The Joker in the Pack

Chapter six

Helga pushed the market cart down the aisle stacked with canned food. It was years since she had done this and she realized what she had been missing. Before she married Herman, she had always had a sandwich desk lunch and gone out in the evenings.

She watched women putting cans into their carts, staring at the prices, rejecting one can, taking another. This was another world to her: not the magic world in which Herman Rolfe lived, but a more exciting world of ‘Can I afford this! Should I splash out on that?’ Lulled by Herman’s money, this was a world she had forgotten.

She had a compulsive urge to buy. There were so many cans on the shelves with attractive labels that tempted her: red beans, chilli con carne, lobster tails, ravioli. Then there were packets of various soups, ham ready cut and so on.

She was like a first ever tourist gaping at the wonders of Rome. She kept filling her cart, happier than she could remember and when she reached the meat and poultry counter, she took a T-bone steak and was reaching for a chicken when she realized she had no idea how to cook them nor did Dick. So she reluctantly put them back and moved to the counter that displayed the ‘Heat and eat’ foods.

She bought more than she wanted, but it was fun and she had plenty of money. She bought four bottles of Vodka and three martini, a pack of beer and whisky.

She loved standing in a queue, waiting for the goods to be checked. She felt in touch with people for the first time in years. Finally, she wheeled the cart to the Mini and loaded her purchases on the back seat.

Returning to the hotel, she asked the Hall porter to have her clothes packed.

‘I will be in tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘I won’t be in tonight.’

‘Certainly, madame. There is a cable just come in for your man, Hinkle.’

‘Give it to me. I will be speaking to him.’

In her suite, she read the cable. The message was brief and from Paris.

The cards were still falling her way, Helga thought. She had been worrying about Herman’s daughter. To have her here would have been embarrassing, but she was a little shocked at the girl’s callousness.

She put the cable in an envelope and addressed it to Hinkle at the Paradise City villa, then she packed an overnight bag, not forgetting two bikini swim suits, a beach wrap and sandals. She then called down to the Hall porter to send someone to take the bag to the car and ten minutes later she was driving to the Blue Heron villa.

Putting the Mini into the four car garage, she unlocked the front door and entered the big living room. She looked around. Mr. Mason, the estate agent, had paid tribute to her wealth. Roses, carnations and orchids were tastefully arranged in various vases. His card, on which was written: Have a pleasant stay, lay on one of the tables.

Nice man! she thought and going over to the french windows, she threw them open and wandered out on to the terrace.

This was just what she had hoped for, she thought. She made a tour of the villa, carried her suitcase up to the bedroom and put on a bikini. The time was now 17.36. There was time for a swim, then she would unpack the groceries, make herself a drink, turn on the Hi-fi set and spend the rest of the evening dreaming of tomorrow.

She delighted in having all this wonderful beach entirely to herself. As she returned from her swim, she heard the telephone bell ringing. She ran into the living room and picked up the receiver.

‘I hope I don’t disturb you, Mrs. Rolfe.’ She recognized Dr. Levi’s voice.

‘No, of course not. How is my husband?’

‘His condition is the same. It is most puzzling. I can assure you that he is in no danger, but until he comes out of this strange coma, Dr. Bernstein is unable to commence his tests.’

‘And when will that be?’ Helga asked impatiently.

‘We don’t know... any moment or much longer. I thought I should tell you we are satisfied that you have nothing to worry about. We must just wait.’ A pause, then he went on. ‘Dr. Bernstein has a very busy practice and he is returning to Berlin tomorrow. I am afraid I just can’t remain here with so many other patients needing my services. I will be returning to Paradise City tomorrow. Dr. Bellamy will alert us when Mr. Rolfe comes out of this coma.’ Another pause. ‘Needless to say both Dr. Bernstein and I have complete confidence in Dr. Bellamy.’

‘Oh, very well. If there is a change, please tell Dr. Bellamy to call me.’

‘That will be done of course, Mrs. Rolfe.’

She replaced the receiver, shrugging. For some minutes she thought of her husband, then with a grimace, she put him out of her mind and going to the garage she carried in the groceries and the drink, making two trips, but enjoying it.

Mr. Mason had turned on the refrigerator so there was ice. She made herself a large vodka-martini and drank it while putting the groceries away.

For the first time in years she would now prepare her own dinner. She looked through the various ‘Heat and eat’ packs she had bought and decided on the goulash pack. She read the directions and put on a saucepan of water. Then she found a pack of dehydrated potatoes. Again she read the directions which seemed simple enough and finding another saucepan she half-filled it with water and put that on the second burner.

