An Ace up my Sleeve

CHAPTER TWO

A few kilometres before the German frontier, Helga ran into a blinding snowstorm. She had been driving along the autobahn in reasonable light when suddenly it turned dark, and as she switched on the headlights, snow, whipped by the wind, blotted out visibility to within twenty metres.

The cars ahead of her, now crawling, quickly turned into white mounds of snow: their red tail lights scarcely visible. In spite of having to drive under these difficult conditions, Helga was thankful. From past experience, she knew the frontier guards were cursory in their check when the weather was this bad.

Her mind was in a daze of bewilderment, excitement and doubt. She had read and heard so much about the dangers of picking up a lone hitch hiker, but this boy had seemed so open, friendly and warm. She had been convinced he was completely honest and likeable, but now she began to wonder. Was it really possible he could have lost everything, including his passport? But he was honest, she assured herself. He had wanted to return the money she had given him. This business about having to get into Switzerland and this man Ron had told him about from whom he could get another passport (forged?) really worried her. She remembered the conviction in Larry’s voice when he had said, Sure, I like you. No one could speak like that without meaning it, but all the same, was he making use of her?

She saw the frontier sign with the word halt, half hidden by the snow. The cars ahead of her were already crawling by the frontier post. She could see the German guard, snug behind his glass shelter, waving them impatiendy through.

Her heart was thumping when it came to her turn, but the guard merely waved his hand and then turned away. She had her passport and green card on her lap. Now for the Swiss frontier, she thought and flinched. She was behind three cars. Two of them were waved through: the one just ahead of her had Swiss number plates. She felt a chill of fear when she saw two frontier guards, their capes and peaked caps covered with snow, standing either side of the car ahead. There was some talk, then the guard on the off-side of the car came towards her. She lowered the window, seeing the Swiss car move off.

The guard saluted her, his face purple with the cold and accepted her passport and green card.

As he flicked through the pages of her passport, he asked, “Have you anything to declare?”

“No, nothing.”

She realized he was looking at her and there was approval in his eyes and she forced a smile. He returned her papers.

“Have you heard if it is getting worse?” she asked. “It couldn’t be worse than this, madame,” he said with a grin, then he saluted her and stepped back.

She wound up the window and set the car moving. She felt a little sick but triumphant. Now she had the problem of getting Larry out of the boot. She couldn’t just stop and let him get out to be seen by any and every eye.

He must be freezing in the boot, she thought as she drove with the traffic. Then ahead of her she saw a big building site. In this blizzard, no one could be working, she thought and she swung the car on to the rough road leading to the site. Looking in the driving mirror she saw she had already lost sight of the main road, wiped from view by the blinding snow. She stopped the car, got out into the driving snow and ran around to the boot. She had to struggle to release the catch, then she lifted the lid. “Quick!”

He slid out and had shut the boot before she realized he was moving.

“You drive… I’ll tell you where to go,” she said and ran around to the passenger’s seat. They both got in the car and slammed the doors, then she found him looking at her, his face alight with that warm, friendly grin.

“You see, ma’am… like I told you… it worked.”

“Yes… you must be frozen.”

“I’m fine, but I want to thank you, ma’am.” He reached out and his hand 33

closed over hers. “I really appreciate it and I think you have a load of guts if you’ll excuse me saying it like that.”

She could feel his coldness through her glove.

“Let’s get something to eat,” she said reluctantly withdrawing her hand. “Then we can talk.”

She directed him up St. Jacobs’ strasse, then she told him to turn right where there was a parking lot. As he found space and cut the engine, he said, “You know this town, ma’am?”

“I know it. There’s a restaurant not far from here. We’ll have to walk. Would you put my suitcases in the boot?”

Ten minutes later, both plastered with snow, they entered the steam heat of a modest restaurant she had once visited on another of her lone journeys.

Because she was not only cold but very nervous she could face nothing but a plate of soup. She ordered soup, two large pork chops and chips for Larry.

“Let’s eat first,” she said, sure he would be interested only in the food that was coming and wouldn’t concentrate on answering her questions.

When the meal was finished and they had thawed out and were sipping coffee, she said, “Look, Larry, I want to know more about this. I want to know more about this girl who took your passport.”

