Immediately, she began to feel a little uneasy. Perhaps she shouldn't have left him so long. He was such a hick he might have done something stupid. She herself would look stupid if on her return she found Archer waiting for her and Lam–imprisoned in the cellar. But she had warned Larry. Surely he must have learned his lesson? She couldn't possibly have spent all those hours alone with him. The very sight of him now sickened her.
Driving towards Castagnola, her uneasiness increased. Suppose Archer had got out? By now the photos would be in the post. If he had trapped Larry and was free, he would wait, guarding the cellar door until the postman arrived. The envelope would be addressed to him. Then she thought of the .22 automatic she had in her bedroom. She had everything to lose. She wouldn't hesitate to shoot him in the leg if he refused when threatened by the gun to return to the cellar and to release Larry. She felt sure he wouldn't have the guts to oppose her after she had fired one shot towards him, threatening the next shot would be in his leg.
The Grandfather clock in the hall was chiming eleven as she unlocked the front door. She stood in the open doorway, her heart skipping a beat. The pole that had jammed the cellar door was lying on the floor and the cellar door stood open! What was happening?
She moved into the hall and closed the front door. Was Larry downstairs with Archer? Perhaps he had gone down there with food, but surely that was unlikely at this hour.
She went silently to the head of the stairs leading down to cellars and listened, but she could hear nothing. The light in the passage below was on. She hesitated, then called, "Larry? Are you down there?" A sound behind her made her spin around.
Archer was standing in the sitting-room doorway, a whisky and soda in his hand. The bruise on his face had deepened to an ugly purple-black.
"Larry's in here, Helga," he said. "Take off your coat and come on in. We've been waiting for you. Did you have a pleasant day?"
She kept control of herself as she took off her coat and hat. She paused to fluff up her hair with fingers that trembled.
Archer turned and went back into the room, leaving the door open.
Helga felt fury grip her: fury against herself. Her disgust, contempt and frustration had made staying with this hulking queer impossible. She should have controlled those feelings. Now she was going to pay for them.
She entered the sitting-room. Archer was standing by a lounging chair, waiting for her. Across the room, Larry was sitting on an upright chair, his hands hanging between his knees, his head down so she couldn't see his face. "Sit down, Helga," Archer said.
She was glad to sit down. Once again her legs felt weak and once again she was struggling to absorb a shock.
"Excuse me." He walked up to her and took her handbag from her before she realized what he was doing.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed but without conviction.
"Come off your high horse, Helga. You're not in a position to get snooty." Archer backed away, opened the bag and took from it one of the air tickets and the leather folder containing the Travellers' Cheques. He carried them across the room and put them on an occasional table by Larry.
"There you are, my boy," he said. "Your ticket and your money ... now you get off." Helga watched.
Larry didn't look up. He just sat slumped in his chair, his head down.
"Come along, Larry," Archer said in his soothing, professional voice. "There's no point in you hanging around here any longer. Take Helga's car and leave it at the Lugano station. I'm sure she won't mind and she can pick it up later. There's a train to Milan you could catch if you hurry."
Slowly, Larry got to his feet. He picked up the ticket and the leather folder and stuffed them into his hip pocket. Then he looked directly at Archer. "I don't want her car ... I don't want anything from you."
His voice was a mumble and Helga could scarcely make out what he was saying.
"All right, Larry ... you handle it," Archer said. "Good luck ... have a good trip."
Walking heavily, Larry made for the door. As he opened the door, Helga said huskily, "Haven't you anything to say to me?"
He didn't appear to hear her. He went out and through the open door. She watched him open the front door and go out into the darkness. The front door shut behind him. She closed her eyes.