By the time the goulash and the potatoes were ready, she had drunk another vodka-martini and was feeling a little high. The potatoes were too sloppy, but the goulash smelt good. She served both from the saucepans on to a plate, then realized she hadn’t set the table. By the time she found the cutlery and a serviette, salt and pepper, the food was cold, but it wasn’t bad, she told herself. Not what she was used to and she giggled at the thought of Hinkle’s horrified expression if he had walked in at this moment.

‘Well, at least I won’t starve,’ she said aloud. ‘This is fun!’

Leaving the debris of the meal in the sink for Dick to clear up when he arrived the following morning, she made herself another vodka-martini and went into the living room.

She turned on the Hi-fi set and found a station broadcasting strident jazz with heavy drum effects.

Sitting in a lounging chair she watched the sun dip into the sea and she stayed there until the moonlight turned the sea to silver. She was more relaxed than she had been for a long time.

Tomorrow, she thought. My first night in Nassau when I won’t be alone. She thought of Dick and her heartbeat quickened.

No boy of his age could resist the urge of sex. He might not want her, but she had experience enough to know how to arouse him. It would be over quickly: the young with their excitement and lack of control were like that, but after he had rested, the second time would be good.

Soon after 22.00, she turned off the radio, turned off the lights in the living room, locked the french windows and went up to the bedroom. She undressed, showered and putting on a shortie nightdress, she got into the kings sized bed. She had a view to the sea, lit by the moon. The night was hot, still and utterly quiet.

A love nest!

Her hands moved over her breasts and she smiled.

Tomorrow!

Helga woke with a start, frowned at the bedside clock, saw it was 07.20. For a moment or so she couldn’t remember where she was, then looking around the big, luxury bedroom, she remembered. She wondered what the owner of this love nest looked like: what his lady friend had looked like. There was a motor accident and the lady died. Helga grimaced. Some people were unlucky. Poor man! Poor girl! She remembered her father’s cliché: ‘It’s an ill wind.’

She took a quick shower, put on a white pyjama suit and went down to the kitchen. She longed for a good cup of coffee, but coffee making proved difficult. She found an elaborate machine with tubes which she didn’t understand. There was a vessel into which she put coffee. When the water began to boil, the goddamn thing exploded, scattering coffee grounds over the wall and the built-in cupboards.

She glared at the machine in frustrated fury. She was going to have coffee! She banged a saucepan of water on the burner and when the water began to boil, she ladled in two big spoonfuls of coffee. The sonofabitch promptly boiled over, messing up the whole stove.

She turned off the gas and surveyed the scene helplessly. What with last night’s meal clogging the saucepans, the stains on the cupboards and the mess over the stove, she gave up. She hoped to God Dick could make coffee.

Going to the refrigerator, she broke out ice and made herself a stiff vodka-martini and immediately regained her spirits. Changing into a bikini she had a swim. As she swam, she told herself she would have to find some woman to do the laundry. Mr. Mason would be helpful.

She got back to the villa a few minutes before 08.30. In a few minutes Dick would appear. She hurriedly changed back to her pyjama suit, then turning on the radio to pop music, she flopped into a chair.

The early drink had made her light headed and she longed for a cup of coffee. She thought of Hinkle, now so far away: his tap on her door and perfect coffee served.

Another of her father’s clichés came to mind: you can’t have your bun and your penny.

She laughed. Well, so far the bun wasn’t much!

She closed her eyes. The relaxing swim and the cocktail sent her into a light sleep. The voice of the radio announcer giving the news brought her awake with a start.

She looked at the clock on the over-mantel. It was 09.20. She stared at the clock, then looked at her watch, then she jumped to her feet.

‘Dick?’

He must have come in quietly and was cleaning up in the kitchen. She fluffed up her hair, smoothed down her pyjama suit and walked into the kitchen.

‘Dick?’

Her voice came back to her in silence.

Moving quickly she went over the villa, out on to the terrace, then returned to the living room.

He hadn’t come!

Fury took hold of her. For some moments, she stood shaking, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing.

Okay, little boy, she thought. You don’t get away with this! You little bastard! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll fix you!

Then she heard the roar of an approaching motorcycle: a deep-throated roar that made her stiffen.

Here he comes, she thought. You little creep! I’ll teach you to be late!

There was a squeal of brakes, then the engine died.

She stood there, waiting. Her heart was racing now, her hands damp. Well, he was here! She would tongue lash him and when he was sufficiently humble and frightened, she would take him up to the bedroom. She felt suddenly excited.

