An Ace up my Sleeve

CHAPTER ONE

Helga Rolfe crossed the lobby of the Konigshof Hotel, her mink coat draped over her shoulders, aware that two stout German business men were eyeing her, their eyes taking in the coat, the black two piece suit, the red blouse and the mink trimmed hat. The eyes approved, but by now, she was used to approving male eyes. Approval no longer interested her: she needed more than approval.

She dropped her room key on the desk and the Hall Porter, bowing, gathered it up as if it were a thing of value.

“You need your car, madame?”

His guttural English irritated her. She spoke German, French and Italian fluently, but he knew her to be an American and to him, all Americans spoke only English.

“No… I’m shopping.” She spoke in German. “I am leaving tomorrow at eight o’clock. Please have my car serviced and ready.”

The Hall Porter’s fat fingers closed on a pencil and he made a note.

“Yes, madame.” He persisted in his English. “Then at eight. I will have your account ready. Is there anything else?”

She shook her head as she slid her arms into the coat before a page could move to help her. Giving the disappointed boy a smile, she left the hotel.

The sky above Bonn was the colour of lead, and it was cold. Already flakes of snow were falling to disappear on the. sidewalk, making it wet and slippery.

Helga hated the cold. Her body cringed inside the comfort of her expensive coat and she walked briskly, trying to stir her blood, pampered by the excessive heating of the hotel.

She walked under the arch of the University, paused to let a stream of fast moving cars go by, then crossing the street, she headed towards the shopping centre where cars are forbidden.

The time was 11.35. She had slept late. She had gone to her room the previous evening immediately after dinner. What could a woman do on her own in any big city after -dinner except go to bed? She knew the Maitre d’hotel regarded her as a nuisance when she came into the restaurant on her own, but he was impressed by her mink stole and her diamonds. He gave her service because he knew he would be well tipped. She had eaten quickly, enduring the steady stares from the fat German business men, eating alone and wondering about her. As soon as the meal was finished, she had left and taken the elevator to her room. The sleeping pills were on the bedside table. Sleep was her antidote to loneliness.

Now, walking briskly, she plunged into the crowds moving along the traffic empty streets, aware that women were eyeing her coat with envy. It was a beautiful coat, chosen by her husband when he had had one of his infrequent moods to please her. She knew that mink was now old hat, but to her, it was still luxury and still elegant. At her age, what did it matter? Her age? She paused to look in a mirror at the back of a shop window. Forty? Or was it forty-three? Why bother about three years? She stuthed her slim figure, the carefully made-up face with its high cheek bones, its large violet coloured eyes, the short, rather beautiful nose. Forty-three? She looked thirty, even with the east wind like an icy shroud around her.

Her eyes shifted from her own reflection to the reflection of a tall man standing across the way, apparently looking at her. The peaked baseball cap, the black leather jerkin, the faded blue jeans and the red cowboy shirt told her as nothing else could he was a compatriot. He was young - probably under twenty years and he was chewing gum. Bonn was full of Americans: solthers on furlough, young people thumbing a ride through Europe and the inevitable tourists. Helga had lived long enough in Europe to despise most Americans abroad. This gum-chewing habit revolted her. She turned and walked into one of the big stores. She wanted tights, but she paused before a counter displaying woollen pants and she looked enviously at them. Her body was cold, but she resisted the appeal of promised warmth in this Victorian garment. Suppose she had an accident? It would be shaming to be undressed, even by a nurse, to reveal she was swarthed in wool.

Having made her purchase, she loitered in the warmth of the store, idly 5

looking at the merchandise, then aware time was moving, she braced herself and walked out into the east wind.

The gum-chewing American was lolling against a lamp post, his hands dirust into the pockets of his jeans. She looked more closely at him, and she felt a sudden sexual desire stab through her. He was quite magnificent, she thought. There was a virility like a plasma coming from him. He had Slav features: a square-shaped face; large, widely spaced eyes and a short, blunt nose. He had immediate boyish charm.

She shifted her eyes and walked on. What was she thinking of? she asked herself. He was young enough to be her son, and she was angry with herself to feel so sexually moved.

She turned down another shopping street, making an effort not to look around to see if he were following her. Why should he? A kid… young enough to be her son. She paused to look at a display of shoes. The display had no interest as her shoes were hand made, but it gave her the excuse to examine the mirror at the back of the window. She was in time to see he had followed her and was waiting, his broad shoulders finding another lamp post.

Her hands turned into fists as she felt a surge of hot blood go down to her loins. She was now unaware of the wind and the cold and, as if in flight, she began to walk away from him. Could he be interested in her? she asked herself. She passed a young, blonde girl, wearing stretch pants, so tight across her buttocks, she could have been naked. She had the knowing face of a woman who knows everything and yet is young enough still to remain enthusiastic. Helga looked enviously at her, thinking: “When he sees this httle tart, he’ll forget to follow me.”

