You Can Say That Again

chapter four

I stood by the desk, looking at Loretta Merrill Ferguson.

We were alone.

After my outburst, Durant, purple in the face, had begun to bluster, but Loretta Merrill Ferguson had silenced him with a wave of her hand.

‘Go away!’ she had said in a voice like the crack of a whip.

Both Durant and Mazzo had left the room, closing the door as if it were made of egg shells.

So we were alone.

She studied me for a long moment, then walked to one of the settees and sat down.

‘Take off that mask. I want to see what you look like.’

I went into the bathroom and carefully removed the eyebrows and the moustache, then slipped off the mask. I rinsed my sweating face, then returned to the living room.

I stood by the desk while she regarded me the way a butcher regards a side of beef, but I was used to agents, film directors, camera men regarding me so she didn’t faze me. I waited, and while I waited, I stared directly at her, and my steady stare seemed to disconcert her, for after trying to stare me down, her eyes shifted: a tiny victory for me.

‘Sit down!’ Again the whip crack in her voice.

Deliberately, I walked to the big window and looked down at the vast, immaculate lawn, my back slightly turned to her.

‘I said sit down!’ she snapped.

‘What a beautiful place you have here, Mrs. Ferguson, but less beautiful than you are,’ I said, then took out my pack of Chesterfields, shook out a cigarette and lit it. I didn’t turn, but continued to survey the garden, the big swimming pool and the three Chinese gardeners attending to the flower beds.

‘When I tell you to do something, you will do it! Sit down!’

I turned and smiled at her. Mazzo had warned me about this woman. I was determined she was not going to dominate me.

‘I am being paid one thousand dollars a day to impersonate your husband, Mrs. Ferguson. For that money I have agreed to cooperate, but I will not be ordered around by anyone, even the most beautiful woman I have yet seen, who hasn’t the good manners to say please.’

She sat for a long moment, staring at me, then she suddenly relaxed and became all-woman. The change was startling. Her hard, arrogant face softened, the violet colored eyes lit up, her mouth moved into a smile.

‘A man at last!’ she said, half to herself, then she patted the settee. ‘Please, come and sit here.’

Although I was only a bit-part, unemployed actor, I wasn’t fooled by this sudden change. I had knocked around too long with bitches who played hell one moment, and were as sweet as honey the next. I had stood on a set, waiting for some glamour star who was no better than a whore, throw her weight around, holding up the shooting, while the director tried to placate her, and while I longed to kick her backside. Women who were too rich, too beautiful and who behaved with gutter manners were my idea of the genuine pain in the ass.

I walked to a chair, facing her and sat down, making a point not to sit by her side.

‘I am at your disposal, Mrs. Ferguson,’ I said.

‘You could be, Mr. Stevens, you could be,’ she said, still smiling. ‘I could call that monkey man and tell him to spoil your handsome face.’

I smiled at her: the smile I reserve for spoilt children.

‘Go ahead and call him. He and I have already sorted out who is the man and who is the boy. He landed up on the floor.’

She leaned back and laughed, thrusting her breasts at me. It was a splendid, silvery laugh so infectious I had to laugh too. We laughed together, then she said, ‘You’re marvelous! What a find!’

Another shift of mood? There were times when I wished I didn’t know so much about women. How often had women disillusioned me? If they didn’t get their way one way, they would try another and yet another.

‘Mrs. Ferguson,’ I said, ‘if you have any instructions for me, please tell me.’

Her smile faded, and a wary look came into her eyes.

‘You are obviously hostile,’ she said, ‘and that is understandable. My mother-in-law imagines she is some kind of a dictator. I assure you it wasn’t my idea to have you kidnapped.’

I felt a small triumph. At least, she was on the defensive.

‘Kidnapping is a Federal offence, but let that ride,’ I said. ‘I am being well paid. I am not complaining. I have agreed to impersonate your husband. Are you satisfied so far with my make-up?’

‘It is excellent, but not your voice. It might be necessary for you to speak to certain people on the telephone. Could you imitate my husband’s voice?’

