The Joker in the Pack

Chapter two

‘Would he die?’

Helga looked at her gold and platinum, diamond studded watch Herman had given her: one of his many wedding presents. The time was 23.58.

Through the open window she could hear the murmur of voices. The arc lights for the television cameras made a pattern on the ceiling. The news had leaked: the jackal press had arrived, but the hotel manager had sealed off the top floor and all telephone calls were being screened.

‘Would he die?’

This continual query hammered inside Helga’s head.

Hinkle had been marvellously efficient. He had come within seconds, taken in the scene: Rolfe on the floor, she backed against the far wall. He had gone immediately to Rolfe, knelt, his fat fingers finding the pulse.

‘Is he dead?’ Helga had asked.

A brief shake of the head, then Hinkle had picked up the thin body as if it were weightless and had disappeared into the bedroom. She had braced herself, going to the telephone, she had asked the hall porter to send a doctor immediately to Mr. Rolfe’s suite. The sharp intake of breath told her how startled the hall porter was. She had given him no time to ask questions. She had hung up.

Hinkle had appeared from the bedroom, unflustered, grave looking. She had told him she had called a doctor.

‘May I suggest you return to your apartment, madame?’ he said. ‘Could you call Dr. Levi?’

‘Is it a stroke?’

‘I fear so, madame. Mr. Winborn and Mr. Loman should be informed.’

She had returned to her suite and had spoken to Dr. Levi.

Back in Paradise City, Dr. Levi had just finished dinner and had guests, but he had said he would charter an air taxi and would be with her in two hours. Winborn had been at the theatre and she had left a message for him to call her. Loman, his voice quivering with shock, had said he would take the executive jet and would arrive sometime early tomorrow. He had asked anxiously if the press knew. She had said not to her knowledge. ‘This will shoot the market to hell,’ he had moaned. Impatiently, she had hung up.

She had returned to Rolfe’s suite. There had been a big coloured man wearing a peak cap, a gun on his hip, standing at the top of the stairs: another by the elevator. Both of them saluted her.

The manager of the hotel had been in the living room. He had said that the doctor who had been called was with Mr. Rolfe. He had murmured sympathy, obviously worried. Helga paid no attention.

When Rolfe had surprised her, she had slammed the red folder shut. It was still on the desk like a red warning light. She had put it back in the drawer.

A heavily-built, youngish coloured man, sweating profusely, had come from the bedroom. He had introduced himself as Dr. Bellamy. She had seen he was in awe of her, nervous and worried. He had said her husband had suffered a massive stroke, everything that could be done would be done and he had hurried to the telephone.

She had gone to the bedroom door but Hinkle had appeared and had blocked her view.

‘It would be better, madame, for you not to be here,’ he said gently. ‘Please rely on me.’

She had nodded.

‘Dr. Levi is coming.’ She had hesitated. ‘Is he suffering?’

‘No, madame.’

Listening, the manager had come to her.

‘Let me take you back to your suite, Mrs. Rolfe.’

As she had moved across the room, Hinkle had closed the bedroom door. She had paused, then going to the desk, she had taken out the red folder and accompanied by the manager, she had returned to her suite.

At the door, the manager had said, ‘I will see you are not disturbed. Mr. Rolfe’s man will take all telephone calls. You have had no dinner. May I suggest...?’

‘No, nothing and thank you.’

She had gone into her suite and had closed the door. It was then she had remembered her date with Harry Jackson and she felt a pang of frustrated disappointment. She had found there was a little vodka martini left in the shaker. She had drunk it, lit a cigarette and had sat down.

She had been sitting like that for the past two hours, nursing the red folder, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Would he die?

Dr. Levi had arrived. He had seen her for only a few minutes. Her husband, he told her, had had a massive stroke. As soon as he considered it safe, he would be removed to the hospital. It was unfortunate the news had been leaked. Now that the press had arrived, it would be wise for her to remain in her apartment. The hotel management understood the situation. Security precautions would remain in operation. Would she like a tranquillizer? He would have news for her later that night.

At 21.00 when she should have been meeting Harry Jackson, the telephone bell had startled her. The operator, speaking in a hushed voice, asked her if she wanted to speak to Mr. Stanley Winborn.

Winborn had been alerted during the first act of the play. He had immediately returned home. She had told him what Dr. Levi had said.

‘I have contacted Loman.’ Winborn’s voice was cold. ‘We will be with you as soon as possible.’

The gathering of the vultures, she thought.