He looked away and she imagined he was shuffling his feet.

“Well, ma’am, I guess you’ve done enough for me for me to lay it on the line, but I guess it’s kind of embarrassing.” He stared down at his hands, frowning. “You see, ma’am, every so often I have to have a woman.” He pulled at the peak of his cap. This time she hadn’t reminded him to take it off. “I get this urge, and it gets too much for me.” Again he dragged at the peak of his cap. “Excuse me. You asked me… I’m laying it on the line. I hope you will understand.”

Yes, I understand, she thought, you get this urge from time to time. I’m never free of it!

“Of course, Larry… was she a pro?”

He nodded, not looking at her.

“Yeah. It got pretty hairy. Two guys broke in, and there was a punch-up. They sure handled me and they threw me out.” He looked at her, then away. “I guess I was lucky to keep my trousers.”

She searched his face for any signs of a fight, but found none. She felt compassion. She understood he didn’t want to admit to her that some cheap little whore had robbed him of everything he owned.

There was no point in pressing this, she decided. It really wasn’t important. He was just a kid… kids did things like this. The important thing was his passport.

“Well, Larry, we are now in Switzerland,” she said. “You have no passport. What are you going to do?”

“I guess I’ve got to have a passport.” He fingered the peak of his cap, then he flushed. “Goddamn it! I’m still wearing this goddamn thing!” He tore the cap off his head and stuffed it under his thigh. “Excuse me, ma’am. I guess I’m a hick. I just don’t know when I’m wearing it.”

“How do you get another passport?” she asked. “What was this you said about… Ron?”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well, he gave me an address right here, ma’am. It costs, but I can get around to that.” He leaned forward, resting his big hands on the table and looked directly at her. “Look, ma’am, you’ve done enough for me. Thank you for everything. Thank you for getting me through the frontier. Thank you for this meal. You’ve been great! Now, I’m on my own. From now on, you don’t have to think of me. I’ll manage.”

She regarded him steadily.

“That was a very pretty speech, Larry, but I think you have been watching too much television. Your next line, set against a fading sunset should be, “And thanks for the memory, but this is goodbye”.”

He turned beetroot red as he gaped at her.

“What was that again, ma’am?”

She took from her bag her gold cigarette case and lit a cigarette with her gold Dunhill.

“I go so far, Larry, but don’t push it. I don’t kid easily. If you want to be on your own, then get up and go. If you want to manage on your own so bravely, I’m not stopping you, but don’t give me this corny dialogue… do I make myself clear?”

He reached for the peak of his cap, but not finding it, he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t mean a come-on. Honest… I’m just a hick… excuse me.”

She sat still, her eyes cold and searching as she regarded him.

“If you want to be on your own, Larry, get up right now and get out of here!”

He flinched, then rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and she could see sweat beads forming on his forehead.

“I don’t want to go, ma’am… excuse me.”

“All right, but don’t ever try to con me again, Larry,” she said quietly. “I know it all. I’ve seen it all. While you were feeding the hens, I was in the middle of a jungle where men with fifty times your brain-power were cutting each other’s throat. The biggest throat cutter of them all was and still is my husband. Let’s get this straight. I like you… you’re a nice refreshing kid, but don’t try to con me.”

He nodded.

“I didn’t mean to… honest, ma’am.”

“All right. Now tell me what your friend told you about getting a passport.”

Unhappily and without much hope, he tried to reassert his manhood.

“It’s okay, ma’am. I can manage.”

She leaned forward.

“Isn’t it time you realized you can no more manage without me than you could have changed your nappy when you were three months old?”

He hung his head and she could see the depressed misery on his face.

“I guess you’re right, ma’am. That sure is laying it on the line. Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

“We don’t have to make a drama out of this,” she said. “What’s this about your passport?

“I can get a new passport in a new name. There’s a guy here in Basle who can fix it. I have his address right here,” and he tapped his shirt pocket.

“Why do you have to have a new name, Larry? Why can’t you go to the American Consul and tell them your passport has been stolen?”

He said nothing, but stared down at the table and the sweat beads on his forehead grew to drops and began to trickle down his face.

“Larry! I’m asking you a question!”

He looked up miserably.

“I guess the cops are looking for me.”