She entered a coffee shop and sat down, away from the window. As she stripped off her gloves and took off her coat, the waitress came over and Helga asked for a coffee. She would not allow herself to look out of the window. With unsteady fingers, she lit a cigarette. She spent a disciplined half hour over her coffee, determined to be sure. If he was still waiting, then she would speak to him. She suddenly found herself muttering a prayer that he would be waiting.

At exactly 12.30, she crushed out her cigarette, paid her check, put on her coat and walked out into the street.

He was standing across the way, still chewing gum, still with his hands thrust into his jeans’ pockets. She made to approach him, then stopped. Although.she was now convinced he wanted to contact her, she was suddenly frightened of the possible result.

She turned abruptly and began walking towards her hotel. She had gone only a few yards when she stopped and turned. He was just behind her. They looked at each other and he touched the peak of his cap, a boyish, embarrassed grin lighting up his face.

“What do you want?” she asked.

People moved impatiently around them. They were like two rocks in a rushing stream.

Now close to him, she could feel his animal, youthful magnetism so strongly it made her feel weak.

His smile widened.

“Well, ma’am, you look kind of friendly,” he said. His voice, was soft and he spoke carefully, making each word distinct. “You’re the first kind looking American I’ve seen since hitting this town. Excuse me. If I’m bothering you, just say so and I’ll scram.”

“No… you’re not bothering me.” She was furious with herself that her voice sounded so emotional.

A fat man, wearing a leather hat with a feather in it brushed against her, making her give ground. A girl in a mini skirt, her fat legs purple with the cold, stepped around her while looking at this big boy who chewed on his gum. Helga felt a thrill of pride that he didn’t even look at this girl as she tossed her unwashed hair in passing him.

There was a pause, then Helga said, “I’m going to have lunch. Are you hungry?”

His grin widened.

“I sure am, ma’am. The fact is I’m broke and haven’t eaten for two days.” 7

She felt suddenly depressed. Clever boy! she thought. So you’ve found a lonely woman, old enough to be your mother, and you’re putting on the bite.

“Two’s company… I don’t like eating alone,” she said. “Eat with me.”

She turned and walked along the street until she came to the first cheap restaurant. He walked behind her and she could hear him humming. Why not? He was going to get a free meal.

She pushed open the glass door of the restaurant and then paused. She had never been in this class of restaurant before. If she were going to feed him, he had to be fed here. She couldn’t take him back to the hotel. She couldn’t face the Maitre d’hotel if she took this boy into the luxury restaurant.

She looked around. Already, people were eating, and she saw with dismay, there were no tables for two. All the tables were set for six and all of them had people.

The boy seemed to know his way around. He touched her elbow and steered her to a table where two elderly Germans and their lumpy daughter were working through plates of boiled sausage and sauerkraut.

They stared up at Helga as she shed her coat. The boy took it from her and carefully hung it on a peg by the table. They sat down opposite each other. She found she was sitting too close to the German husband and she could feel his body heat. The boy opposite was sitting next to the daughter who squirmed away from him, then darted a smirking look at him. He didn’t notice, his eyes searching for a waiter. The tightness of his face told Helga how hungry he was and she felt a pang of pity.

A waiter came, dropped two menus on the table, then went away to serve an order.

The boy looked at the handwritten menu and grimaced.

“Do you dig this, ma’am?” he asked anxiously. “This language throws me.”

The waiter returned and looked first at Helga, then at the boy as if trying to make up his mind who should have his attention, then the tilt of Helga’s head told him she was going to order.

“Bean soup, steak and chips for one and an omelette for myself,” she said in German. “Two beers.”

The waiter nodded and went away.

The three Germans at the table, hearing Helga’s fluent German, looked curiously at her, then shifted their eyes.

“You speak the lingo, ma’am?” There was an admiring note in the boy’s voice. “That sure saves a lot of headaches.” He leaned forward, resting his big hands on the table. “I’m Larry Stevens.”

She smiled.

“Helga Rolfe.”

“I’m from Nebraska.”

“Florida.”

There was a pause while he looked at her, his eyes admiring and she looked searchingly at him, her eyes hopeful.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you took off your cap?” Immediately she said it, she regretted it. Americans seemed to live in their hats.

He flushed, then tore the cap off, shoving it out of sight under his thigh.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I guess I’m a hick. I forgot I’m wearing the goddamn thing.”

She looked at his close cut, blond hair and then stuthed his face. Again she felt hot blood move through her.

The beers arrived.

“You, me and the flag,” Larry said, picking up his glass and saluting her. He drank thirstily. Setting down his half empty-glass with a sigh of content, he went on, “I’m sure grateful.” He grinned at her: a warm, friendly grin that made her feel good. “I thought I was really fixed.”

The food arrived. While she toyed with her omelette, she watched him eat. The three Germans at the table also watched. The soup disappeared. The big steak and the pile of potato chips went the same way. He ate with the concentration and the dedication of the starved. Every now and then, his mouth full, he looked up and grinned at her. The warmth of that grin was the nicest thing that had happened to her for a long time and she felt tears clouding her eyes. She frowned down at the remains of the omelette, not wanting him to see how moved she was.

