, she darted into the hall. She threw herself against the pole. It shuddered but held. She heard a roar of rage from Archer and as she heaved frantically at the pole, he came blundering out. The vodka was stinging his eyes and he was half blind. She dodged around the pole, caught hold of it and pulled with all her strength. She felt it shift as Archer struck at her. His fist thudded into her shoulder, sending her staggering back, but somehow, she kept her grip on the pole. It came with her. She sprawled on the floor, the pole on top of her.
The door crashed open and Larry charged out. Archer was frantically wiping his eyes clear with his handkerchief. Larry went for him. The two men crashed together: Archer's fingers at Larry's face and Larry's great fists smashing into Archer's body.
Helga threw the pole from her and she scrambled to her feet. She could hear Archer's sobbing gasps and saw his knees sagging as Larry's fists, moving like pistons, thudded into Archer's fat body.
Archer's legs sagged and he went down on his knees. Larry stepped back, then hit Archer on the side of his jaw. Helga flinched and shut her eyes. To her, it was a terrible blow: a blow that could kill.
When she looked again, Archer was flat on his back, unconscious. His chest was heaving and blood trickled down his nostrils. The skin along his jaw had split and was bleeding.
"No more!" Helga cried. "Don't ... don't ...!"
Muttering to himself, Larry caught hold of Archer's ankles and dragged him to the cellar doorway. Then walking backwards down the stairs, he dragged Archer after him. The sound of Archer's head thumping on each stair made Helga feel faint. She went limply into the sitting-room and flopped on the settee. She lay there with her hands to her face, fighting off the feeling of faintness that threatened her.
Time ceased to exist. She felt she was floating between consciousness and unconsciousness. Then she felt a hand touch her gently. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
She took her hands from her face. Larry was bending over her, concern and worry in his eyes.
"Yes." She looked helplessly up at him. "Did he hurt you?"
"It's okay. I asked for it. You stay right there, ma'am. I'll get you a cup of tea."
"I don't want anything. Is he all right?"
Larry fingered the back of his head.
"Oh, sure. I wouldn't have believed it. I didn't think he would have had the guts. He didn't telephone the bank?"
"No."
"I was scared he would do that."
"I stopped him."
His warm, friendly smile was comforting.
"Well, you've got guts, ma'am. I thought he'd really fixed us."
"I did, too."
He straightened.
"I guess all that excitement has made me hungry. I'll get lunch. Some food will do you good."
"No! I'll lie on my bed. I just want to stay quiet. You go ahead, Larry."
His look of concern returned. "You're feeling bad, ma'am?"
Her fare worked as she tried to control her tears. She nodded. He bent and scooped her up effortlessly and carried her into her bedroom. The feel of his hands around her waist and thighs started her blood moving hotly through her body. She relaxed against him. The faint smell of his body sweat, the hardness of his chest against her face, his thorough maleness sent sensuous waves of desire through her. He lowered her on to the bed and gently took off her shoes.
"You rest, ma'am," he said and going to the window, he pulled the drapes, shutting out the sunshine. "You just take it easy."
"You're a wonderful comfort to me, Larry," she said, watching him as he moved to the door. "Thank you."
He smiled.
"You take it easy."
He left the room, closing the door after him.
She lay still, wishing he hadn't gone. She now wanted him with a sexual ache that tormented her. She could hear him in the kitchen, whistling softly as he began to prepare a meal for himself. She wanted to call to him. She wanted him to strip off her clothes and take her with this sudden gentleness he had revealed and which she hadn't believed possible in him. But she didn't call him.
She lay in the semi-darkness, shivering a little. She felt drained and exhausted. She thought of the hours ahead of her before the photographs arrived.
She had to be patient, she told herself and closed her eyes. She gave herself up to the long wait.
When the Grandfather clock in the hall chimed seven, she roused herself. She felt rested and in control of herself. She got off the bed, stripped off her sweater and slacks and then went into the bathroom.
She could hear the television going in the sitting-room.
Her shoulder ached where Archer had hit her and when she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, she grimaced. There was a black, spreading bruise from her shoulder to her breast. Lifting her eyes to her face, reflected in the mirror, she saw how tired, white and gaunt she looked.
She drew a bath and lay in the comforting hot water for more than half an hour. As she was drying herself, she heard the television set being turned off, then a tapping on her bedroom door.
"Do you feel like something to eat, ma'am?" Larry called.
"Anything ... something light."
"Okay, ma'am ... I'll fix it."