The hotel manager had arrived, carrying a plate of tiny sandwiches and a cocktail shaker on a tray.

‘You need strength, Mrs. Rolfe,’ he had said, putting down the tray. ‘Please eat something,’ and he had left.

She found she was ravenous and was irritated that the sandwiches were so small, but after drinking three vodka martinis and eating all the sandwiches, she was relaxed enough to open the red folder and to re-read Rolfe’s letter to Winborn.

Would he die? she asked herself as she returned the letter to the folder. If he did, her problems would be solved. Only Hinkle knew of the letter to Winborn. Hinkle? She thought about him. Could she rely on him to keep silent? Her mind went to Archer who had been the last person she imagined could or would turn to blackmail... yet he had. Hinkle? But it would be his word against hers and if she destroyed the letter surely that would be that. Winborn, of course, would believe Hinkle if Hinkle told him about the letter, but there would be nothing Winborn could do about it. He had Herman’s original will. He would have to act on it. Sixty million dollars... but only if Herman died! Would he die? She beat her clenched fists together. What if he didn’t die? He had seen the hatred in her eyes. The realization of her contempt and hatred of him had produced this stroke. She was sure of that. So if he recovered he would condemn her to the life of a nun. He could even make life so impossible she would have no alternative — as his daughter had had no alternative — but to leave him.

She looked around the big, luxurious room. She thought of many other similar rooms in similar hotels. She thought of the magnificent villa on its private island off Paradise City, the villa in Castagnola, the gracious penthouse in New York. She thought of the bows, the salutes, the smiles from head waiters, hall porters and even police: all attentive to her slightest whim. All that would go. She would have to begin life again and at forty-three, she shrank from the prospect. Not that she couldn’t earn a good living. She had saved some money, she had something like three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of personal jewellery. Daunting though it was to contemplate returning to the life of cutthroat business, it wasn’t that that made her flinch. It was the realization that she would no longer be pampered, fawned over Mrs. Herman Rolfe, the wife of one of the richest and most powerful men in the world.

But if he died!

She would have complete freedom and sixty million dollars! With her flair, her training in law and her drive she might even become as powerful as Rolfe. There were many opportunities when you had a capital of sixty million dollars!

If he died!

She looked at the red folder. Should she destroy the letter? Not yet, she told herself. If he recovered, she would have to return the folder to his desk, but if he died, then she wouldn’t hesitate to destroy it.

She looked around the room for a safe hiding place, then going to the closet, she took from it one of her suitcases which was now empty. She put the folder in the suitcase and put the suitcase under another empty suitcase. It would be safe there.

The time now was 23.40. How much longer would she have to wait? She began to pace up and down the big room, keeping away from the open window. She didn’t want any of the waiting reporters to spot her. She was still pacing and thinking half an hour later when Dr. Levi tapped on the door.

‘How is he?’

‘It is too early yet to say,’ Levi shut the door. ‘I am sorry, Mrs. Rolfe, but it is serious. It depends on what happens during the next two or three days. Everything is being done. If there is progress after tomorrow, there is hope. I will remain here. Dr. Bellamy is most competent. You must be patient, Mrs. Rolfe. You will be kept informed.’

‘Two or three days?’

‘It is possible that by tomorrow we will know.’

‘I must be told!’ she said. ‘Serious? What does that mean?’

Dr. Levi took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Without looking at her, he said, ‘Complete paralysis of the right arm, certainly brain damage and possibly the loss of speech.’ He then replaced his glasses, but still didn’t look at her.

Helga felt a cold chill run through her. This was something she wouldn’t wish on anyone, even Herman.

‘But he has already almost lost the use of his legs,’ she said, half to herself.

Dr. Levi said gently, ‘It is a tragic thing, but I did warn him.’

‘You mean he won’t be able to speak again?’

‘That remains to be seen. I fear not. I suggest you rest now, Mrs. Rolfe. There is nothing you can do. I have here something to make you sleep.’

‘It would be kinder if he died,’ she said and shivered. ‘No legs, no speech, no right hand.’

Dr. Levi put a capsule on the table.

‘Please take this, Mrs. Rolfe, and go to bed.’

When he had gone, she sat down, ignoring the capsule. As she sat there, her fists clenched in her lap, she willed him to die, not now for her sake, but for his.

Stanley Winborn told Helga that at the last moment it had been decided that Loman, as vice president of the Rolfe Electronic Corporation, would serve a more useful purpose by remaining in New York. Now that the news had leaked, the shares of the Corporation would come under pressure. That was inevitable, but it meant little: you had only to sneeze these days for the Dow Jones index to slide, but Loman should remain at the helm: Winborn used phrases like that.