The three Germans called for their bill and left the table. Larry laid down his fork.

“That was something, ma’am! That really was something!”

She saw the wistful look in his eyes as he regarded the empty plate and she signalled to the waiter.

“It was a success,” she said as he came quickly to her side. “Please bring the order again.”

The waiter looked at Larry, then at her and he nodded, a big smile lighting up his fat face. He whipped away the plate and hurried towards the kitchen.

“What was that you said to him, ma’am?” Larry asked, peering at her.

“They always give double portions here,” Helga said. “There’s another steak coming.”

His grin was even more boyish.

“I appreciate it.” He leaned forward, looking directly at her. “I want you to know, ma’am, I really appreciate this.” He shook his blond head. “It’s a funny thing, but when things look really tough, you get a sudden break. Ron told me that and I found it hard to believe. People do help out. You’ve helped me.” He sat back. “Could be… I could help you and I’d be glad to.”

“You never know.” Her mind went quickly back into the past. There had been other people she had helped but they were now dim shadows. Because of her husband’s position and his wealth no one had ever thought she might need help.

The steak and another pile of chips arrived.

“Excuse me, ma’am… this sure looks good.”

She lit a cigarette, her mind still in the past. Help? What is meant by help? she thought. It was easy to give money if you have money. No, that wasn’t help… anyway, not to her. To share something… to blot out this awful loneliness… that was the kind of help she wanted and yet how few could or would give her that?

She came out of the past to watch him finish the steak. He laid down his fork and sat back.

“The best meal in years! I appreciate it, ma’am!”

The waiter came over and she ordered an apfel strudel with cream and coffees, then when he took the empty plate away, she said, “What are you doing in Bonn?”

“That’s a good question.” Larry laughed. “I wish I knew. I guess I’m just passing through.” He leaned forward, his big hands clasped, his heavy shoulders hunched. “I’m being educated. My old man told me to come to Europe and take a look around. He wanted me to see Europe before I settled down. So I’ve been getting around. I started in Copenhagen, came to Hamburg and now I’m here. My old man gave me some money, but I’ve lost it, so now I guess I’ll have to find a job.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I’ll find something… I haven’t really looked yet. My old man doesn’t want me back for another six months. He reckoned I’d run out of money. He told me it would be good for me if I did, so I could make a living while in Europe. My old man is very keen I should look after myself.” He paused, smiling at Helga. “He’s a real square, but I’m fond of him.”

The apfel strudel arrived and again there was silence while Larry ate. Then while they were sipping their coffees, she said, “What do you plan to do?”

He lifted his shoulders.

“I’ll look around. Someone must want something done, ma’am.”

“But you can’t even speak the language.” 11

He laughed and she envied his confidence.

“I can always make myself understood.” He waved his hands. “When you have hands, you don’t need a language.”

She glanced at her watch. She had an appointment with her husband’s attorney in half an hour.

“Do you want to come to Switzerland?” she asked, aware her heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

“Switzerland?” He looked questioningly at her. “I don’t mind where I go.”

“Can you drive a car?”

“Oh, sure.”

She opened her lizard skin handbag and took from it three one hundred DM bills.

“I am staying at the Konigshof hotel. I am leaving for Switzerland tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. I could use a spare driver. Do you want to come?”

Without hesitation he nodded.

“I sure would, ma’am.”

She slid the folded bills under her coffee saucer, then stood up and reached for her coat.

“Then I’ll expect you.” She struggled into the coat while he sat there, looking up at her, his expression bewildered. “Settle the check.” She smiled, aware her smile was too anxious. “Goodbye for now, Larry.”

As he struggled to his feet, nearly overturning the table, she left the restaurant and walked out into the now heavily falling snow. For the first time in months, she felt young again.

She came out of a pill-induced sleep with a start of alarm, sure she had overslept. Turning on the bedside lamp, she looked anxiously at her travelling clock to find it was 06.50. She relaxed back on her pillow. Before going to bed she had packed two suitcases and had them taken down to the car. She now would have time to dress leisurely, she thought, and time to linger over a cup of coffee before leaving at 08.00.

She had gone over in her mind during the evening, while she had been eating her lonely dinner and while waiting for the pills to send her to sleep, this meeting with Larry Stevens.

When she thought of what she had done, she experienced a feeling of shame. She had acted like so many middle aged American women when they were abroad. Those awful women, trying to find late romance, who bore barmen, ogle hall porters and look feverishly for a lone man who would fill in the lonely hours before a car or a coach took them on yet another deadly sight-seeing tour.

But why be ashamed? she had reasoned with herself. Of course she had been stupid, but she had done nothing to make herself feel ashamed.

In fact, she told herself without much conviction, she had done a kindly act by feeding this boy and giving him money. With what she had given him, he could continue his journey until the money ran out and until he met yet another kind, lonely, stupid American woman… he wouldn’t have far to look, she thought bitterly.

I could use a spare driver. Do you want to come?