She worked on her face, spent ten minutes fixing her hair, then she return
ed to the bedroom. She put on fresh pants, bra and stockings. She stood before her open wardrobe and surveyed the many dresses, costumes and suits. Finally, she selected a simple white silk dress and slipped it on. She put a gold chain around her slim waist and surveyed herself.
Not bad, she thought: tired, but interestingly tired and no longer looking like a hag.
She left her bedroom and went into the sitting-room. She could hear Larry in the kitchen, but she now badly wanted a drink. She made a stiff vodka and martini, then lighting a cigarette and carrying her drink, she went into the kitchen.
Larry was standing by the glowing grill. His jaw was moving as he chewed. At her entrance, he turned around and his eyes widened a little at the sight of her. "Gee, ma'am . . . you look beautiful!"
She couldn't remember when a man had said that to her: a long time ago, she thought and she smiled. 'Thank you, Larry. Won't you have a drink?"
"No, thank you, ma'am. Drink doesn't get along with me. I got drunk once and I got into a lot of trouble so I keep away from it." "You're wise. What are you cooking?"
"You said you wanted something light. I dug out a couple of soles. I guess this freezer has all the food in the world."
"I think it has. A sole sounds wonderful."
She sat on a kitchen chair and sipped her drink. "Is he all right?" she asked.
"Yeah, I guess. I went down to take a look at him. He's not all that happy. I guess I dug a few into him he didn't like." Larry pulled the tray from under the grill and expertly turned the soles, then pushed the tray back. "He's sorry for himself."
"Perhaps I'd better go down and see him," Helga said, suddenly worried.
"I wouldn't do that, ma'am. He'll be all right. I made him some soup. You don't have to bother about him."
"Are you sure he's all right?"
"Yeah . . . he'll survive."
His indifference alarmed her.
""I'll better see him."
"No, ma'am. You keep away from him. He's in a nasty mood. There's no point in yon seeing him. He'll only call you names." Larry grinned. "He called me plenty ... but tomorrow, he'll be fine."
She decided to take his advice.
"What have you been doing with yourself all this time?"
"Oh, taking it easy. There was a good football match on the telly." "I must have slept. No one telephoned or called?"
"No, ma'am." He peered into the grill. "If you feel like it, we can eat."
She watched while he quickly laid the kitchen table and then served the soles. She was astonished by his quick efficiency and suddenly ashamed of her own inadequacy. She had no idea how to prepare any meal except a hamburger or possibly to fry an egg which she generally broke when serving it. She realized, as he deftly filleted the soles, how badly she had eaten when she had been without much money: sandwiches, hamburgers and meals from a slot chine.
"I should be doing this, Larry," she said as he set her plate before her. "That's what a woman is supposed to do."
"I guess lots of girls don't know how to cook," he said and sat down. "But they can do other things."
Again she felt hot blood move through her.
"Yes ... that's right."
They ate in silence. When they had finished, she said, "It was wonderful, Larry ... you really are a great cook."
"I'm glad it pleased you, ma'am. You take it easy. I'll clear up." He collected the plates and moved to the sink.
"I must help you."
He grinned at her. "I'll manage. You go ahead and take it easy. Coffee?"
"That would be nice."
She went into the sitting-room, crossed to the bar and poured a small brandy. Then she sat down. As she swirled the brandy around in the balloon glass, she thought of Herman; querulous, selfish, demanding and expecting every attention. This boy was really wonderful! What a marvellous husband he would make for some lucky girl!
She heard him washing up, whistling to himself, then after a while he came in with two cups of coffee.
"Have you given him anything to eat, Larry?" she asked. Archer was preying on her mind. She took the cup of coffee he handed her.
"Don't worry about him, ma'am. He's had soup ... he's okay."
"Perhaps I'd better see him. He's not young, Larry, and you hit him terribly hard."
Larry sat down. He held the cup and saucer awkwardly.
"You leave him alone, ma'am. There's no point in you getting upset. He used some pretty strong language."
"But you're sure he's all right?"
"Sure ... sure ... sure."
She gave up. After a pause while they sipped the steaming coffee, she said, "I'll call the American Express tomorrow and book your seat."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She looked at him and smiled. "I'll miss you, Larry."
"Yeah ... I guess I'll miss you, too."
"It's been a fantastic adventure, hasn't it?"
"It has that."
Not one of the world's most brilliant conversationalists, she thought with regret, but he is magnificent to look at.