He had arrived at the Diamond Beach hotel at 11.15. Looking through the slots of the sun blinds, keeping out of sight, Helga watched him get out of the Silver Shadow, pause to talk to the reporters who had been there now for the past fourteen hours.

Although she hated him, she had to admit that Stanley Winborn was a distinguished, handsome looking man with the touch of the elder statesman about him. He was tall and thin with thick dark hair with white wings, a cool aloof expression, always immaculately dressed and a razor sharp legal brain. He treated everyone, including Helga, with cold distant politeness. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile, let alone laugh.

Having spent a few minutes with the reporters, allowing photographers to set off their flash lights, he disappeared into the hotel.

It was almost an hour before he came to her suite. No doubt, she thought, he had been consulting Dr. Levi. Winborn always obtained facts and information before he moved into action. While she waited, she glanced at the newspapers. The majority of them carried banner headlines:

She thought of the avalanche of inquiries, condolences, telegrams, cables and letters this line of print would cause. She hoped they would be directed to the New York office and not here.

‘A sorry affair,’ Winborn said as he entered the suite and he murmured sympathy which irritated Helga. ‘It appears to be serious.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Rolfe?’ The steel grey eyes ran over her. ‘I am, of course at your disposal.’

‘There is nothing, thank you.’

A pause, then Winborn said, ‘Mr. Rolfe has just concluded an important contract with the Japanese government. He was about to send me the draft contract when this dreadful thing happened. The matter is urgent. Would you know where the draft is?’

Without thinking, Helga said, ‘Hinkle will know.’

As soon as she had said this, she realized the danger. If Winborn got talking to Hinkle about Herman’s papers, there was a possibility that Hinkle might mention the damning letter, but she need not have worried.

Winborn lifted an eyebrow.

‘I would prefer not to discuss Mr. Rolfe’s affairs with a servant,’ he said.

You goddamn snob! Helga thought, but thank God you are a snob!

‘May I trouble you to come with me, Mrs. Rolfe,’ Winborn went on, ‘so that we can go through his papers? This draft needs my immediate attention.’

Another escape! If she hadn’t had the foresight to remove the red folder, Winborn would have pounced on it.

‘Yes, of course.’

They went into Rolfe’s suite. The two uniformed guards were still at the head of the stairs and by the elevator. They saluted and Winborn, who loved recognition, inclined his head. The door was opened by a fat, kindly-faced nurse who let them in.

‘Please be as quiet as you can,’ she said softly and returned to the bedroom, shutting the door.

Winborn stood by her side as Helga went through the contents of the drawers. The folder containing the Japanese contract was quickly found. Another folder lay beneath it with Swiss Portfolio printed on it.

‘That reminds me,’ Winborn said, his voice low. ‘Loman tells me there is a two million loss on the Swiss account. Mr. Rolfe told him the loss was due to reckless speculation.’

She steadied her jumping nerves. At least Rolfe hadn’t told the truth. Neither Loman nor Winborn knew of Archer’s embezzlement.

She looked up.

‘The Swiss portfolio is my affair, Mr. Winborn. I am aware what has been lost. I have already discussed this with my husband. This is my problem... not yours.’

A slight tightening of his lips, but nothing more. He inclined his head.

‘Then I will leave you, Mrs. Rolfe.’

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Not immediately. Dr. Levi thinks that if there is any sign of improvement, Mr. Rolfe should be moved back to Paradise City where he can receive even better attention than here. A decision may be made in a couple of days. I must fly back to Miami this evening. I can, of course, rely on you to keep me informed. Then you will excuse me?.. I have a number of telephone calls to make. I am in suite 14 should you want me.’ He began to move to the door, then paused. ‘As Mr. Rolfe’s executor and legal adviser I think I should know if you are continuing to follow Mr. Archer’s advice. Two million dollars is a heavy loss.’

She looked directly at him.

‘You have no need as yet to act as an executor, Mr. Winborn, and I trust it will be many years to come before you have to,’ she said quietly.

Again the tightening of the lips, then he said, ‘I hope so too, Mrs. Rolfe. Please excuse me,’ and he left the room.

Helga relaxed back in the chair, drawing in a long, deep breath. She had acquitted herself well, she thought. If the letter had been found, this dangerous man would have unsheathed his claws.