That had been a mistake, but she didn’t have to worry, she assured herself. He had her money… why should he want to come to Switzerland with a woman old enough to be his mother?

She began to think of him as he had sat opposite her in that squalid restaurant, eating, looking up at her from time to time, and of his warm, friendly grin. She wondered what it would be like to have him in this bed with her, and her body grew hot, moist and yielding at the thought. Angry with herself, she got out of bed and walked to the window. Pulling back the drapes, she looked down at the Rhine. The ferry steamer, packed with workers, was crossing from the far bank, its lights reflecting; in the leaden, cold looking river. Snow was falling, and had capped the church spires and the roofs of the distant factories.

It would be a dreary drive, she thought, along the monotonous autobahn to Basle. Then she would have to face the traffic of Zurich, the climb to the Bernadino tunnel and the long, difficult descent to Bellinzona. She grimaced and went to the bathroom.

Forty minutes later, the waiter brought her a pot of coffee. She was now dressed. Her mink coat lay across the chair, ready to put on. As the waiter entered, carrying the tray, she was adjusting her hat in the mirror, her eyes examining her make-up.

At three minutes to 08.00, she stubbed out her cigarette, put on her coat, gave herself one more quick glance in the mirror, then taking her handbag, she left the room.

She looked quickly around the lobby as she left the elevator. There was just a chance this tall, exciting boy might be there, waiting for her, but only a group of German business men and three pages met her eyes.

She paid her account and crossed to the Hall Porter to tip him.

“You should drive carefully, madame,” he said, palming the tip and becoming suddenly fatherly. “The roads will be dangerous.”

She was in no mood for advice and she turned away to where the luggage porter was waiting.

“The luggage is in the boot, madame,” he said. His English was even worse than the Hall Porter’s. “The tank is full. The car is fully serviced.”

She tipped him and went out into the cold to the black Mercedes she had bought in Hamburg.

The porter and two pages went with her like bodyguards. She paused to look down the drive of the hotel. Snow was falling steadily: there was mist. She could see people hurrying along the sidewalk and beyond them the early morning traffic, but there was no sign of Larry Stevens.

She slid under the driving wheel. The porter closed the door with an elaborate bow and she shifted the gear lever to Drive. As the car began to move she glanced at her diamond studded wristwatch. The time was now 8.10. The porter had run the car engine for some minutes so now the heater was operating. She turned on the wipers and edged the car down the drive feeling alone in spite of the security and luxury of the car, and feeling uneasy about facing the nine hundred kilometres of difficult road ahead of her.

She had guessed right, she thought bitterly. The boy had only wanted a free meal and her money. By now he was once more on his way, thinking she was just one more middle-aged sucker… which, of course, she was.

She had to stop at the junction as a stream of cars, edged by. Then she heard a soft tapping sound on the car window and she quickly turned her head, her heart-beat racing.

He was there, snow piled on the peak of his baseball cap, his face blue with the cold, his wide, friendly smile warming her. Suddenly she was years younger and suddenly stupidly happy. She waved to him to go around the car to the passenger’s seat. He nodded, ran in front of the dipped headlights, paused to shake the snow from his cap, his leather jacket and his shoes. Then he opened the off side door, letting in a blast of cold air, and slid in beside her.

“Morning, ma’am.” His voice sounded as happy as she felt. “Makes you think of Christmas, doesn’t it?”

Yes, she thought. Christmas! He is really my Christmas present!

“Have you been waiting long? Why didn’t you come to the hotel? You must be frozen.” She was pleased her voice was controlled.

“Not long, ma’am. I didn’t think I should go to the hotel. That kind of hotel is snooty.” He laughed. “This is a fine car… is it yours?”

“Yes.” She slowed and stopped as the traffic lights turned to red. “Where is your luggage, Larry?”

“I lost that with my money.”

“You mean you’ve nothing except what you’ve got on?”

He laughed.

“That’s it. I sure walked into that one. Ron warned me. He said it could happen but I didn’t believe him. There was this girl… I thought she was okay, but I got rolled,” and he laughed again.

“You mean she stole your things?”

“Her boy friend did.” He shrugged. “Ron warned me but I still fell for the act.” He grinned at her. “Oh, ma’am before I forget: did you know you left three hundred marks to pay for that meal? I’ve got the change right here.” He took from his hip pocket a roll of bills.

“I meant you to keep that.”

“Oh, no!” His voice sharpened, and glancing at him, she saw he looked genuinely shocked. “I accept free rides, but I don’t accept money from anyone.”

She thought quickly.

“Then will you please keep it and pay for the gas when we need it?”

He looked at her from under the peak of his cap.

“Yeah… sure.”

They were now approaching the entrance to the autobahn. The car’s headlights showed her the road was flecked with snow and she thought there was a chance of black ice. As she joined the stream of traffic, she saw cars were moving with caution.

“We could be late getting to Basle,” she said.

“Are you in a hurry, ma’am?”

“No.”

“Nor me… I’m never in a hurry,” and he laughed.