She felt a little jolt under her heart.

“Why?”

“It was this riot, ma’am. I told you it got rough. A guy right with me hit a cop with a brick, then he scrammed. Two other cops grabbed me. This cop had a bust nose. I told them I didn’t do it, but they didn’t believe me. They took my passport and started lugging me to the wagon when Ron turned up and rescued me. He told me to scram… so I scrammed.”

“So this tart didn’t steal your passport?”

“That’s right, ma’am, but she took everything else.”

She lit another cigarette while she thought.

“So the German police have your passport and they are looking for you… is that right?”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

She told herself: What I should do now is to pay the check, walk out and leave him. But because her body was yearning for him, she immediately dismissed this solution.

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, Larry?” she asked. “Be careful! I want the truth.”

He wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand, then looking at her, he shook his head.

“Swear to God, ma’am.”

She regarded him.

“Does God mean anything to you?”

He stiffened.

“Why, sure… God is God.”

She lifted her shoulders. She didn’t really care if he was lying or not. God is God… how simple it was to say that. Again she felt the hot blood move tormentingly down to her loins.

“Tell me about the passport. Who is this man?”

“I have his address right here.” He took a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and pushed it across the table. “He’s a friend of Ron.” He hesitated, then went on, “It costs three thousand francs.”

Three thousand francs!

“You’re becoming a little expensive, aren’t you, Larry?” She looked at the typewritten address. The man’s name was Max Friedlander. The address meant nothing to her.

“Look, ma’am, I’ll manage. I’ll find a job…”

“Oh, stop it! We’ll go together and we’ll get the passport.”

He looked uneasily at her.

“I wouldn’t want you to get involved. You’ve already been too good for me. If you really mean to help, then give me the money and I’ll get it fixed.”

“If you imagine I am going to give you three thousand francs without being certain how you spend it, you need your head examined,” she said curtly.

She signalled to the waiter. As she was paying the check she asked him where the street was, written on the paper.

The waiter went away and returned with a street map and showed her exactly where to find the street. She slid him a tip that made his eyes widen, then she put on her wet mink coat and left the restaurant.

His shoulders hunched against the driving snow, Larry followed her.

Max Friedlander had a ground-floor apartment in a shabby block in a derelict-looking courtyard.

Plastered with snow and very cold, Helga looked at the name plate screwed to the door.

“This is it,” she said.

Larry took off his cap and shook the snow from it, replaced it and read the 39

name plate.

“Yeah. Look, ma’am, I don’t want you to get involved. I guess…”

“Oh, stop it! We’ve gone over that part of the script before,” Helga said impatiently and she rang the bell.

There was a delay while they stood in the steadily falling snow, then the door opened. A small, shadowy man stood in the doorway. There was a dim yellow light at the end of the passage that made more shadows.

“What is it? Who is it?” The voice was a little shrill and very querulous.

A pansy! Helga thought. She loathed the breed, and she moved forward, pressing the man back, determined to get out of the falling snow.

“Mr. Friedlander?”

“Yes… yes. What is it? You’re making a mess on my floor!”

“Larry… talk to him,” Helga said, an edge to her voice.

Larry moved past her, snow dropping from his shoulders. His big body blocked the little man from her sight. She heard him say softly, “Ron Smith told me to come.”

“Well, shut the door for pity’s sake! Look at the mess you’re making!”

Helga closed the door, then because she already hated this little man, she shook the snow off her coat and taking off her hat, shook that too making a snow puddle on the floor.

Larry had moved forward. Now a door opened and a brighter light came out into the narrow, dimly lit passage.

Welcome heat came from the room and she moved in. The room was shabbily furnished with heavy antique, knocked about furniture. On the table stood a silver pheasant. Looking around, Helga decided this was the only good piece in the room and she would have liked to have owned it. She could now see this man more clearly as he stood under the light coming from an ornate chandelier: only three of its many electric lights functioning.

He was around sixty years of age. His pinched, sallow-complexioned face wore the marks of suffering. His black eyes had the cunning of a cornered fox. His lank grey hair sprouted from under a black beret. Wearing a soiled polo- necked green sweater and a shapeless pair of green corduroy trousers, he looked dirty and she saw his fingernails were long and black.