There was a long pause, then Archer said, "Well, he's gone. I'm sure you are puzzled, Helga. He lowered his bulk into an armchair. Taking his cigar case from his pocket, he selected a cigar and bit off the end. "Let me explain. Up to this morning, I have always regarded you as a clever and astute woman. You have disappointed me. To be successful in dealing with people, one needs to have a certain amount of psychological insight. This I thought you had, but obviously you haven't. You were so besotted by Larry's bulk and his apparent virility that you failed to realize he was a homo. That was a mistake and a bad one. I spotted it, not immediately, but soon enough to understand that he would need different handling from the way you were handling him. The one thing a homo dislikes more than anything else is contempt. He will put up with the jokes and giggles: these are things he has come to live with, but he hates contempt. So long as you thought you could drag him into your bed, you gave him kindness which he was thirsting for: all homos do. In actual fact, Helga, Larry is rather a nice boy. He's stupid, of course, immature, doesn't know his own strength, but basically he is simple and nice and there is no real viciousness in him. He is handicapped by his size. He would be a lot happier if he had been a pretty boy, but as he looks like an athlete, he has tried to give people who don't spot what he really is a false image of himself drawn, no doubt, from the toughs he has seen on television. The scowl and the hard voice are marks to encourage those who think he is just another hard guy in a leather jacket and jeans. All rather pathetic really because his own breed recognize him instantly." Archer paused to light his cigar. "You couldn't have played a better card for me and a worse card for yourself when you reacted the way you did after Larry had told you the truth about himself. I realize you were frustrated and bitter that you weren't going to drag him into your bed, but where was your psychological insight? Instead of being understanding and sympathetic, you were stupid enough to show him your true feelings: disgust and contempt. From the moment you knew, you treated him like, something unclean ... like a leper, you might say, and you hurt him, Helga. You hurt him deeply, and you are so insensitive you didn't even care that you had hurt him. He admired and respected you and even loved you in an odd way because up moment he told you what he was, you had whelmed him with kindness. This morning, you behaved even more stupidly if you were hoping to keep him as an ally. Without saying it in so many words, you told him you couldn't bear to stay a minute longer in his company and your contempt was like a branding iron on his very sensitive skin. You walked out on him. I was at the cellar door, listening. The contempt in your voice when you told him to amuse himself with television and you wouldn't be back until late, leaving him alone, told me, because of your complete lack of understanding that you had once again handed me the four aces."
Helga listened. Her mind was beginning to function again. Larry was gone. Now only Archer and she were left in the villa. Tomorrow morning the photos would arrive. She thought of the gun. It was she who held the four aces. With the gun, she would get and destroy the photos even if she had to shoot this thief, forger and blackmailer. She looked at Archer, her face expressionless.
"Yes, I was stupid," she said and lifted her shoulders. "Well, one has to pay for being stupid."
He regarded her watchfully.
"You are a fantastic woman, Helga." There was a note of admiration in his voice. "Your dangerous, sharp brain is already working to find a way out, but I assure you, this time, there is no way out. We are back to square A." "Are we?" Again she lifted her shoulders. "But tell me more about Larry. How did you and he get buddies? I know you are supposed to be able to charm a bird off a tree, but I never imagined you could charm a pansy to confide in you." Archer blew cigar smoke towards the ceiling.
"Have a brandy?" He picked up his glass and stood up. Helga noted that he walked a little unsteadily. He had probably been drinking most of the evening while waiting for her and her eyes narrowed.
"No, thank you."
He went to the bar and refilled his glass.