No, she was now no longer in a hurry having him by her side. She had planned to get to the Adlon hotel in Basle by 14.00, but now she didn’t care. Thinking about it, she realized it could be embarrassing to take Larry - with no luggage - to the Adlon. It would be better to find a much more modest hotel where there would be no questioning eyebrows.

“Where did you sleep last night?” she asked.

“I found a room. You’ll excuse me, ma’am, but I had to use some of your money. I’ll let you have it back.”

Another girl? She felt a stab of jealousy.

“Don’t worry about that. I have plenty of money.” She hesitated, then went on, “Money is useful, but it doesn’t always bring happiness.”

He shifted, pushing up the peak of his cap, then pulling it down.

“My old man was always saying things like that.” She realized at once that she had said the wrong thing. “People with plenty of money are always griping about happiness.” His voice had become surly.

“Yes… that’s right.” She was anxious to go along with his views. “When you have it, you don’t always appreciate it.”

Again he shifted.

“People say that. Ron says too few people have too much money and too many have too little.”

Was that supposed to be wisdom? she thought, but she said, “You keep mentioning Ron… tell me about him.”

“He’s my buddy.” He turned to look at her and she was dismayed to see the elated expression on his face. Once, out of sheer boredom, she had gone to a Billy Graham meeting and she had been surrounded by simple people looking just the way this boy was looking now.

Again she felt a stab of jealousy, knowing he would never look like this if ever he talked about her to his friends.

“Tell me about him.”

He stared through the windshield for a long moment, then he said, “I guess he’s special. He’s the smartest cookie I’ve ever known.” He shook his head in wonderment. “You ask him anything… anything… and he comes up with the answer. You have a problem and he fixes it. He’s really smart.”

“He sounds wonderful.” She was careful to make her voice m sound enthusiastic. “Where did you meet him?”

“Oh, I ran into him.” The way his voice dropped warned her this was none of her business.

“Why isn’t he travelling with you?”

He laughed, slapping his big hand on his thigh.

“Right now, ma’am, he’s in jail.”

“In jail!” Her voice shot up a note. “But why?”

He looked at her, peering at her from under the peak of his cap.

“Don’t think he’s done anything wrong, ma’am. Sure, I know when you hear a guy is in jail you think he must be bad, but Ron’s not like that. He’s a protester. He staged this protest march in Hamburg so they put him in jail.”

With her hands resting lightly on the driving wheel, her eyes on the road ahead, Helga asked, “What was he protesting about?”

There was a long pause and she glanced at him.

“What was he protesting about?” she repeated.

“I’m not too sure, ma’am.” He pulled at the peak of his cap. There was an awful lot of talk. All I know is he had good reason to protest.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shifted uneasily.

“He told me so.”

What a baby! she thought and she warmed to him.

“If he’s as smart as you say he is, Larry, why is he in jail?”

“He is smart!” He nodded emphatically. “He explained that to me. He told me if people don’t know about you, you’re nothing. He said publicity was the big thing. By getting tossed into jail, he got his photo in the papers. Right now, people are talking about him in Hamburg… that’s smart!”

“He is anti-rich, of course?”

Larry frowned.

“Yeah… you could say that.”

“Are you anti-rich?”

“Maybe. I haven’t thought about it much.”

“But you listen to Ron?”

“Sure… you can’t help listening to him! This Hamburg shindig was a ball! He got a bunch of guys together. I was one of them. It was raining fit to drown a duck. I wanted to stay under cover, but Ron wanted me out in front, so that’s where I was.

“We were all standing there like corpses… wet, hungry and cold. Then Ron started shooting the breeze. In five minutes he had us exploding like fire crackers. Man! That was something! We had a ball. We yelled, smashed shop windows, turned cars over and set fire to them. We threw bricks at the cops… we had a real ball!”

“But why, Larry?”

He looked at her, his eyes suddenly hostile.

“It had to be done… Ron said so.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well the cops got tough. They used these water cannons and Man! was it cold!” He laughed. She was relieved that his hostility had been just a brief passing thing. “Then they used tear gas. It really got tough. Ron reached me. We were ankle deep in broken glass and there were five cars exploding… it was like a battlefield. Everyone was yelling and fighting. He said for me to get out of Hamburg fast… so I got out.”

It was now light enough to turn off the headlights and the snow had stopped. She increased the speed of the car.

“How long will he be in jail?” she asked.

“I don’t know… maybe a week.”

“Do you plan to see him again?”

“Sure, I’ll see him again. I have his address. You don’t find a guy like Ron and then lose him. I’ll send him a card.” He nodded to himself as if a postcard solved all problems. “I sure hope to see him again… he’s something special.”

His vagueness, Helga thought, could mean he wouldn’t see this man again, and she felt relieved.

“You worry me,” she said. “You have no luggage, no clothes, no money. I can’t see how you are going to exist.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, ma’am. I’ll get by. I’ll find a job.” He smiled confidently at her. “It’s nice of you to worry. I’ll get a job in a hotel or a garage. I don’t need much money.”