‘I wouldn’t know until I heard it,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it would be a problem. Not so long ago, I had a nightclub engagement imitating the voices of well-known people,’ and I went into the routine of Lee Marvin’s voice, the voice of Richard Nixon and the rich voice of Sir Winston Churchill.

She sat, staring at me.

‘You’re marvelous!’ she said in a voice that told me she really meant what she was saying. ‘I’ll get a tape of my husband’s voice and you can hear it.’ She got to her feet and smiled at me. ‘When you think you can imitate my husband’s voice, we will meet again, Mr. Stevens.’

‘This is only a suggestion,’ I said as I stood up. ‘I don’t know what you call your husband, but wouldn’t it be safer for you to call me what you call him?’

She regarded me, her violet eyes suddenly remote.

‘I call him John and he calls me Etta.’

‘So I wait, Etta,’ I said.

From my long and often depressing association with women, I knew when a woman was turned on. I knew from the softening of the face, the faint flush, the invitation in the eyes. The signs were all there and I knew that I had only to cross the division between us, to take her in my arms and she would have given herself. It was a temptation, but not the time.

Instead, I smiled, then walked over to the window.

I stood looking down at the garden for several minutes, then looked around.

She had gone.

I felt in need of a drink. I went to the cocktail cabinet and poured a stiff Scotch. Carrying the drink, I sat down. I felt some confidence that Loretta Merrill Ferguson was not going to be a problem.

Half an hour later, while I was still sitting and thinking, Mazzo came in.

‘You’re doing fine, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s my guess Mrs. F.’s taken a fancy to you.’ He crossed to the desk and taking the cover off a tape desk, he threaded on a tape. ‘She says you wanted this: one of the Boss’s business talks. Whatcha want for lunch? The Chef’s doing a clam chowder. Any good to you?’

‘Fine with me,’ I said, getting up and crossing to the desk.

‘You know how to work this? Just press this playback button.’

‘I know.’

He nodded and went away.

I sat at the desk, pressed the button and listened to the voice of the man I was impersonating. It was a distinct voice with the snap of authority in it. He was obviously dictating to his broker. I didn’t bother to listen to the words, I concentrated on the intonation, his pauses, and the quality of his voice. I felt confident I could do a good imitation. I played the tape through four times. Then as there was still unrecorded tape on the spool, I switched to record and, using Ferguson’s voice, I dictated bond selling orders and share buying orders as he had done until the tape ran out. I ran the whole tape back and started the playback. I left the desk and wandered to the window and listened. I only knew when I began recording by the bonds and share names I had invented. As I pressed the stop button, Mazzo wheeled in the lunch trolley.

‘That smells very good, Mazzo,’ I said in Ferguson’s voice. ‘I hope it’s as good as it smells.’

He was setting the table and he let fall the cutlery as he whirled around and gaped at me.

‘Jesus! You gave me a start!’ he exclaimed. ‘I could have sworn . . .’

‘Hurry it up, Mazzo,’ I said, still with Ferguson’s voice. ‘I’m hungry.’

He stood gaping.

‘You sound just like the Boss,’ he said.

‘That’s the idea.’ I sat at the table. By my plate was another one thousand dollar credit note. As I put it in my wallet, I said in my own voice, ‘Come on, Mazzo, don’t stand there like a stricken bull. I’m hungry.’

* * *

I spent the afternoon, wearing the mask, playing tennis with Mazzo.

There were four tennis courts at the back of the house, screened by high hedges. Mazzo was in the pro class and I was lucky to take two games off him in three sets. While I was retrieving a ball, I happened to glance up and saw Loretta, standing on a balcony, watching me. I gave her a wave, but she didn’t wave back. When next I looked, she had gone.

The game over, Mazzo and I walked back to the house.

‘If we run into the butler,’ Mazzo said, ‘keep going. His name is Jonas. He’s near sighted, and old enough to be dead.’

As we entered the vast hall, I saw a tall, dignified negro with snow white hair, crossing to the main living room.

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, pausing. ‘May I say it is good to see you again?’

I waved in his direction and headed for the stairs.

In Ferguson’s voice, I said, ‘Good to be back, Jonas.’

When we reached the head of the stairs, Mazzo said, ‘Very nice. You’re doing fine.’