"I consider myself an amateur psychologist. When you had gone I went back to the games room and I prepared for a long wait. I heard Larry roaming around the villa: ceaselessly pacing up and down and I knew he was suffering. He didn't know what to do with himself. Obviously, he was lonely. Around two o'clock, he came down with my lunch. I was lying on the settee, waiting for him, knowing this was my chance. I made out I was much more feeble than I was to lull his alertness. After all, he had beaten me up, so I moaned a little. I could see he was unhappy and uneasy. He had cooked me a couple of lamb chops; they looked most tempting. I said I would try to eat them and I thanked him as only I know how to thank people for taking so much trouble. He was thirsting for kindness." Archer gave a snorting laugh. "It was rather pathetic to see his confusion at being so praised. I asked where you were and he told me you had gone out for the day. I saw his expression of resentment and how hurt he was. I said it couldn't be much fun for him to be on his own in this big villa and should we talk while I ate my lunch? It was easy after that, Helga. I talked about you, I told him that you had married an enormously wealthy cripple for his money and how you've never stopped cheating him. I told him about the men you have had. Perhaps I exaggerated a little, but it was necessary to get him on my side. He remembered how you had fumbled at his zipper and that had shocked him: it didn't go along with his image of you as a kind, blonde Madonna. I said you were utterly immoral, that you used men to service your body and after, threw them aside. I told him your only interest in him was his body and when you found you weren't going to get that, you couldn't stand the sight of him. I reminded him you would be returning with his money and ticket to New York. I said you deserved to be punished and he could do it. "Take what she gives you and walk out on her ... leave her to me,” I said. He liked the idea. He wanted you to suffer for the way you had treated him. So we waited together for you to return. Now he's gone, Helga, and you and I will finalize this little drama. It's time we did. I fly back to Lausanne at seven o'clock tomorrow morning." Helga looked up sharply. "So early?"
The postman, she thought, didn't come to the villa until after ten.
"Yes. I have appointments I can't afford to miss. Well now, Helga, you have played your cards badly and I have played them well so accept defeat. You will tell Herman it was your idea and not mine to buy the Nickel shares and you will insist that I keep the account."
"The postman doesn't come until after ten. When the photos arrive, we'll discuss this further. You'll have to cancel your appointments."
He regarded her, then he began to shake with silent laughter. Watching his face turn red and his paunch jerking as he laughed, she felt cold despair grip her. She had a frightening feeling that in the grimly fought battle of lies and violence he had finally beaten her. He couldn't laugh like this unless he was very sure of himself. "I take it the joke is on me?" she said, her voice hard.
He wiped his streaming eyes with his handkerchief, gasped, coughed and then slapped his fat knees.
"That's the understatement of the year," he said. "Learn a lesson, Helga ... never try to bluff with me." He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her: a smirking, triumphant grin that made her heart sink. "In a few minutes, I am leaving for Lugano. I intend to spend a comfortable night at the Eden, then at seven tomorrow I will fly to Lausanne. I don't need to wait for the postman who you are so anxiously waiting for." He became convulsed with laughter again, but this time it wasn't silent. His raucous ha! ha! ha's! were like the thong of a whip cutting her flesh.
She waited, now dangerous fury boiling up inside her. Her hands into fists, she watched him and a feeling grew in her to hurt or even kill him.
Finally, his laughter subsided and again he mopped his eyes.
"You poor fool!" His eyes were now cold and contemptuous. "I never sent those photos to the bank! I was bluffing! They have been in my suitcase all the time!"
The blow was a savage one and it left her breathless. Her mind went back to those moments when she had stopped Larry from beating him up, when he had lied about his bad heart. She thought of Larry making the dangerous fast drive back to Basle, of the three thousand five hundred francs she had paid for the forged signature and of the long, tormenting hours believing that when the postman eventually came, she would be safe.
And all the time the photos had been in his suitcase, lying in the back of his hired car which she had seen, which had been there for the taking!
But now she knew the photos were within reach! He didn't know it yet, but she still held the four aces. She had the gun!
She got slowly to her feet, her handkerchief pressed to her lips.
"I – I think I'm going to be sick," she whispered and started across the room, then as she reached the door, she moved faster. In the hall, she ran frantically to her bedroom, pulled open the closet door, wrenched open the top drawer and her hand closed over the .22 gun.
As she picked up the gun the savage feeling that had been growing in her to kill him again ran through her. If he didn't give her the photographs she would kill him! She didn't give a damn about the consequences! He had made her suffer as she had never thought it possible to suffer! He had sneered and laughed at her! It wouldn't be a shot in the leg ... she would kill him! Her breath was coming through her open mouth in short. hard, rasping gasps. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. But this wouldn't do, she told herself. Shaking, gasping and half out of her mind as she was would make a deadly shot impossible.