Ahead of her she saw a parking sign and she slowed the car.

“Would you like to drive?”

“I’d be glad to.”

She drove into the parking bay and stopped the car. He got out, walked around to the on side door as she slid over to the passenger’s seat.

By the way he drove on to the autobahn, she knew immediately he was an expert driver. He had the car moving at 170 k.p.h. in a few minutes, and she felt not only slightly ashamed, but also elderly that she had been driving so cautiously.

“We’ll be in Basle in a couple of hours at this rate,” she said.

“Am I driving too fast, ma’am?”

He was driving too fast, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

“No… I like it. You drive very well.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

By the slight frown on his face, she realized he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to concentrate on his driving, enjoying the power of the car and showing her his expertise. She relaxed, and after watching the monotonous road racing towards her for some time, her mind drifted back into her past: something she caught herself doing as she grew older.

The only child of a brilliant international lawyer, Helga had received a continental education. She had had training in law and top class secretarial work. Her father had joined a firm in Lausanne, Switzerland, which specialized in tax problems. When she was twenty-four and fully qualified, he brought her into the firm as his personal assistant. She quickly made herself indispensable. The heart attack that killed her father some years later made no difference to her position with the firm. Jack Archer, one of the junior partners, grabbed her for his personal secretary before any of the senior partners thought of doing so. She knew she could have had her choice, but Archer appealed to her: he was handsome, dynamic and magnificently sexy. She had always been over-sexed. Men were necessary in her life, and she had had so many lovers she had lost count of their faces. When Archer had asked her to work with him and when she had nodded, he had locked his office door and by way of celebration they had had what she called a “quickie’ on the floor and which had proved satisfactory to both of them.

Somehow Jack Archer had got hold of Herman Rolfe’s Swiss account. No one knew quite how he had done it: even he, himself, was unsure. Herman Rolfe had come to Lausanne in search of a top class lawyer and income tax consultant and somehow Archer had got himself noticed and got the job. This was a killing that promoted Archer to senior partner. The Rolfe account was as important to the firm as the White House is to a future President.

Herman Rolfe, tall, lean, balding, the wrong side of sixty-five, tough and ruthless, had built an empire around electronics that had made him one of the richest men in the world. Long ago he had seen the red light of pending currency restrictions and had, at first legally, then illegally, siphoned off the bulk of his money to a numbered account in Switzerland. He needed a good man on the spot to handle his instructions and chose Jack Archer. As Helga was Archer’s personal assistant, she too became involved.

Every three months, Rolf flew into Geneva where Archer met him to discuss investments. On one pending visit, Archer broke a leg while skiing and asked Helga to take his place.

“You have all the know-how. Here are my recommendations. Watch him… he’s very tricky,” was his advice before she left for Geneva.

Helga had heard a lot about Herman Rolfe as a man and as a tycoon, but she had no idea he was a cripple. She was a little shocked to find him walking with the aid of sticks and his skull-like face set in a sour grimace of pain. They had spent three hours together in Rolfe’s luxury suite at the Bergues Hotel. At this meeting, Helga had been thirty-six years of age and outstandingly beautiful. She had poise and she understood men. She had brains and her added suggestions to the suggestions made by Archer impressed Rolfe.

Later, Archer had told her: You’ve made a hit with the old man… he wants to see you again.”

Rolfe came to Switzerland a month later and to the office in Lausanne - something he hadn’t done before. He had paused at Helga’s desk and had shaken hands with her. “Your suggestions were excellent,” he said, in his dry, harsh voice. “Accept this as an appreciation.” He had given her a small package which contained a platinum and diamond wristwatch.

When he had gone, Archer called her into his office.

“The old man wants you to be his secretary. It’s up to you, but I don’t advise it.” He looked at her, smiling. “Play your cards right and I have an idea you could become his wife. He’s lonely, he wants someone to run his various homes, wants someone with brains, someone he can show off. You qualify. Want me to handle it?”

She stared at him. It took her several seconds to realize fully what he was saying, then she didn’t hesitate.

“Do you think you can?”

“I’ll bet on it.” He was excited. “We’ve always got along together, darling. It would be a big thing for me to have you as his wife. We could work together. If you will marry him, I’ll fix it.”

The wife of one of the richest men in the world! It was an irresistible thought at her age!

“Fix it, but I bet you don’t!”

But Archer did.

Three months later, she had a letter from Rolfe asking her to meet him at the Montreux Palace hotel in Montreux and would she have dinner with him?

“This is it,” Archer told her. “I’ve handed him to you on a plate. Lock the door, darling and get your pants off. I deserve a reward!”

Rolfe had been brisk and business-like. He explained he needed a wife. He had a number of homes dotted around Europe. He wanted someone to look after his place in Florida. He considered himself fortunate to have found her as she not only had looks, charm, poise but excellent brains. She was ideally fitted to become his wife. Would she accept him?

Helga knew coyness or hesitation would be the wrong approach. She looked straight at him.

“Yes. I hope I can give you as much as you are offering me.”