Returning to her suite, she found Hinkle waiting. He looked tired and his usual benign expression was less in evidence.

‘How are you, madame?’ he asked, coming forward.

‘All right. And you, Hinkle?’

‘It has been an anxious night, but now Mr. Rolfe appears less poorly, madame. We must not give up hope.’

‘Did Dr. Levi tell you... paralysis?’

‘Yes, madame. Quite shocking, but we mustn’t dwell on it. May I suggest lunch on the terrace? The press people have gone. You won’t be disturbed and the sun is good for you.’

‘All right. Oddly enough, Hinkle, I feel hungry.’

‘It is the strain, madame. It is understandable.’

Dear, kind Hinkle, she thought. If Herman died, she did hope Hinkle would stay with her.

‘I suggest a little quail pate, madame, then a steak au poivre en chemise. I will supervise the chef.’ Hinkle’s face darkened. ‘He has little talent. Then a champagne sorbet. The wine here, I fear, is not to be trusted, but the Bollinger is acceptable.’

‘It sounds wonderful, Hinkle.’

He turned to the table where a shaker and a glass stood on a silver tray. He poured a drink.

She studied his movements, looked searchingly at his fat, pink and white face. No, she thought, no blackmailer. No, this time I can be sure.

‘You think of everything, Hinkle,’ she said as he handed the glass to her.

‘I like to think I do, madame.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘At the moment I am unable to help Mr. Rolfe. Regrettably he is out of my hands. I would be happy if you would call on my services, madame. It would give me considerable pleasure.’

‘Thank you, Hinkle. I will.’ Her quick active brain saw her chance. She must get Hinkle firmly on her side. ‘Mr. Winborn asked for some papers to do with a deal. I told him you were familiar with Mr. Rolfe’s affairs but Mr. Winborn...’ She stopped, seeing a faint blush come to Hinkle’s face. Looking away, she said, ‘Mr. Winborn is a snob.’

She then looked at Hinkle and their eyes met.

‘So I believe, madame,’ he said, gave a little bow and moved to the door. ‘Then lunch in half an hour.’

When he had gone, she went out on to the terrace and surveyed the beach, the crowds and the traffic.

‘I think Hinkle is mine,’ she said to herself.

After lunch, Dr. Levi came to see her. He told her the haemorrhage in the brain hadn’t increased. This was an encouraging sign. He took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. But the hemiplegia was severe. However, in time some sort of recovery was possible.

‘Two or three months could see a marked change,’ he went on. ‘I have asked Professor Bernstein to make himself available. He is the best man in Europe. The condition of Mr. Rolfe’s heart, however, is not satisfactory so I don’t want to raise hopes. All the same, under the intensive care treatment he is receiving, I am satisfied that he should be able to be moved within three days. Unfortunately I am unable to remain here any longer and I am anxious to get him to our hospital, but Dr. Bellamy is most competent and you can have complete confidence in him.’

Helga’s mind worked swiftly.

‘A marked change? What does that mean?’

‘If his heart continues to withstand the shock he has had, I feel confident that he will regain his speech and the paralysis that has attacked his right side will be less severe.’

‘Two or three months?’

‘It could take longer but certainly not less.’

‘You mean that for two or three months he will be unable to speak?’

‘It is most unlikely: mumbling, of course, but nothing that could be understood. I mention this because Mr. Winborn is most anxious to consult him. I have warned Mr. Winborn not to attempt to persuade Mr. Rolfe to make any effort.’

Two or three months if his heart held out, Helga thought.

‘Could I see him?’ she asked, not wanting to but knowing it was the right thing to say.

‘Unwise, Mrs. Rolfe. There is no need to distress yourself unnecessarily.’ Dr. Levi replaced his glasses. ‘You have no need to worry. Dr. Bellamy will be in constant touch with me. I will make a decision by Friday whether he can be moved or not.’ He regarded her. ‘Now, Mrs. Rolfe, you must not sit around in this room. You must get out and enjoy the beach and the sunshine.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t want another important patient on my hands: one is quite enough. So attempt to enjoy yourself. Mr. Rolfe is not going to die.’ He paused, realizing he was committing himself. ‘Let me say he will certainly survive for a number of days and I have every hope to say he will live at least to the end of the year. What I am trying to say is you may leave the hotel, try to live normally knowing Mr. Rolfe is in expert hands.’

‘You are most understanding and kind,’ Helga said.

When he had gone, she went out on to the terrace, feeling the hot sun like a sensual caress.