He left me in my suite and I took off the mask and had another shower. Then putting on a short toweling coat, I stretched out on the enormous bed. I idled the time away with my thoughts.

At 19.00, as I was dozing, I heard a buzzing sound.

It came from the living room. I slid off the bed and saw a red light flashing on the intercom on the desk. I thumbed down the switch, and said in Ferguson’s voice, ‘What is it?’ Then having an idea it was Loretta, I went on. ‘Is that you, Etta? I was waiting to hear

from you.’

I heard a quick intake of breath.

‘Marvelous!’ she said. ‘Tonight, we will have dinner with Mr. Durant at nine o’clock in the dining room. Wear the mask. Mazzo tells me Jonas was completely fooled. This is the big test . . . John,’ and she cut off.

This called for a very dry Martini. I went to the cocktail cabinet, but there was no ice. I hesitated for a moment, then going to the intercom, read off the print under the various buttons. I saw ‘Butler’ and pressed the switch. After a moment’s delay, Jonas answered.

‘I have no ice, Jonas,’ I said in Ferguson’s voice.

‘It is in the lower compartment of the cabinet, sir,’ he told me. ‘I will come immediately.’

I cursed myself for being so stupid.

‘No, don’t do that. I’m busy. It’s all right,’ and I switched off.

That’s what comes of being too confident, I told myself, opening the door of the compartment below the rows of bottles. Here, I found a well-stocked refrigerator.

What would he think? I wondered uneasily.

As I was mixing the drink, there came a tap on the door. Hurriedly moving to the window, my hands clammy, I called to come in.

‘Sir, may I make you a drink?’ Jonas asked.

Still keeping my back turned for I wasn’t wearing the mask, I shook my head.

‘It’s all right. Thanks. Just leave me. I’m busy.’

‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson,’ and I heard the door close.

I drank three quarters of the Martini, set down the glass and wiped my face with my handkerchief, then I finished the drink and made another.

I was back on even keel, plus three Martinis, when Mazzo appeared a few minutes past 20.00.

‘Big deal, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, grinning. He went to one of the closets and took from it a tuxedo outfit. ‘It’s a dress affair.’ He produced a frilled white shirt and a black bow tie. ‘You get your face on.’

I went into the bathroom and put on the mask. I was now getting expert in this exercise. When I had completed the disguise, it gave me a lot of confidence to look once again at the face of John Merrill Ferguson.

Returning to the bedroom, I changed into the tuxedo. As I was fixing the bow tie, Mazzo said, ‘Jonas will be serving at the table. There will be a couple of women to help him. You don’t have to worry about any of them. The women are cows. Jonas is half-blind. There are two things to remember: the Boss doesn’t eat much. Don’t go making a hog of yourself. The other thing is the Boss doesn’t talk much: so lay off with the chatter. Get it?’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Another thing: the Boss doesn’t drink nor smoke, so watch it.’

‘He must be quite a man,’ I said. ‘What does he do in his spare time?’

Mazzo leered.

‘There’s Mrs. F.’

Yes, there was Loretta. Seeing her in my mind, my blood ran hot: the most devastating and sexy woman I had yet met.

At a few minutes to 21.00, Mazzo escorted me down the stairs, and into the big dining room, big enough to entertain a hundred people without a crush.

Loretta, looking marvelous in a low cut scarlet evening dress, her neck and chest glittering with diamonds, was sitting in a lounging chair. Durant, wearing a tuxedo, stood by the empty fireplace, smoking a cigar. Jonas was hovering. In the center of the room was a table, laid for dinner.

As soon as she saw me, Loretta got to her feet and came to me and offered me her cheek. I brushed it with my lips, smelling her subtle perfume.

‘I hope you feel like eating tonight, John. The Chef has prepared a new dish.’

Remembering what Mazzo had said, I gave a weary shrug.

‘You must try to eat,’ Loretta said, smiling at me.

Aware all this was said for Jonas’s benefit, I again shrugged.

We sat at the table and a lobster mousse was put before me. My gastric juices rushed into action. Then I heard Mazzo, standing behind me, cough gently.

Reluctantly, I said, ‘I can’t eat this,’ while I stared greedily.