"Helga?" Archer called. "Are you all right."
She drew in a long shuddering breath, then again. She steadied herself. Her heart ceased to race but still thumped painfully. Keeping the gun down by her side and out of t, she walked back into the sitting-room.
Archer, sitting in the armchair, regarded her with an amused smile.
"Did you chuck up?" he asked. "I didn't think you were quite so sensitive."
"You will give me the photos," she said in a husky whisper, "or I'll kill you!" She lifted the gun into sight.
"How dramatic you are." He got to his feet. "I'm leaving now. Have a good time in Nassau. Watch out for the boys there, Helga. Don't let Herman catch you at it." He bent to stub out his cigar. "So it is understood? You take the blame for buying the shares and I keep the account?"
"I mean it? Give me the photographs! I don't give a damn what happens to me! Give them to me or I'll kill you!"
He gave a snorting laugh and walked towards the door.
"Attractive as you are, Helga there are times when you bore me," he said as he opened the door.
She aimed the gun at his broad, fat back and with a shudder, she pulled the trigger. Only the snap of the hammer greeted her. He looked around, lifting his eyebrows.
"I'm surprised at you, Helga. A whore ... now a murderess? So you would have done it. I wasn't sure so I took the precaution to find your little toy and unload it. Admit I'm smarter than you. Goodbye. Convince Herman and remember never to try to bluff with me again. I'm a lot better at it than you." She stood motionless, shivering, staring at the empty gun in her hand. She heard the front door slam, then she walked slowly to a chair and sank into it. She heard a car engine start up and the car drive away.
Then she began to weep. She had always thought she was smarter than Archer. She had always been slightly contemptuous of his abilities, but the sonofabitch had beaten her! He had out-bluffed her in every move and now she would have to have him on her neck until Herman died!
She beat on the back of her chair with her fists as she cried in frustration and bitter rage. A slob like that! Now she would have to face Herman and admit she hadn't been capable of handling his money: that she had been responsible for losing two million dollars!
&
nbsp; "Ma'am?"
She started, stiffened and looked up. Larry was standing in the doorway.
The shock of seeing him made her speechless. She could only stare at him, fighting back the tearing sobs that were racking her.
"It's all right, ma'am," he said and moving into the room, he dropped a manilla envelope into her lap. "You don't have to cry like that."
With shaking hands, she tore open the flap of the envelope and pulled out two glossy prints: one of her handing money to Friedlander and the other of her naked on the bed with Larry. She peered into the envelope. The negatives were there." "Better burn them right away, ma'am," Larry said. "How did you get them?"
"I knew he was up to something. I wanted you to have them. I pretended to go along with him but I came back and led. I heard him tell you they were in his suitcase. I went to his car and found them."
She picked up a cigarette lighter, flicked the flame into life and held it to the photographs. She dropped the ash into the ash tray, then she did the same with the negatives.
"I'm sorry," she said brokenly, looking at him. "I'm really, Larry, for the way I've behaved."
"That's okay, ma'am." He put the air ticket and the Travellers' cheques in their leather folder on the table. "You were good to me too. This makes us quits. I'm going back to Hamburg. So long, ma'am." She struggled to her feet and caught hold of his arm.
"Don't be stupid, Larry! Take this money and go back to the States! You must! Start a new life! I'll drive you to Milan. I'll give you more money! You don't know what you've done for me! I can never forget it!" He pulled away from her as if her touch was unclean.
"No, thank you, ma'am. I don't want any more help from you." He looked at her and she flinched from the accusing expression in his eyes. "You and Archer are filth to me. I don't like saying this to you, but it's the truth. I didn't know people like you existed. I'm going back to the Army and I'll serve my sentence, then I'll be out in another year. I did this for you because of what you did for me, but I never want to see you again." "You mean you're going back to Ron?"
1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve Page 17