If a heart attack doesn’t kill him, she thought, then in two or three months’ time he would tell Winborn about his letter.

Well, a lot could happen in two or three months. She still had control of the Swiss portfolio: the stocks and bonds amounted to some fifteen million dollars. This was something she had to think about. She did her best thinking at night. So tonight, in bed, she would review her future. At the moment, it seemed to her she was holding trump cards: Herman unable to speak for say two months, the damning letter in her possession and the control of fifteen million dollars: all trump cards.

She went into her bedroom and changed into a bikini. She put on her beach wrap, then called the Hall porter.

‘A beach buggy, please.’

‘Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe: three minutes.’

If ever Herman regained his speech, this V.I.P. treatment would abruptly end. If she had asked for a sixty ton motor yacht there would have been no problem, but the magic key was trembling in balance.

When she left her suite she noticed the two security guards had gone. This gave her a feeling of relief. Until Herman died, he and she were no longer news.

She drove on to the beach, waving to the saluting policeman who had stopped the traffic for her, then she headed away from the crowd towards the deserted, distant dunes.

As she drove by the row of huts, she remembered Harry Jackson. Up to this moment he had gone completely out of her mind, but seeing the huts, remembering he had told her he had rented one of them, made her think of him with regret.

The morning’s newspapers had carried photographs of her. By now Harry Jackson would know she was Mrs. Herman Rolfe. He was no longer safe to have an affair with. In spite of his frank, friendly face, she knew now she could take no risks and also there could now be no affairs in Nassau. She remembered she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder. No one was following her. The empty beach stretched behind her, but that didn’t mean someone with powerful field glasses wasn’t keeping track of her. She felt a little spurt of fury. It was only in Europe that she really could be safe. Certainly not in Paradise City: that was the last place in which to misbehave.

She must find some excuse for a quick return to Switzerland as soon as she could. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

Leaving the beach buggy in the shade of a palm tree, she ran into the sea and swam vigorously, then turning on her back, she floated, letting the gentle swell rock her until, feeling the bite of the sun, she walked across the sand and sat down in the shade of the palm.

‘Hi!’ Harry Jackson, smiling, sun goggles in hand, wearing only swim trunks, came across the sand and joined her. ‘Do you always stand up your dates?’

She looked up at him, her eyes taking in the tanned muscular body and fierce desire stabbed through her like the cruel thrust of a knife. She was glad she had put on her sun goggles for she was sure he would have seen the naked desire in her eyes.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’

‘I was kidding.’ Jackson dropped down by her side, stretched out his long legs and rested himself on his elbows. ‘I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. Rolfe.’

Another escape, she thought. If I had gone out with this man last night we would have been lovers by now and that would have been very dangerous, he knowing who I am.

‘You have been reading the newspapers?’ she said, staring across the beach wondering if anyone was watching.

‘Sure. I keep up-to-date.’ He smiled at her. ‘The most beautiful woman in the millionaire stakes: that’s how they described you and I guess they’re right.’

‘There are other more beautiful women. Liz Taylor...’

‘I haven’t met her so I wouldn’t know.’ Jackson dug up a handful of dry sand and let it run through his fingers. ‘How is your husband, Mrs. Rolfe? From the papers, he sounds real bad.’

She was certainly not going to discuss Herman’s health with a kitchen equipment salesman.

‘Are you enjoying your vacation, Mr. Jackson?’ she asked. When the need arose she could put steel into her voice. She did so now.

‘Excuse me, but I’m not just being curious. It’s important to me to know.’

She looked swiftly at him. He was staring out to sea, relaxed, smiling: a good looking specimen of male flesh.

‘Why should it be important to you?’

‘A good question. You see, Mrs. Rolfe, I have a problem.’

Instinctively a red light began to flash in her mind.

‘Should I be interested in your problems, Mr. Jackson?’

‘Problem... not problems.’ He dug more sand and allowed it to trickle between his fingers. ‘I don’t know. I’m wondering... you could be...’

‘I don’t think so. I have many problems of my own.’ She abruptly stood up. ‘Have a happy vacation. I must get back to my hotel.’

He looked up at her. The smile was a shade less friendly.

‘Sure. I was just trying to decide whether to talk to you about my problem or to Mr. Stanley Winborn.’

She felt a little jolt that set her heart racing, but she was tough enough to keep her face expressionless. She reached for her wrap and put it on.

‘Do you know Mr. Winborn?’ she asked.