It was a reply that pleased him.

For a long uncomfortable minute, he stuthed her. His penetrating stare 23

always made her feel uneasy, but now it really bothered her.

“I want to ask you a personal question before we make a final decision,” he said quietly. “Does sex mean a lot to you?”

She had been shrewd enough to be expecting something like this and she was ready for it.

“Why do you ask?”

“I am a cripple,” Rolfe said. “I am asking you if you are prepared to give up a normal sex life to become my wife. When we marry there must never be any other man… never a breath of scandal. That is something I will not tolerate. If you cheat, Helga, I will divorce you and you will be left with nothing. Remember that. If you remain faithful to me, I will give you a fulfilled life. There are many compensations which I have discovered that can replace sex. If you are prepared to accept this condition, then we can be married as soon as I can make the arrangements.”

“I am thirty-six,” she replied. “I have had all the sex I need.” At that moment, she believed what she was saying. “I accept the condition.”

Of course it hadn’t worked out like that. The first year was all right. The splendid Florida house, the excitement of being the wife of such a rich man, having everything she asked for, the people who swarmed around her made the sublimation of her sex urge comparatively easy. Then later when Helga got in with the clique of women who did nothing but talk about what their husbands did the previous night to them and the boy friends they had had on the sly, looking at her expectantly for her contribution, she began to suffer.

It was while driving to Milan on business for her husband, stopping at a small restaurant just outside the City that she made her first slip. There was a young Italian waiter, charming and sensual who seemed to know her need. When she went into the primitive toilet, he had followed her and had taken her, standing up and pressed against the none too clean wall. It had been dreadful and sordid that even now, four years in the past, she cringed to think of it.

This began a series of sexual adventures with strange men when the urge became unbearable. She was very careful. There were no affairs in Florida which was her husband’s permanent home. It was only when she went to Europe on some mission to see Archer at her husband’s request that she looked around for a likely male.

Apart from this occasional cheating, Helga gave Rolfe good service. He was busy planning new electronic marvels that would add to the progress of the world, add to his Empire and add to his fortune. He had told her he wanted her to work closely with Jack Archer. There were twenty million dollars invested in Switzerland.

“Keep the money turning over, Helga,” Rolfe said. “You can do it. Let me have a six monthly report on what you and Archer are doing. This is your responsibility now… don’t forget, it is your money as much as mine.”

Archer’s foresight was working out and Rolfe was delighted. The Rolfe fortune in Switzerland increased under their joint care. Her husband trusted her. He was thirty years older than she. She knew, eventually, she would inherit the bulk of his fortune. There was only a daughter from Rolfe’s first marriage, but she presented no serious opposition. Rolfe never spoke of her. Helga got the idea that the girl had gone Hippy or something Anti and Rolfe had dismissed her from his mind. So eventually, she would inherit an enormous fortune and the world would be at her feet. But it depended on her discretion. If you cheat, Helga, I divorce you. If ever he found out that she was cheating, she would lose everything he showered on her, but when the sexual urge seized her she couldn’t resist it. She was like a demented woman playing Russian roulette.

She had this nagging desire to tell this boy, driving at her side, something about herself. It was just possible he might be interested… might even be sympathetic. Not quite sure of him, glancing at his profile from time to time, she held back. Then after they had been driving for some time, she said abruptly, “Because I have money and his car, you may think I have no problems.”

He started a little as if her voice surprised him. He was probably miles away in his thoughts, she thought bitterly. He had forgotten she was at his side.

“What was that, ma’am?”

She repeated what she had said. 25

“Yeah… everyone has problems.” He nodded. “Ron says problems are sent to us as a challenge.”

She thought: God! How bored I’m getting with Ron!

“It’s not always easy to take up a challenge. I have a husband problem.”

He moved the Mercedes past a Fiat 125 with a gentle touch on the steering wheel, then he said, “Is that right?”

There was no interest in his voice and she felt deflated and defeated.

“He is a cripple.”

“That’s bad, ma’am.” Still no interest in his voice.

“It’s hard on me.”

This time he turned to look at her, then switched his eyes back to the road.

“Yeah… I can see that.”

“It can be lonely.”

“Sure.” He moved the car into the fast lane, overtaking three cars with a rush of speed that set her heart thumping. “But I guess with your looks, ma’am, you needn’t be all that lonely.”

She forced a laugh. “I’m not lonely now, Larry.”

“Yeah.” He nodded frowning. “Still a guy like me can’t be much company for someone like you. I guess you’re used to better talk. I don’t reckon to be much of a talker.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you along if I hadn’t liked you.” She paused, then trying to take the pleading out of her voice, she asked, “I hope you like me too.”

“Who wouldn’t?” The conviction in his voice made her heart-beat quicken. “Sure, I like you.”

If only he wasn’t so young and if only he had a little more education and a little more brain. But he was beautiful, virile and wonderfully male. You can’t expect too much, she told herself… count your blessings.

She began to ask him about himself and she learned his parents had a farm which provided them with a reasonable living and once this tour of Europe was over, he was going back to take over from his father.