The front door bell rang.

She forced herself to wait. She must not let him know how eager she was. She waited until the bell rang again, then she walked into the hall and opened the front door.

She had experienced many shocks in her life, but this shock was like a vicious punch to her solar plexus, leaving her breathless, cold and unable to move.

The girl, called Terry Shields, her Venetian red hair glittering in the sunlight, stood on the front step. She was wearing the same gear as the previous day although the T-shirt had been washed. She regarded Helga, her big green eyes impersonal, no expression on her face.

Helga absorbed the shock. Again the steel in her served her.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded, her voice hard.

‘Sorry to be late.’ The girl had a soft, pleasant sounding voice. ‘I got held up at the hospital.’

‘Hospital? Has something happened?’

‘Dick had an accident,’ the girl said. ‘I warned him the bike was too heavy for him. He’s broken his arm.’

Helga drew in a long, deep breath of exasperation. God! she thought, nothing, will nothing go right for me?

‘You had better come in.’ She turned and walked into the living room and dropped into a lounging chair.

Terry came in, shutting the front door, and she moved into the living room. Helga saw her give a quick glance around.

‘Sit down!’ Helga snapped impatiently. ‘How did it happen?’

Terry chose an upright chair. She sat down, her knees close together, her hands in her lap.

‘He skidded. The bike is too powerful for him.’

‘And yet you ride it?’

Terry shrugged.

‘Girls are more careful than boys.’

A wise and sensible remark, Helga thought.

‘So he has broken his arm?’

‘That’s it.’ Terry shrugged. ‘He is worried about you. You’ve paid him to work for you. He is conscientious. He asked me to take over until he is well enough.’

Helga reached for a cigarette, stared at it, then lit it.

‘Take over?’

‘Clean... run the place. I can do it if you want me to.’

Helga thought of the mess in the kitchen, the unmade bed upstairs and her need of a cup of coffee.

‘Dick gave me fifty bucks,’ Terry went on. ‘So it won’t cost you anything and I can do with the money.’

‘I want a cup of coffee,’ Helga said. ‘Can you make coffee?’

‘Oh, sure.’

Terry got to her feet, looked around and without being told, made her way into the kitchen.

Helga smoked two cigarettes. Goddamn it! she thought. So I sleep alone again tonight! A broken arm! You don’t take a boy with a broken arm into your bed. So again she must wait! Her fists clenched. Would there ever be an end to this eternal waiting?

Terry came into the living room with a pot of coffee, cup and saucer, sugar and cream on a tray. She set the tray on a table close to Helga.

‘That machine you were using for coffee,’ she said, ‘is for making tea.’

Helga felt a moment of inferior complex which she immediately shook off.

‘Oh? Who uses a machine to make tea for God’s sake?’

Saying nothing, Terry returned to the kitchen. Helga heard her beginning to clean up.

The coffee was excellent, just as good as Hinkle made for her. She drank two cups, then getting to her feet, she went into the kitchen. Terry had already cleaned the stove and was now washing the stains from the wall.

‘What is your name?’ Helga asked although she already knew.

‘Terry Shields.’ The girl didn’t pause as she rinsed a cloth in the sink.

‘All right, Terry, until Dick is well enough you can work here.’

Terry paused and looked directly at Helga who wished some kind of expression would light up the girl’s face, but the expression remained wooden.

‘Okay. Do you want me to cook?’

‘Can you cook?’

‘Most women can, can’t they?’

‘I will be lunching out every day,’ Helga said preferring to ignore what the girl had said. ‘I would like dinner: nothing elaborate.’

‘Do you want to eat this junk in the cupboard?’

Helga stared at her.

‘Junk?’

‘These “Heat and eat” packs.’

‘What’s the matter with them?’ Helga demanded, now angry.

‘Please yourself.’ Terry shrugged and she scraped the rest of the goulash from the saucepan into the trash bin. ‘If you want me to cook for you, give me some money to buy decent food.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Helga went into the living room, found her purse, took from it four fifty-dollar bills and returning to the kitchen put the bills on the kitchen table.

‘Go ahead. I’m going out now. You don’t have to stay here all day. Fix the place and come back to cook dinner tonight. I like to eat at eight-thirty.’

‘Okay.’

Helga felt this was the moment to exert her authority.

‘I would prefer you to say, “Yes, Mrs. Rolfe,” instead of “Okay”.’

‘Okay, Mrs. Rolfe.’ Terry looked at the four fifty-dollar bills. ‘Do you want to feed an army?’ She flicked aside three of the bills. ‘Fifty is enough.’