“Ronnie told you to come? How do I know?” he said, looking at Larry.

“Ron said Gilly thinks of you… he said you would know what that means.”

Friedlander squirmed with pleasure and giggled. Watching him, Helga hated him.

“Yes, I know… how is Ronnie?”

“Right now he is in jail.”

Friedlander nodded.

“I saw it in the papers, Ronnie’s smart. Did they hurt him?”

“No.”

“That’s good.” A long pause while the three looked at each other, then Friedlander said, “What can I do for you, dear? Any friend of Ronnie’s my friend.”

“I want a passport,” Larry said. “One of your specials.”

Friedlander’s foxy eyes shifted to Helga.

“Who is your friend, dear?”

“I’m the one who is paying for it,” Helga said. “That’s all you need know.”

Friedlander’s eyes took in her mink coat and her hat. Then his eyes shifted to her lizard skin bag and he smiled.

“You got photographs, dear?”

Larry groped in his hip pocket and brought out a soiled envelope.

“All the dope’s here.”

“It will be four thousand five hundred francs,” Friedlander said as he took the envelope. “Cash down and a beautiful job… it’s cheap at the price.”

The old come-on, Helga thought and looked at Larry who was staring at Friedlander. I’ll give him a chance, but if he can’t handle it, then I will.

“Ron said it would be three.” She was pleased to hear Larry’s voice sounded firm.

Friedlander lifted his dirty hands with a shrug of regret.

“Dear Ron… he isn’t keeping pace with the rising cost of living. It’s now four thousand five, and it’ll be a beautiful job.”

“Ron said I shouldn’t pay more than three,” Larry said.

“So sorry… Ron isn’t with it any more.” The smile, foxy and shifty moved from Larry to Helga.

“That’s too bad,” Larry said. “We don’t pay more than three.”

“Goodbye,” Friedlander said, waving to the door. “When you see Ronnie again, tell him my price has gone up.”

“I don’t have too,” Larry said. “Ronnie told me something. He said you were a great artist.” He leaned forward to peer at Friedlander. “What would it cost you if you got your hands crushed in a door?”

Helga stiffened, feeling a chill move up her spine. She looked at Larry. He seemed the same friendly, gum chewing boy, but this new note in his voice told her his threat was genuine.

Friedlander stared at Larry, then he took a quick step back.

“What are you saying?”

“Are you deaf? I want the passport, buster and I’m not paying more than three.” Larry was chewing gum and he seemed mild and friendly. “Do we make a deal or do I feed your fingers in the door?”

Friedlander’s face showed terror. His back was now against the wall.

“I’ll do it for three,” he said huskily. “I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

“I’m not asking you to do it for anyone else,” Larry said. “Go ahead… we’ll wait.”

Friedlander shifted his feet.

“I would like the money first.”

“We’ll wait,” Larry repeated.

Friedlander looked hopefully at Helga.

“Can I rely on you to pay me?”

“I’ll pay you,” Helga said and went to a chair and sat down.

Friedlander looked at her, then at Larry, then he went out of the room, closing the door behind him.

There was a long pause, then Helga said, “You handled that rather well, Larry.”

He pulled at the peak of his cap.

“Thank you, ma’am. It was your money. You’ve been generous enough to me. I couldn’t let you get gypped.”

“Thank you.” She regarded him. “That was quite a thought… about crushing his hands in the door. Would you have done it?”

Again he pulled at his cap, shaking his head. 43

“No, ma’am. I don’t believe in hurting people.”

Again she looked at him, remembering the note in his voice that had sent a chill up her spine. Was he really such a warm, friendly simple boy as he seemed?

“How am I going to pay him?” she asked suddenly. “I have only Traveller’s cheques. While we are waiting, I’d better find a bank.”

He crossed to the window, lifted the dirty curtain and looked out at the steadily falling snow.

“You can’t go out in this. Couldn’t you pay it into his bank?”

“I don’t want him to know my name.”

He turned and looked at her, nodding.

“Yeah… there’s that.” He hesitated, frowning. “You’ve done enough for me. I…”

“All right, Larry, I know what I’m doing for you. I don’t have to be reminded.” She got to her feet. “I’ll find a bank. You wait here,” and she went out into the passage and to the front door. She hoped he would have come after her, but he didn’t. Shrugging, she pulled her coat around her and went out into the falling snow.