“Will you like that Larry?”

He lifted his heavy shoulders.

“I guess. My old man is getting on and he needs me. I’m not good for much else.”

“Do you plan to marry?”

“I guess so, ma’am. You can’t run a farm without a wife… that’s what my old man says and I reckon he’s right.”

“Is there a girl?”

“Not one particular one.”

“But there are girls?”

He shifted uneasily.

“Sure.”

Although she wanted to pursue this subject, she felt he might resent it. She told herself he couldn’t be a virgin, but had he the experience to satisfy her? Regretfully, she switched to finding out his interests.

No, he didn’t read… maybe the comics, but they bored him after a while. No, he didn’t like classical music, but he dug for pop. He thought TV was a ball. No, he didn’t follow politics. Nixon? He hadn’t thought about Nixon. You had to have a President, so okay, you had a President. Sure he went to the movies. Yeah, he liked sexy films. He liked a good tough punch-up. He liked watching the fights on TV.

She listened, realizing the vast gap that lay between them.

Then suddenly, in front of them was a sign that said Basle was only thirty- five kilometres ahead of them.

“Basle? That’s Switzerland, isn’t it?” Larry said and there was a sudden change in his voice that made her look sharply at him.

“Yes.”

That’s the frontier… right?”

“Yes.”

He fingered his cap.

“What is it, Larry?”

“Nothing.” His voice had become curt and he slightly increased the speed of the car.

“But there is something… tell me.”

“Suppose we talk when we get to a parking, ma’am,” he said. The hard note in his voice frightened her. Why this sudden change? she asked herself, but feeling he would be irritated if she pressed for an immediate answer, she sat still, waiting.

Ten kilometres further along the autobahn, they came to a lay-by and he slowed, swung the car off the road and behind a thick hedge, covered with snow that hid a W.C. and stone tables and benches for the summer tourists.

He cut the engine, then half-turning in his seat, he looked directly at her.

“Ma’am, you told me about your problems, now it’s my turn. I also have a problem.”

What was coming? she thought. What was he going to say?

“Well… Tell me,” she said, forcing her voice to sound normal.

“Well, ma’am, I told you I had lost my things and my money. I lost my passport too.”

She stared at him.

“You have no passport?”

“That’s it.”

She tried to think efficiently, but she felt she wasn’t succeeding.

“But have you reported losing it?”

“No, ma’am. Like I told you, I got mixed up in this Hamburg riot. The cops were looking for everyone mixed up in it. I had to get out fast.”

She sat still, trying to think. The German police at the frontier might let them through without checking passports, but the Swiss police on the far side of the barrier were certain to check. She tried to imagine how the Swiss police would react when Larry said he had lost his passport. She would get involved. Of course she could say she was giving him a ride, but that wouldn’t help him. It would mean that she would lose him and this was something she was determined not to do.

“Why didn’t you tell me before, Larry? I would have gone with you to the American Consul at Bonn. We could have fixed it.”

He shook his head.

“It’s not that simple, but it’s okay. It can be fixed if you’ll go along. Have you anything in the boot?”

She stiffened, staring at him.

“In the boot? My luggage… what do you mean?”

“Do you want me to come with you to Switzerland?” he asked. “I could be of help to you… or maybe you don’t want me?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying… what do you mean?” 29

“Look, ma’am, I have to get to the other side of the frontier. Ron told me where I can get a new passport. There’s lots of ways to cross the frontier. If you don’t want to help me, you say so. I’ll leave you right here. I just thought as you’ve been so good to me, I’d like to stay with you if I can.” The warm brown eyes went over her face. “There’s no problem if you will help.”

She pressed her hand against her forehead.

“I don’t understand.”

“I can go through the frontier in your boot, ma’am. It’s no problem. Ron says they never look in the boot of a car owned by an American. They just wave you through.”

She thought back on the times she had been through the various frontiers. What he said was true. They had never looked in the boot… maybe the Italians had, but then only once.

“But suppose they do find you?”

He grinned.

“Then it’s my bad luck. You’re in the clear, ma’am. If they find me, you know nothing about it. I’ll tell them I found the boot unlocked and sneaked in when you were parking.”

“But they’ll arrest you!”

“They won’t find me, ma’am. Do you want to help me or don’t you?”

What am I getting myself into? she wondered. If she refused he would go out of her life. Anyway, what had she to lose? As he had said, she could tell them she didn’t know he was hiding in the boot.

“All right, Larry… go ahead.”

His face lit up.

“Thank you, ma’am. You won’t regret this. You take over.” He slid out of the car and went around to the back. She moved into the driving seat and watched him in the driving mirror transfer her cases to the back seat.

He came to the driver’s window and smiled at her.

“Take it easy, ma’am… there’ll be no problem.”

She forced a smile.

“I hope not, Larry.”

He gave her the thumbs up sign, then went around to the back. She waited until she heard the lid of the boot slam shut, then bracing herself, she drove the car back on to the autobahn.