As if he expected me to say this, Jonas whisked away the dish and replaced it with a mixed salad. I fiddled with the salad while I watched with envious eyes Loretta and Durant eat the lobster mousse.

Loretta kept up a prattle that didn’t call for me to reply. Every now and then, Durant made business remarks while I nodded to show I was listening.

A dish, smelling like heaven, was presented to me. I peered at its contents: chicken with truffles in a rich cream sauce.

‘A small piece, Mr. Ferguson, sir,’ Jonas coaxed like a mother with a wayward child.

A small piece?

Goddam it! I could have devoured the lot!

‘Looks good,’ I said, aware Mazzo was coughing again. To hell with him, I thought. ‘Yes, I think I could manage some of that.’

Jonas placed a small piece of the breast on my plate.

‘Carry on, Jonas,’ I said. ‘Don’t let’s be mean.’

I was aware Loretta and Durant were staring at me while Mazzo was coughing like a refugee from a T.B. clinic.

Jonas beamed as he placed more chicken on my plate.

‘That’s fine, Jonas,’ I said when I was sure he had heaped my plate.

Jonas then served Loretta and Durant, both of whom sat in stony silence.

As I munched, I gave them an out.

‘Those new pills,’ I said to Loretta, ‘seem to have improved my appetite.’

‘I am glad,’ Loretta said with a stiff smile.

‘My congratulations to the Chef, Jonas,’ I said as I gorged myself. To Durant, I said, ‘Remarkable what these modern pills will do.’

‘So I understand,’ Durant snarled.

I couldn’t care less. I finished what was on my plate.

Durant and Loretta had laid down their knives and forks. Jonas came to me. ‘Just a little more, Mr. Ferguson, sir?’

Mazzo went into another fit of coughing which I ignored.

‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It is excellent.’

Finally, at the end of the meal, when I had eaten two portions of apple pie which Durant, glaring at me, and Loretta, half smiling, refused, we left the table.

Durant stalked into the living room.

Feeling relaxed and very well fed, I escorted Loretta as far as the living room door, then paused. I saw Durant was lighting a cigar and was settling in an armchair.

I had no intention of spending the rest of the evening with him.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ I said, and looked directly at her.

She smiled.

‘You have done very well, John,’ she said. ‘Sleep well,’ and she moved past me to join Durant.

With Mazzo at my heels, I returned to my suite.

‘Look, palsy,’ Mazzo said as soon as he closed the door, ‘I told you . . .’

‘Who the hell do you think you’re speaking to?’ I demanded, rounding on him. ‘Shut up! Get the hell out of here!’ and I stamped into the bedroom and slammed the door.

I stood waiting to see if he would come in and start trouble, but he didn’t. After a long moment, I went into the bathroom and removed the mask, took a shower and, putting on pajamas, I got into bed.

I turned off all the lights except the tiny pilot light at the head of the bed, then I relaxed in comfort and thought back on the day.

The day seemed to me to have gone satisfactorily. I had passed a test with Jonas, and that was important. I had now four thousand dollars in the bank. I was controlling Mazzo. I was even getting the edge on Durant.

Yes, it had been a satisfactory day.

I closed my eyes and let my mind dwell on Loretta. I was still thinking about her when I drifted off into sleep. I slept for several hours, then came awake.

The room was in darkness.

The warmth of a naked body pressed against me.

Gentle fingers caressed me.

Only half awake, I reached out, rolled over, letting her hand guide me into her.

* * *

‘No, don’t move. Stay still.’

She was whispering to me, her face against mine. She was holding me tight inside her. I eased my weight off her on my elbows.

‘No, don’t do that. Crush me,’ she whispered so I relaxed, feeling drained and drifted off into an erotic sleep.

Later, much later, with the light of the dawn coming through the shutters. I came awake. I was now lying beside her, and in the dawn light I could see her, awake, looking at me, a half-smile to welcome me out of a satiated sleep.

‘Hi, Jerry,’ she said.

I put my arms around her and pulled her to me.

We made slow, marvelous love, then I went back to sleep again.

The sun was bright through the shutters when I again opened my eyes.