‘I don’t, and between you and me, Mrs. Rolfe, I’m not crazy to get to know him. He looks a pretty tough character. He doesn’t look a helpful guy. Would you say that’s right?’ He smiled at her.

‘I don’t understand what you are talking about,’ she said curtly. ‘Well, I must be going.’

‘Please yourself, Mrs. Rolfe. I can’t stop you. I just thought you could be more helpful about my problem than Mr. Winborn, but if you’re in a hurry, then I guess I’ll have to take my chance with your attorney... that’s who he is, isn’t he?’

Helga leaned against the fender of the beach buggy. She opened her bag, took out her gold cigarette case, took out a cigarette and lit it.

‘Go ahead, Mr. Jackson: tell me about your problem.’

Jackson smiled up at her.

‘You haven’t only beauty, Mrs. Rolfe, you have brains: a very rare combination.’

She waited while he dug more sand.

‘A couple of days ago, Mrs. Rolfe, your husband telephoned me and hired me to put you under surveillance,’ Jackson said.

This time Helga couldn’t quite conceal the shock. She dropped her cigarette, but she quickly recovered. With steady hands, aware Jackson was watching her admiringly, she found and lit another cigarette.

‘Are you telling me you are the peeping Tom my husband hired?’

‘Well, I’m called an inquiry agent,’ Jackson said and chuckled. ‘Peeping Tom is all right though: not a bad description.’

‘I was under the impression you were a kitchen equipment salesman,’ Helga said contemptuously, ‘a considerable cut above a spy.’

Jackson laughed.

‘You have a point there. Actually I was a kitchen equipment salesman but it was rough going. Agency work pays a lot better.’

‘Spying on people doesn’t bother you?’ Helga asked, flicking ash on the sand.

‘No more than you cheating your husband, Mrs. Rolfe,’ Jackson returned, smiling at her. ‘It’s a job, although cheating isn’t.’

She decided she was wasting time. This man, with his deceptively friendly smile, had the skin of an alligator.

‘What is your problem, Mr. Jackson?’

‘Yeah... my problem. When Mr. Rolfe telephoned me I was pretty shaken. I am associated with Lawson’s, the New York inquiry agency, and they recommended Mr. Rolfe to call me. You know, Mrs. Rolfe, big names awe me. I don’t know why it is, but they do. Maybe, I’m a hick... could be the answer. Anyway, when Mr. Rolfe dropped this assignment into my lap I kind of flipped my lid. All I could say was “Yes, Mr. Rolfe... sure Mr. Rolfe... you can rely on me, Mr. Rolfe.” You know... like a hick.’ He shook his head frowning. ‘Well, he so flustered me with his grand manner, his curt voice — looking at me, Mrs. Rolfe, do you believe I could get flustered? That was what Mr. Rolfe did... he flustered me.’ He began to dig more sand. ‘Anyway, I accepted the assignment, but there was no talk about a retainer or a fee... are you getting the drift now, Mrs. Rolfe? I decided that I hadn’t a thing to worry about. All I had to do was to put a tail on you and after a week, shoot in an account for daily expenses along with my report. I told myself when dealing with a man of Mr. Rolfe’s stature you don’t ask for spot cash.’

Helga said nothing. She dropped the stub of her cigarette in the sand, aware of fury rising in her.

‘Well, now Mr. Rolfe is laid low,’ Jackson continued. ‘You see my problem? From what I read, he is to be carted off before long to Paradise City. Now I have a living to make. I have hired a couple of guys to watch you and they have to be paid.’ He smiled at her. ‘I run the office, you understand. I don’t do the leg work. Now these guys cost. I should have asked Mr. Rolfe for a retainer, but as I explained I was flustered. So there it is. I’ve got two guys to pay and Mr. Rolfe ill. See my problem?’

Still Helga said nothing. This time her silence seemed to irritate Jackson. He shifted restlessly and dug more sand more violently.

‘I’ve been trying to make up my mind whether to ask you for the retainer or Mr. Winborn,’ he said after a long pause.

Helga flicked more ash and waited.

‘Am I getting to you, Mrs. Rolfe?’ His voice hardened and the smile had gone.

‘Let us say, Mr. Jackson, that I am listening,’ Helga said quietly.

‘Yeah... beauty, brains and toughness. That’s fine with me, Mrs. Rolfe. Let me lay it on the line: ten thousand dollars, I call off my watchdogs, you can have fun and when Mr. Rolfe is well again, I send him a negative report. Fair enough?’

Helga regarded him, her eyes glittering.