As she looked for a bank, she wondered if she shouldn’t go back to where the Mercedes was parked and drive away. She had a growing conviction that by remaining with this boy she was building a complication around herself that she was going to regret.

But she found a bank at the end of the street and she cashed five thousand dollars into Swiss francs which she stuffed into her bag. Coming out of the bank, she looked to the left, knowing, not far away, the Mercedes was waiting under a blanket of snow. She hesitated only for a few seconds. She was lonely and needed a man. She walked to the right, and in five minutes she was knocking on Friedlander’s front door.

Larry opened the door.

“Is it all right, ma’am?” he asked, standing aside to let her in.

“It’s all right.” She walked into the shabby living-room, feeling the heat seeping through her. “How long do you think we will have to wait?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” He closed the door and leaned against it, his big hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. His jaw moved rhythmically as he chewed.

She took off her coat and hung it over a chair, then she sat down. “We can’t hope to go further today in this blizzard. We’d better find an hotel.”

“We can go on if you want to, ma’am. I’m used to driving in the snow.”

She looked at her watch. The time was 15.15. She yearned for the luxury of the Adlon hotel. She longed to sink into a hot, relaxing bath and then rest on a bed until dinner time. She realized she couldn’t take Larry to the hotel, looking the way he did and without luggage. She was well known there. Then she remembered passing a store on her way to the bank.

She made an instant, impulsive decision.

“Listen, Larry, I don’t want to go on. I want to rest. You can’t come with me to an hotel, dressed as you are.” She opened her bag and took out some Swiss money. “There is a store at the end of the street: turn right as you leave here. I want you to buy yourself a dark suit, a white shirt and black tie. You will also need a lined mackintosh and shoes. You will come to the hotel as my chauffeur. Please take this money and buy these things. Will you also change at the store? Put what you have on in a suitcase.”

He was staring blankly at her.

“But I can’t do that, ma’am. It wouldn’t be right. I…”

“Oh, for God’s sake do as I ask!” Her voice had become waspish. “I’m tired! There’s the money… do what I say!”

Startled by the note in her voice, he picked up the money, pulled at the peak of his cap, then went out. She heard the front door slam.

She drew in a long breath, then with unsteady hands, she lit a cigarette. She waited, aware of the uncanny silence that hung over the building. She was getting more and more involved, she thought, but this was something that had happened before in a different way. In her present mood, she accepted risks.

In an hour or so, she thought, she would be at the hotel where the service was perfect. She imagined getting into the bath, resting in the bed and then, drinking her first vodka martini. The hotel would accept Larry as her chauffeur, but she would have to be careful. He would have to eat on his own and this she regretted - how bored she was eating meals alone in luxury restaurants, but she knew the hotel would raise its eyebrows and remember if Mrs. Herman Rolfe took dinner with her chauffeur. But after dinner, when she was in the seclusion of her bedroom, she would telephone to Lam’, telling him to come to her. He was almost certain to be a clumsy, selfish lover, but she would control him. Her heart began to hammer as she imagined the moment when he took her roughly in his arms.

The door opened, startling her and Friedlander came in. He looked around, his cunning little eyes puzzled.

“Where’s Larry?”

“He’ll be back. Have you got it?”

“Of course.” He edged into the room, closing the door. “It’s a beautiful job.”

“Let me see it.”

He hesitated, then coming over to her, he handed her the passport. It looked genuine enough and was just worn enough to be acceptable. The name on the passport was Larry Sinclair. Profession: Student. Larry a student? She shrugged. The word Student meant nothing these days: a smoke screen behind which so many young people hid as the word Model was used as often as a smoke screen for a whore.

The photograph was poor, but the stamp looked authentic.

“Yes… it is good.”

“It is a work of art,” Friedlander said peevishly. “It is worth more than three thousand. Be fair, dear… give me another five hundred. That’s not being unreasonable.”

She opened her bag and without taking the roll of money from the bag, she stripped off three one thousand franc bills and dropped them on to the table. Then she put the passport in her bag and closed it.

“If you want more, talk to Larry,” she said.