She was talking to Jonas who was wheeling in a trolley. She had on a turquoise robe and her Cleopatra hairdo was immaculate.

As I watched her, half hidden behind the sheet, I thought she looked the most marvelous woman in the world.

Jonas poured the coffee, not looking in my direction, then he bowed and went away.

I rolled out of bed.

She was now sitting by the trolley, sipping coffee and she smiled at me as I joined her.

‘Sleep well, Jerry?’

I sat down, sipped coffee, then lit a cigarette.

‘An exceptional woman: an exceptional night.’

She laughed.

‘John would never think of saying that, but John isn’t a romantic lover.’

I looked directly at her.

‘Where is your husband?’

‘Yes, it is time you knew. I’ll have one of your cigarettes.’

I lit the cigarette and passed it to her.

After a long pause, she went on, ‘Jerry, this is a very complicated and difficult situation. I don’t have to tell you who my husband is and what his position is.’

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ I said.

‘Everything I am going to tell you is in strict confidence,’ she went on, looking straight at me. ‘Is that understood?’

‘Sure.’

‘John is suffering from an obscure and incurable mental illness. It attacked him two years ago. This illness begins with loss of memory, vagueness and inactivity. The progress of the illness is slow. He was already beginning to react to this illness when I first met him. I thought he was preoccupied with business and when he was with me in the evenings, I tolerated his long silences, believing he was planning some new deal. Six months ago, he began to deteriorate fast.

Long before I did, his mother suspected that he was becoming mentally ill. There is a specialist in Vienna who is discreet. He examined John and told his mother find me that in a few months’ time, John would become a vegetable, and there was no hope of a cure.’

‘That’s tough,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to believe.’

‘Yes, but there are complications. It is absolutely necessary to keep his illness a secret. This is the reason why you have been hired to impersonate him to give us time to reconstruct the Ferguson kingdom. It is a fantastic kingdom put together by John. Durant was and is John’s right hand, but even Durant wasn’t let into a number of secret and big deals John negotiated. Now, John can’t handle any of this, Durant is trying to put the pieces of the scattered jigsaw, that makes up John’s kingdom, into place, and he is discovering that without John at the helm, without his signature on various documents, the kingdom could collapse.’

I was listening hard, and I stared at her.

‘Why should it collapse?’

‘John has over expanded. He has been borrowing enormous sums of money from the banks and the insurance people. He has such a reputation, his name is gold, but if it became known he was mentally ill, his creditors would call in their loans. There are several vast deals due to be finalized in a month’s time. John’s signature is essential. Once the deals are completed, then the news can slowly leak that John is ill, and finally, that he is no longer in control. By that time Durant will have set up a board of directors with himself in John’s place, and the Ferguson kingdom will continue on its prosperous way.’

‘Nice for Durant,’ I said, my mind busy.

‘Yes.’ She regarded me. ‘You are a marvelous lover, Jerry.’

‘You are too,’ I said, startled by this swift change of mood.

‘I have been watching you. You take to the role of a billionaire marvelously. There are moments when I believe you feel you are John Merrill Ferguson.’

I gave her a crooked grin.

‘We actors get carried away sometimes.’

She studied me.

‘The disguise is marvelous, and the voice. You could be John.’

‘I’m not.’

‘I said you could be.’

I looked at her. There was a long pause. I felt a sudden tingle of excitement.

‘Yes, maybe I could.’ Again we looked at each other, then I went on, ‘There’s something I should know. Where is your husband?’

‘In the left wing. He has his own suite. A nurse looks after him. He is well paid and trustworthy.’

I thought of Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine. I wondered when the time came for the news of Ferguson’s mental illness to be leaked whether the nurse would also have a fatal accident.

This beautiful, sensual woman, sitting opposite me, telling me secrets, gave me no confidence. I had an instinctive feeling that once I had done what they wanted me to do, I too would be murdered.

She looked at the clock on the overmantel.

‘I must go. This morning you will be taken to the office with Durant.’ She stood up, smiling at me, then coming around the trolley as I got to my feet, she moved close to me. I put my arms around her.

‘Shall I come tonight?’ Her kiss was soft and inviting.

‘Of course. Does Mazzo know what’s going on?’