‘I suggest you contact Mr. Winborn and ask him for your money. Mr. Winborn doesn’t leave for New York until this evening so you will have time. And there is one thing you should know about me which you seemed to have missed. To me blackmail is a four letter word and a blackmailer is a four letter man.’

As she got into the beach buggy, Jackson laughed.

‘Well, it was a try, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘No harm in trying.’

Without looking at him, Helga drove fast back to the hotel.

‘There are a number of telegrams which I have sent to your suite, Mrs. Rolfe,’ the Hall porter said as he handed Helga her key. ‘Mr. Winborn has been inquiring. He wishes to see you before he leaves.’

‘Tell him, please, that I have returned and I will see him in half an hour,’ Helga said.

The elevator was waiting as she walked quickly across the lobby, aware the chatter of voices had hushed and people were looking at her from the corners of their eyes.

Unlocking the door to her suite, she entered, glanced at the two piles of telegrams and cables on the table, grimaced and went into her bedroom. The avalanche had begun.

She took a shower, put on a blue linen dress, arranged her hair, looked at herself thoughtfully in the mirror and her lips twisted into a hard little smile.

Moving out on to the terrace, she sat in the shade of a sun umbrella, crossing her long, beautiful legs, and forced herself to relax.

In the future she must be much more careful about picking up strange men, she thought. This Jackson business could have ended in a disaster. She lit a cigarette. She must control herself until she was once again in Europe.

Jackson!

He had certainly fooled her with his frank, friendly smile. Harmless! As harmless as a black mamba! She had handled him well, she thought, and was pleased with herself. No harm trying. The fool! He had nothing in writing from Herman: just a telephone call. It showed what a fool he was even to have thought he could get ten thousand dollars from her with such an empty threat. She was sure he wouldn’t dare approach Winborn. Even he had said Winborn looked a hard character. Although Winborn, out of spite, might believe him, he would certainly give him no money. He would dismiss him with a flick of his fingers. The situation, at the time unpleasant, was now taken care of. Mr. Jackson could turn his attention to spying elsewhere. She was glad that he would be out of pocket.

But she really must control her feelings. This was the second time she had narrowly escaped being blackmailed. If only handsome, muscular men didn’t react on her the way a drink reacted to an alcoholic: this was something she must fight, knowing she had told herself this over and over again.

At least she felt confident now that Jackson knew he wasn’t going to get any money he would call off his spies, but she mustn’t take any chances. She must return to Switzerland: there were safe opportunities.

Winborn arrived at 17.45.

‘The situation,’ he began, once he had settled himself, ‘is a little complicated. May I ask if you have a power of attorney on your husband’s banking account?’

She shook her head.

‘Nor have I nor Loman.’

‘This unexpected happening ties up Mr. Rolfe’s personal account. There will be considerable expenses. How are you off for money, Mrs. Rolfe?’

‘I have my own account but it is running low. I have access to the Swiss account. Dividends are continually coming in. I can transfer money from Switzerland to my account.’

Winborn lifted his eyebrows.

‘With the regulations as they are, Mrs. Rolfe, I suggest that would be most unwise.’

She hadn’t considered this and she was annoyed at her sloppy thinking.

‘Yes, stupid of me.’ She saw her opening. ‘I could get to Lausanne and get traveller’s cheques.’

He nodded.

‘That would be the wisest thing to do. The Corporation will take care of Mr. Rolfe.’ He looked at her. ‘And you too, of course.’

‘I prefer to have my own money,’ Helga said curtly. ‘When Herman is safely back home and out of danger, I will take a quick trip.’

Winborn turned a heavy gold signet ring on his little finger as he said, ‘Dr. Levi appears to be more optimistic, but these next days will be anxious ones. Have you any idea how I can get in touch with his daughter, Sheila?’

Startled, Helga looked at him.

‘None at all: I have never met her. Have you?’

‘Yes, indeed: a remarkable young woman... one might even say extraordinary.’

‘Oh? In what way?’ Helga was suddenly curious, knowing that this girl would inherit a million dollars.

Winborn continued to fidget with his ring.

‘She took a first in History at Oxford. I understand she was the youngest ever to graduate. She took a brilliant degree in economics later. Both your husband and I expected her to do great things and there was an important position waiting for her in the corporation.’ He lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug. ‘Unfortunately, she became involved in these tiresome anti-movements that seem to be the disease of the young. Your husband always kept her well supplied with money and she used this money to further the cause of minority groups until she was finally arrested with others involved in gun smuggling. It cost a lot of money and trouble to keep her out of prison. Your husband and she quarrelled over this. He warned her that if she didn’t conform to his plans for her he would cut her off. It was not the way to handle her. She walked out and I’ve heard nothing of her since.’