Helga picked up the remaining bills, feeling irritated.

‘You seem competent, Terry.’

‘If I had your money, I wouldn’t need to be,’ the girl said and began to clean one of the saucepans.

Helga stared at her, then, as the girl paid her no attention, she went upstairs, changed into a green linen dress, took a beach bag with a wrap and a bikini in it and returned to living room.

‘I will be back about six,’ she said. ‘Lock up, please. I have a duplicate key. I expect you here around seven.’

‘Okay, Mrs. Rolfe. Rest easy. I won’t steal anything.’

‘You will stop being insolent if you want to continue to work for me!’ Helga snapped. ‘I don’t expect you to steal anything!’

Terry looked at her, her face expressionless.

‘You won’t be surprised, Mrs. Rolfe,’ and she moved by Helga and went up the stairs to the bedroom.

For a long moment, Helga stood motionless, then with an impatient shrug, she went to the garage and started the Mini. As she drove to the Diamond Beach hotel, she considered the new situation.

Dick out of action and now this girl. She had to admit the girl intrigued her. From her she might learn more about Dick and she wanted to know more about him. She realized to her surprise that her sexual need had faded. She was lonely. This girl could provide a stop-gap until Dick was well enough to come to bed.

Her bags, carefully packed, were in the hotel’s lobby. She paid her cheque, shook hands with the hotel manager, lavishly tipped the Hall porter and then accompanied by smiles and bows, she drove back towards the Blue Heron villa. She would unpack, she told herself, then drive to the Ocean Beach club and become a member. She just couldn’t go on living here without company. From the club’s brochure she had read in the hotel the club offered everything to pass time: there was a casino, a swimming pool, tennis, golf, dancing, bridge and high speed motorboats to hire.

The traffic was heavy and she was forced to crawl along the main sea road, but she was relaxed and didn’t mind. Passing a big Self-service store, she saw Dick’s mother standing at the bus stop, two big shopping bags at her feet.

Helga swerved into the bus stop and pulled up.

‘Hello, Mrs. Jones,’ she called. ‘Can I give you a ride?’

The big fat woman’s face broke into a beaming smile.

‘That’s a little car, ma’am and I guess I’m a big woman.’

She came up to the car, leaning forward smiling at Helga.

‘We’ll manage.’

Helga opened the off side door.

Mrs. Jones heaved her two shopping bags on to the back seat, then laboriously climbed into the front seat. The car sagged a little. As she closed the door, Mrs. Jones said, ‘That’s real nice of you, ma’am. Not many folk stop to give a lift. I guess my dogs are giving me gyp this morning.’

Dogs? Helga thought. Feet?

‘My son has been telling me about your place, ma’am,’ Mrs. Jones went on. ‘He says it is fine and big and splendid. I told him he was a lucky boy to have a room like that.’ She looked searchingly at Helga. ‘Ma’am, I hope he is taking proper care of you. I told him he has to be conscientious. This is a chance of a lifetime, I told him. He knows. My boy is no fool. He knows when he is well off.’

Helga’s mind raced.

‘So he likes his room?’ she said. ‘I’m so glad.’

‘Yes, ma’am. He described it. He even has a T.V. set.’

‘He only began working this morning,’ Helga said, fishing for information.

‘That’s right, but you remember, ma’am, he came to see you yesterday evening. He came right back to me and told me all about it. I thought he would stay home with me while he worked for you, but he explained you needed someone around all the time.’

‘I have friends who visit me,’ Helga said. ‘Dick will be helpful.’

‘That I can see, ma’am.’ Mrs. Jones nodded. ‘It’s a fine chance for him.’

Helga’s face was expressionless as she said, ‘I would like your advice, Mrs. Jones. Dick did mention a girlfriend... Terry Shields. He suggested she might also help in the villa.’

For a brief moment, she took her eyes off the traffic and looked searchingly at the big, fat woman at her side. She saw the dark face become set and a heavy frown creased the forehead.

‘That girl? A no-good white trash!’ Mrs. Jones snapped. ‘You have nothing to do with her, ma’am. Dick’s a good boy, but he’s sort of crazy in the head about this no-good girl. You keep him working, ma’am. You see he doesn’t have too much free time. If he does, he’ll go running after this no-good girl.’

‘What makes you think she is no-good, Mrs. Jones?’

‘If you had kids, ma’am, if you were a mother, ma’am, you would know what is a good girl and what is a no-good girl. I know. I’ve seen her. She’s no-good.’

‘You saw Dick last night?’