He picked up the bills and put them in his pocket.

“Don’t make mistakes, dear… so easy to make mistakes.” He stared at her. “Meanness always comes home to roost.”

She eyed him with contempt.

“Go away! You and your filthy breed bore me!”

His small eyes turned baleful.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He backed to the door. “I’d rather be what I am than what you are/ and he flounced out of the room.

She sat still, furious, and men after thinking, she suddenly became sick of herself. His parting shot had hurt.

Twenty minutes later, Larry returned. She heard him tap on the front door and she went to open it. He came in out of the falling snow and into the light of the shabby room. She scarcely recognized him. Cone was the gum chewing hick American. The black tie and the white collar completely changed his appearance. The black trench coat was as formal as a uniform. He looked like tfie chauffeur of the wealthy owner of a Mercedes 300SEL. He was carrying a cheap plastic suitcase and he looked anxiously at her, seeking her approval.

“Wonderful, Larry,” she said, smiling at him. “You look splendid.”

He grinned boyishly.

“I got what you told me, ma’am.”

“Yes… I have your passport… let’s go.”

“I picked up the car, ma’am.” He eyed her a little doubtfully. “It’s right outside. Excuse me for the liberty… I didn’t think you would want to walk all that way to the parking lot.”

She stared at him.

“But how could you? I have the ignition key!”

He automatically reached for the peak of his cap, then finding he wasn’t wearing the cap, he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I’m used to cars, ma’am. I don’t need ignition keys. Excuse me if I did wrong.”

“But the car was locked!”

“Yes… that’s right. I just thought I’d save you the walk. It’s snowing pretty hard out there.”

A feeling of fear ran through her. It passed in a moment as she realized how she would have hated to have trudged through the thick snow to the car. He’s clever! she thought. Not only clever, but considerate!

“Thank you for being so thoughtful,” she said and smiled at him. She opened her bag and handed him the ignition key. “In spite of your cleverness, perhaps you better have this.”

He opened the front door and together they went to where he had parked the car. He opened the off-side door and she slid in. Then he went around to the driver’s seat, paused to shake the snow off his new black shoes, then dropped into the driver’s seat.

She told him how to get to the Adlon hotel.

“You gave me too much money, ma’am,” he said as he edged the car out of the courtyard. “I have the change.”

“That’s all right, Larry. You’ll need some spending money… keep it.”

He shook his head.

“No, ma’am, thank you. I explained before… I don’t accept money.”

She smiled at him.

“All right, Larry… I understand. We’ll settle up when we get to the hotel.”

She relaxed back, thinking: He is really rather sweet.

As he drove with the traffic, the wipers swishing away the snow, she looked searchingly at his profile, lit by the passing street lamps, and again she felt a rush of hot blood go through her.

When Helga, followed by Larry, followed by a porter carrying her bags, entered the reception lobby of the Adlon hotel, Karl Fock, the owner of the hotel, happened to be making one of his rare appearances. He immediately recognized her as one of the hotel’s most valued guests.

Karl Fock was built in a generous style. He reminded Helga of the late, unlamented Herman Goering. Fock believed that by snapping his fingers, the world instantly became his oyster, and within his limited sphere, the world did become his oyster. His welcome was warm and slightly overpowering. He bowed over Helga’s hand, brushing her glove with his thick,, moist lips. In a loud guttural voice that carried across the lobby, he declared his happiness to see her again. He had the best suite ready for her. He would conduct her there in person.

The lobby was full of American and Japanaese tourists who stopped their chatter to stare. Helga became the centre of attraction. She was flattered as she became engulfed by Fock’s warm welcome. She was also flattered to see the three reception clerks were bowing to her, ignoring all other guests.

She looked behind her and caught Larry’s eyes. He looked completely bewildered, but Fock snatched her attention away.

“What a wonderful welcome,” she said, her smile stiff. “I have a chauffeur… er… what…?”

A chauffeur?

Fock’s heavy black eyebrows climbed. His expression conveyed that a chauffeur was something of no importance, but seeing her concern, he spun around and snapped his fingers. In dismay, Helga saw the bewildered looking Larry whisked out of sight by a bowing lackey.

Tired, bemused and a little overwhelmed, Helga allowed herself to be escorted to the elevator.