‘Good for her,’ Helga said and meant it.

‘Yes... she has a lot of character, like her father. It does occur to me at this distressing time, Sheila who was and I hope still is fond of her father, might want to see him and he her. That’s why I am asking if you knew where she was.’

‘I don’t, but the news of his stroke must reach her. Every newspaper in the world will report it.’

‘Yes. Well, we must wait and see.’ He paused, then went on, ‘I have a little puzzle you might help me to solve, Mrs. Rolfe. Nurse Fairely tells me that your husband is apparently trying to convey a message to her.’

Helga stiffened.

‘Oh?’

‘Nurse Fairely has considerable experience with patients suffering a stroke. She is used to their inarticulate sounds. She believes your husband is repeating continually the odd phrases: “Sin on. Better law,” and she tells me he points to the bedroom door. These words convey nothing to me. Do they to you?’

Helga relaxed.

‘Sin on. Better law?’ She frowned. ‘How odd. No, they mean nothing to me.’

‘Well, perhaps Nurse Fairely will be able to enlighten us later.’ Winborn glanced at his watch. ‘I must go, Mrs. Rolfe.’

He spent a few more minutes assuring her the corporation was in excellent hands, that she had only to telephone him if she were in need of assistance and that Dr. Levi had promised to keep in touch with him. All this was said in a cold, polite voice while he stood, gazing down at her with his steely grey eyes.

When he had gone, Hinkle appeared with a shaker and a glass on a tray.

‘I trust you had a pleasant swim, madame,’ he said as he poured the drink.

‘Yes, thank you, Hinkle.’ She took the glass. ‘Mr. Winborn has gone.’

A slight frown appeared on Hinkle’s face, but it immediately disappeared.

‘So I observed, madame.’

‘He was asking if I knew where Sheila could be found. He thought she should be told. You wouldn’t know by any chance?’

Hinkle inclined his head.

‘Yes, I know, madame, Miss Sheila writes to me from time to time. She and I, I am happy to say, have never lost contact. Miss Sheila is good enough, so she tells me, to be fond of me.’

Helga smiled at him.

‘That I can understand. Where is she?’

‘In Paris, madame. Excuse me if I don’t give you the address. She gave it to me in confidence.’

‘Of course. Do you think she would want to see her father?’

‘I trust so, madame. I have already written to her, explaining Mr. Rolfe’s condition. It is for her to decide. I would like to think she will come, but there could be financial difficulties. Miss Sheila appears to be living rough.’ Hinkle looked disapproving. ‘That, I believe, is the phrase. She may not be able to raise the money for the fare.’

‘I could send her the money.’

Hinkle shook his head.

‘I feel that would be unwise. If I may suggest, madame, it is better to wait and see if she replies to my letter. If she does and needs money, may I approach you?’

‘Of course.’

He nodded, his face showing relief and satisfaction.

‘Will you be dining in, madame?’

She thought of the long lonely hours ahead of her, but why go out and risk male temptation? It would be much safer to eat a solitary meal on the terrace and then go to bed with a book.

‘Yes. I feel like an early night.’

‘Then I suggest something light: perhaps an omelette with truffles and a little lobster meat. I will cook it myself.’

‘I’m dying to have one of your omelettes again, Hinkle.’

She couldn’t have said anything nicer to him. When he had gone, she thought of Sheila who didn’t know she was going to inherit a million dollars. Suddenly Helga frowned. The girl wouldn’t get her money if Herman died speechless, unless his letter reached Winborn, and if it reached Winborn, she (Helga) would be condemned to the life of a nun. For some minutes, she considered this, then she decided that she herself could give the girl the money once she inherited the sixty million dollars... no problem.

Her mind switched to what Winborn had said. What could this odd message mean that Herman was trying to convey to the nurse?

Sin on. Better law.

She repeated it several times aloud, then she started to her feet.

Of course!

He was trying to say: Winborn. Letter. Drawer. He had pointed not to the bedroom door as the nurse had thought, but to the living room!

She must give the red folder to the manager to keep in the hotel safe. She should have done this before.

Putting down her drink, she went into her bedroom, opened the closet and took out the suitcase. She lifted the lid.

She stood motionless, staring into the empty suitcase, her heart racing.

The red folder had gone!