"It's nearly over," she said. "The day after tomorrow the photos will come. Then we say goodbye."
"I guess that's right."
Watching him, looking at the breadth of his shoulders, his huge hands and his masculinity, she again felt the tormenting sexual urge go through her. She remembered she had told herself: no more men, but just this once, she thought. We have tonight, all tomorrow and tomorrow night together. She knew she couldn't sit around in the villa, waiting for the hours to pass while she had him with her. Surely, he would feel the same way. She would have to give him a little encouragement: just a hint and he would take her. Tonight: more love during the following day and more love the next night, then she would be satisfied. She would say goodbye and have a memory to live with, and then positively no more men! "Excuse me, ma'am ..."
She looked up, jerked away from her thoughts and she smiled at him. "Yes, Larry?"
"There's an ice hockey match on at nine on the telly. Would it bother you if I watched it?"
She felt as if she had received a slap in the face. She looked down at her hands. "Of course not ... if you want to."
"Yeah ... I dig for ice hockey. Do you like, it ma'am?"
She contained herself with an effort.
"No ... it doesn't interest me." She looked at the clock on the overmantel. It showed 20.55. "The programme will in five minute."
"Yes, ma'am." "I'll go to bed. I'll find something to read."
He went over to the television set and turned it on. She had an idea he hadn't heard what she had said.
She stood up and looked at herself in the wall mirror. Why hadn't she lit a flame in him? she wondered. Ice hockey, for God's sake! She regarded the slim, blonde woman reflected in the glass. She looked pale and perhaps a little tired, but she didn't look anything like her real age. Suppose she went to him and put her arms around him and arched her body hard against his? Would that light the flame? She looked at his broad back as he bent over the set. The announcer was introducing the players as they skated around the rink. He was saying the Swiss side had a hard struggle ahead of them. The Canadian Eagles hadn't been defeated this season.
"Hotdamn!" Larry muttered to himself and sat down before the screen.
She lifted her shoulders helplessly, then she went to the bookcase and took the first book to hand.
The skaters were charging down the rink and she could hear Larry muttering to himself. She went to the door and opened it.
"I'll read, Larry. I won't be asleep when the games over. Look in and say goodnight."
He was leaning forward as three skaters collided and started a punch–up. "Larry?"
He didn't look around. She was sure he had forgotten her existence. Irritated, she raised her voice, "Larry!"
He looked over his shoulder, frowning. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Look in and see me when it's over … I won't be asleep." "Sure . . . sure," and he turned back to the screen. She went out and into h
er bedroom.
She stood in the middle of the elegant room, feeling utterly depressed. She supposed she had no sex appeal for him.
She tossed the book on the bed, then began to undress. Going to her closet, she selected a flimsy, see-through nightdress and put it on. Taking the gold clips from her hair, she shook it loose so it cascaded to her shoulders. Then she went into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, she came out and paused to look at herself in the full-length mirror. Surely any man with normal instincts would desire her ... or was she deceiving herself?
She got into bed, picked up the book and glanced at the title. It was Galsworthy's Forsyte Saga. Irene and Soames: a woman's indifference to a man, and with her, the situation was reversed: a man's indifference to a woman. She put the book down. She could hear faintly the exited voice of the commentator, speaking in Italian. She wished Larry would turn off the sound: it was not as if he could understand what the man was saying. She lay back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. Then she heard the telephone bell ring.
Not Herman again? she thought. She was in no mood to listen to his querulous complaints. She picked up the extension receiver by her bed. "Yes?" "Is that Mrs. Rolfe?" A harsh male American voice. She stiffened.
Who on earth could this be? she wondered and said a little hesitantly, "Yes... who is it?"
"You don't know me, but you've heard of me. I'm Smith ... Ron Smith."
She sat bolt upright, aware her heart was beginning to thump. What was coming? More blackmail?"
"Do you want to speak to Larry?" she asked.
"Is he there?"
"Yes."
"Can he hear you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm asking you if he is in the same room with you." There was an important note in the harsh voice now.
"No ... he's watching television. Do you want to talk to him?" "I want to talk to you."
She felt her mouth turn dry. She was sure now he was going to blackmail her.
"I don't think I want to talk to you, Mr. Smith," she said trying to keep her voice steady. "I …"
"Cut it out! This is urgent and important to you! I've had a hell of a time getting your phone number. I don't know why I should have bothered. Rich women like you aren't worth bothering about, but a life is a life, even if it is worthless."
1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve Page 15