The suite into which she was bowed was the best in the hotel.

“Madame Rolfe, you are exhausted,” Fock said, standing just inside the room. “A maid will unpack for you. Please rest. I would so much like to hear news of Mr. Rolfe. Would you give me the pleasure of dining with me? Please don’t disappoint me.”

Helga hesitated, then she forced a smile. It was impossible to refuse, although dinner with Karl Fock was the last thing she wanted.

“I shall be delighted. You are very kind.”

A fat, comfortable looking maid appeared in the doorway.

“It will be my pleasure,” Fock said, bowing. Then at eight-thirty?”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “My chauffeur?”

Fock waved his fat hands.

“Madame… don’t worry about anything.” He showed his white teeth that resembled the keys of a piano and was gone.

But she did worry, wondering what was happening to Larry. The maid, fat, slow and kind, irritated her. She wanted to telephone down to the reception desk and find out just what they were doing with Larry, but with the maid in the room, she felt it would be indiscreet. She was sure Larry was being taken care of, but she did want to know how he was reacting.

The maid made a great fuss about drawing the bath, but eventually she left.

Helga longed to get into the bath, but she hesitated by the telephone. Would it cause the hotel’s eyebrows to lift if she inquired after her chauffeur? Because she had an uneasy conscience, she moved away from the telephone. She had to be careful, she told herself, and yet, she longed to know what was happening to Larry.

After lying in the hot, scented bath for some twenty minutes, she dried herself, put on a black chiffon wrap and lay on the vast bed. She looked at the wall clock. The time was 18.10. She stretched herself like a relaxing cat, spreading her beautiful legs and then cupping her heavy, firm breasts in her hands. If only Larry would walk into the room and take her, she thought. She closed her eyes, releasing her mind into an erotic dream.

She came awake by a gentle tapping on the door. Startled, she looked at the wall clock. The time now was 19.30. pulling her wrap around her, she called to come in. Could it be Larry? Her heart beat quickened.

The sight of the waiter who came in, carrying a frosted cocktail shaker and a glass which he placed on the table with a flourish sent her heart beat practically down to zero.

“With Herr Director’s compliments, madame,” he said and poured from the shaker.

When he had gone, she drank the vodka martini gratefully, then, seeing the time was slipping by, she began to dress. While she slapped lotion on her face, then arranged her eyelashes, she thought of Larry. After the second vodka martini which was very strong, she was sufficiently nerved to telephone the reception desk.

“This is Madame Rolfe… what have you done with my chauffeur?”

“Madame Rolfe?” The voice became servile. “Your chauffeur? A moment, please.”

There was a pause and she could hear whispering voices and she regretted asking. This was a stupid, dangerous thing to have done. Why should a woman in her position ask after her chauffeur? Well, she had done it, now she would have to carry it off.

“Madame Rolfe?” A new voice, even more ingratiating.

“Yes.”

“Your chauffeur is in room 556. He will have dinner with the staff. Is that satisfactory?”

Staff? What did that mean? But she didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Yes… thank you,” and she hung up.

Because she was ashamed of her cowardice, she had a third vodka martini and by the time she had finished dressing, she was slightly drunk. She paused before the mirror at the door of the suite and surveyed herself. She was pleased with her reflection. She was really remarkable, she told herself. At the age of forty (forty-three?) she was slim and lovely to look at and immaculately dressed. She knew, as most women know who accept the truth, that she was still attractive to any man.

Karl Fock was waiting for her in the cocktail bar. In the haze of two more vodka martinis and rather overpowered by his guttural voice, Larry slipped from her mind. She remembered him as Fock escorted her into the restaurant but forgot him again when she was enveloped by the Maitre d’hotel and three of his satellites and then the Chef, in his white cap and coverall, who bowed, beamed and shook hands with her while the rest of the guests in the restaurant stared, whispered and envied.

The dinner was impeccable: Belon oysters and a Chablis: a plump partridge and a 1959 Petur.