‘Don’t worry about him.’ She drew away from me. ‘Remember, Jerry, you could be John,’ then turning, she left me.

I drew in a long, deep breath. What did she mean: You could be John ? She was planning something, but what? I had time. I needed all the information I could get from her. I was sure I was walking on a lethal tightrope.

I now knew Ferguson was with a nurse in the left wing of this enormous house, and he was rapidly turning into a vegetable. I now had learned that his vast kingdom was built on borrowed money and one leak that he was mentally ill could bring his kingdom crashing down.

Mazzo came in at this moment.

‘Office today, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said. ‘Get with the mask.’

Twenty minutes later, wearing a dark business suit, the mask, the dark goggles, plus the hat, I followed Mazzo down the stairs to the waiting Rolls.

Durant was sitting in the car, reading documents. I sat by his side.

Mazzo got in beside the Jap chauffeur.

As Durant put the papers back in his briefcase, he said, ‘There are always pressmen waiting outside the building. When you get out of the car, walk with Mazzo. Your bodyguards will keep the press away. You have papers to sign. Your new secretary is Sonia Malcolm. She hasn’t seen Mr. Ferguson. There will be no problem. You will not meet any of the other staff.’

‘Anything you say, Joe.’

He turned on me.

‘I told you to call me Mr. Durant when we are alone!’ he snarled.

Feeling confident, behind the screen of the mask, I smiled at him.

‘Don’t talk that way to me, Joe. I am the Boss . . . remember?’

Looking as if he were about to have a stroke, he said in a strangled voice, ‘Listen to me, you goddam, two-bit actor . . .’

I cut him short.

‘Shut your big mouth!’ I rasped in Ferguson’s voice. ‘You listen to me! The press are waiting. All I have to do is to take off this mask and you’ll be in the shit! So stop leaning on me or I’ll damn well lean on you!’

He stared at me the way Frankenstein must have stared at the monster he had created. He opened and shut his mouth, but no words came. We did an eyeball to eyeball confrontation, then he heaved himself around and stared out of the car’s window.

Man! Was I pleased with myself!

Remember, Jerry, you could be John.

Well, at least, I was having a try.

* * *

It was quite a morning. I played the role of a billionaire, and loved it.

First, there were four press photographers at the entrance to the Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation, but five tough bodyguards brushed them aside as I walked into the big lobby. Durant, looking like a demon, I and Mazzo entered a plush elevator. We were whisked to the twenty-fourth floor.

John Merrill Ferguson’s office was something out of a movie set: vast, luxurious, picture windows, overlooking the harbor and beach, vast desk and so on.

The elevator took us straight into this room. Durant moved to the desk.

‘Sit there. There are many papers for you to sign.’ He now had control of his temper. ‘You had better have a trial run with the signature. These papers are important.’

I gave Mazzo my hat, then walked to the executive chair and sat down. The desk was big enough to play billiards on.

Durant regarded me the way a film director looks at an actor as he fixes a camera angle.

‘Lower the sun blind,’ he said to Mazzo.

When the room became dim, he nodded and went away.

There was a long pause while I scribbled Ferguson’s signature on a scratch pad. Then satisfied, I threw the torn sheets into the trash basket by my side and helped myself to a cigarette from a gold box.

‘The Boss don’t smoke,’ Mazzo said.

‘The new secretary doesn’t know. Relax with your mouth, Mazzo,’ I said.

There came a tap on the door and a girl came in, carrying a pile of folders.

‘Good morning, Mr. Ferguson,’ she said, coming to the desk. ‘These are for your signature, please.’

I leaned back in the chair and regarded her.

She was quite a woman: tall, well built, auburn hair, piled to the top of her head, attractive features, without being beautiful, big green eyes. She was wearing a pale blue dress with white collar and cuffs.

‘You’ll be Miss Malcolm?’ I said.

‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson.’ She looked directly at me.

‘I hope you’ll be happy here, Miss Malcolm.’

‘Thank you.’

She put the files on the desk.

Durant came in.

‘All right, Miss Malcolm,’ he said curtly. ‘Get that agreement typed right away.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I watched her cross the room. I liked her graceful walk, her slim hips and her straight back. When she had gone, Durant said, ‘Show me the signature.’

I wrote Ferguson’s signature and pushed it across the desk to him. He studied it, then nodded.

‘Sign all these letters and papers,’ he said, indicating the file. Then to Mazzo, he went on, ‘Sit by his side. He is not to read anything he signs. Understand?’

‘Sure, Mr. Durant,’ Mazzo said, and pulled up a chair. He sat down beside me.

‘Be careful how you sign,’ Durant went on to me. ‘Take your time and don’t get careless.’

‘Okay, Joe,’ I said, and reached for the first file.

‘I’ll do that,’ Mazzo said. He produced a sheet of paper from a drawer, then opening a file he took from it a letter. He laid the paper over the contents of the letter. ‘You sign there, Mr. Ferguson.’

Durant watched for a moment, then left.

The signing went on for the next two hours with long pauses to smoke a cigarette and to let my hand remain flexible. I suppose I must have signed over a hundred letters and some fifty legal documents.

When the signing was over, Mazzo pressed a switch on the intercom and said, ‘Collect the files, will you?’

Miss Malcolm came in and picked up the files.

‘Would you like coffee, Mr. Ferguson?’ she asked, pausing to give me a tiny smile.

‘That would be nice,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

When she had gone, Mazzo said in a disapproving voice, ‘The Boss don’t drink coffee.’

‘Oh, button up!’ I said. ‘She’s like me, new here.’

Mazzo shrugged and sat away from the desk, rubbing his shaven head and looking bored.

I examined all the gadgets on the desk and the panel of press buttons. I had no idea what they were all about, but they intrigued me.

Miss Malcolm came in with coffee.

‘Milk or black, Mr. Ferguson?’

‘Black, please and no sugar.’

I watched her pour. The more I saw of this woman, the more I liked her. I tried to guess her age: maybe thirty, maybe thirty-five. I looked for a wedding ring: no wedding ring.

She put the cup before me.

‘Is there anything else, Mr. Ferguson?’

I smiled at her. I would have liked to have invited her to sit down and tell me about herself, but with Mazzo fidgeting, this wasn’t the time.

‘Thank you, no.’

She left.

When I had finished the coffee, Durant appeared.

‘I want you to make a telephone call,’ he said. ‘Here is what you say and nothing else. Do you understand? You will, of course, use Mr. Ferguson’s voice.’

‘Sure, Joe.’

He picked up the telephone receiver and said, ‘Connect me with Mr. Walter Bern.’ He waited, then nodded to me, passing the receiver to me and he picked up another receiver.

Reading from the script he had given me, I said, ‘This is Ferguson. How are you, Wally?’

‘Jesus, John! I’ve been trying to get you for the past days.’ A fat, deep breathless voice, ‘John! My group is getting worked up about our loan. They keep on at me. They say I shouldn’t have advanced so much. Jeez! Thirty million dollars! Look, John, I’m sorry, but they aren’t happy.’

Reading from the script, I said, ‘Talk to Joe. He deals with loans, and Wally, you have nothing to worry about. If your group want to lose fifteen percent on thirty million, I’ll go elsewhere,’ and following the script, I hung up.

Durant nodded.

‘That was good,’ he said. ‘Now, you can return to the residence.’

So with Mazzo at my side and five bodyguards shoving the camera men aside, I got into the Rolls and was driven back to Ferguson’s home.

It had been an interesting morning. I had met Sonia Malcolm. As the Jap chauffeur drove along the boulevard, I thought of this woman. For the first time in my life, I felt an odd kinship. This was a woman I needed to know: not like the many other women I had met.

There was something about her that drew me to her.

Then I had learned that Ferguson’s Corporation had borrowed thirty million dollars and the lenders were uneasy. Sitting at the big desk, looking around the luxurious office, I had smelt power. I had shown Durant I wasn’t to be pushed around.

Yes, an interesting morning.

I thought of the man, shut up with a nurse, rapidly turning into a vegetable.

Jerry, you could be John.

Yes, I said to myself as the Rolls drew up outside the entrance to the residence, play this right and you could be John Merrill Ferguson.