She heard herself talking. No, her husband wasn’t too well, but he planned to be in Basle next year (A lie). Yes, the drive from Bonn had been bad, but there had been no ice on the autobahn. Yes, of course, she was delighted to be back in her favourite City (A lie). Her chauffeur? This question was unexpected and for a moment she lost her poise, then she smiled, shrugged her beautiful shoulders. Yes… something new, but her husband wanted someone to drive her. She looked into Fock’s moist, admiring eyes and she pulled a comic grimace. Husbands get fussy. She preferred to drive herself. But husbands! She laughed, and Fock was enchanted. Yes, this new chauffeur seemed very capable. He had been recommended… an American student… very serious.

Tired of being questioned, she switched the conversation to Fock’s wife (a gruesome bore) and to his children (monsters).

Fock insisted on champagne with the sorbet and Helga was pretty drunk by the time coffee and brandy were served.

She made a charming little speech of thanks at the end of the meal, and then allowed herself to be escorted to her room.

Thankfully, she got rid of Fock at her bedroom door, then she walked a little unsteadily to her bed and dropped on to it.

She had been spoilt. It had been a wonderful reception. It had been a wonderful meal. Bore though he was, Fock had been kind to her. Now, to complete a perfect evening, she wanted Larry. She wanted this primitive boy to use her as he must have used the stupid, giggling girls on his farm. She wanted to be bruised, violently used, even beaten if that was what he liked, but she wanted him… how she wanted him!

Getting off the bed, she threw off her clothes, tossing her dress, her bra, her pants, her stockings from her until she was naked.

Drunk, excited, she stood in the middle of the bedroom, her hands cupping her breasts, feeling the stabbing need for a man tormenting her. She imagined the scene in another few minutes. She had to be careful not to be too blatant… not to shock him. She would have on her chiffon wrap. When he came into the room, she would look at him… a long pause… then a smile. Then, when he had closed the. door, she would go to him. She was sure he would read from her smile the green light to go ahead and he would take her. She hoped he wouldn’t turn shy. It was possible he might be too scared of her to take what she was offering, but she thought that couldn’t be possible.

With her heart beating fast, she picked up the telephone receiver.

“Give me room 556, please.”

“Certainly madame… a moment, please.”

Helga grimaced. Of course the girl knew who she was speaking to. The slight flustered note in her voice told her that

There was a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m sorry, madame, there is no reply.”

No reply! Helga’s fingers tightened on the receiver. Surely he couldn’t be asleep already? She looked at the wall clock. It was 22.35.

“Try again!” she was immediately sorry for allowing her voice to sound so harsh.

“Yes, madame.” Again a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m very sorry, madame, but there is still no reply.”

Helga drew in a long, slow breath. Only with an effort, she kept control of her temper.

“Give me the reception desk!”

There was another infuriating delay, then the Reception Manager came on the line. During the wait, Helga guessed the girl had alerted him. When he answered, there was a bow in his voice.

“Madame Rolfe? Is there anything I can do?”

“I want to speak to my chauffeur.”

“Your chauffeur?” There was a slight lift in his voice of surprise. She thought bitterly, if she had asked to be connected to God he might have been less surprised. “Of course, madame… please, a moment.”

She sat on the bed, feeling the sensual warmth of her body evaporating.

“Madame?” The voice came back on the line.

“Well?” She knew the snap in her voice was unfortunate, but she couldn’t control it.

“Your chauffeur has gone out. He left an hour ago. Is there anything I can do?”

“He has gone out?” A mistake, Helga thought, but she couldn’t keep the words back.

“Did you want him, madame?” The bowing voice took on a worried note.

Do you want him? Helga’s body ached. How I want him!

“No… it isn’t important.” Slowly she replaced the receiver.

She got off the bed and walked to the window. She pulled aside the drapes and looked down at the busy street. The snow had stopped falling. The trams clanged and sparks flew from the overhead cables. People, in furs, walked carefully over the frozen snow. She let the drapes drop and went over to the bed and slipped on the chiffon wrap. She felt cold and now she wished she hadn’t drunk so much.

It was her own fault, she told herself. She hadn’t given him the slightest hint that she wanted him to come to her room. But where had he gone?

She dropped on to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Had he got this urge he had told her about… the urge that was now crucifying her? Had he gone out into the cold and the snow in search of some cheap little whore when she was here, in luxury and warmth, longing for him?

She lay there, her mind tormented, then after a while, she began to weep.