‘Saw him? Why, sure, ma’am. I helped him pack so he could move into your fine house.’ Mrs. Jones turned and looked sharply at Helga. ‘He did arrive last night, didn’t he?’

Helga hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, he arrived.’

Mrs. Jones beamed.

‘That’s it, ma’am... like I say, he is a good boy.’

Helga pulled up outside the broken down bungalow.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Mrs. Jones said. ‘You’re real nice and kind. You make my boy work, ma’am. He is willing but he needs telling.’

Helga watched the big woman stump up to her front door, weighed down by her two shopping bags, then she did a U-turn and headed back towards the Blue Heron villa.

As she drove, her mind was busy. This meeting with Dick’s mother had been fortuitous. The cards were continuing to fall her way. So she was being taken for a sucker. Her lips moved into a hard smile. As Dick wasn’t living at home, where was he living? She guessed he had moved in with Terry. The story of the broken arm was a lie. Helga put herself in Terry’s place. Dick would have told Terry he had been forced to work for her (Helga). Terry probably realized that she (Helga) had designs on Dick. The broken arm was a way out. Again Helga smiled. Don’t rush this, she told herself. She needed a lot of information before she could fix these two. No one played her for a sucker. In her past a number of people had tried and later, were sorry.

She found she was driving along Ocean avenue and on impulse, she slowed and drove into a parking lot.

She walked to Frank Gritten’s office block. As she waited for the elevator, she opened her bag and took out her cigarette case. The descending cage reached the ground floor, the doors swished open and she found herself confronted by Harry Jackson, wearing his glamour suit.

He started and lost colour when he saw her.

‘Hello, Mr. Jackson, how smart you look,’ she said.

He moved by her.

‘Hi, Mrs. Rolfe.’ His voice was husky. ‘How is it?’

She stepped into the elevator, still staring at him.

‘Thank you... fine. I hope you and Mrs. Lopez are still happy.’

She thumbed the fifth floor button and as Jackson rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, the elevator doors closed.

Frank Gritten was sitting at his desk, puffing at his pipe. He got to his feet as Helga was ushered in by his elderly secretary.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. Take a chair. Nice morning, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ She lit her cigarette, sat down and went on, ‘I want to use your service, Mr. Gritten. I suggest a thousand dollar retainer.’

Gritten nodded.

‘That’s what I am here for, Mrs. Rolfe. What do you want me to do?’

‘I have hired Dick Jones who I have already spoken to you about to keep my rented villa in order. The Blue Heron villa,’ Helga said, crossing her shapely legs. ‘He should have arrived this morning, but instead, his girl friend, Terry Shields turned up, riding his motor-cycle. She tells me Jones has had an accident and has broken his arm. As I have already paid him a hundred dollars, he asked this girl to act as his stand-in. I have talked to Jones’ mother and she believes her son is not only living at my villa, but is working for me. I find all this odd and I admit it intrigues me. I don’t like people lying to me. I want you to find out what Jones is doing, whether he did break his arm, where he is living and who this girl is. I want it all in depth, Mr. Gritten.’

Gritten looked thoughtfully at her, then nodded.

‘Should be no problem, Mrs. Rolfe.’

‘I will be interested to know why Jones went to reform school. I also want to know all about Terry Shields. In fact, Mr. Gritten, I want all this in depth.’

Gritten nodded, then smiled.

‘You will have it in depth.’

Helga dropped a one-thousand-dollar bill on his desk, then got to her feet.

‘And I want it fast, Mr. Gritten.’

‘You will have it fast,’ Gritten said and escorted her to the elevator.

When Helga got back to the Blue Heron villa she saw the Electra Glide motorcycle had gone. She drove into the garage and lugged out her three suitcases, unlocked the front door and carried the cases, one at a time, into the living room. It irritated her that there was no servant to do this chore for her, but she shrugged this off.

She inspected the villa and found it was immaculate. The kitchen was spick and span. Dragging a suitcase up the stairs, she found the bedroom and the bathroom also immaculate.

She spent the next hour unpacking and putting her clothes away. By the time she had finished it was 13.10 and she was hungry.

Should she go out? She went down to the kitchen and inspected the ‘Heat and eat’ packs. The chilli con carne pack carried an appetizing photo in colour of the finished dish. She decided to eat here instead of the bore of finding a small restaurant. This time the potatoes were a success and she enjoyed the meal. She was about to leave the cleaning up, but decided not to let Terry know she had eaten ‘junk.’ It took her a while to wash up and this irritated her, but she took care to restore the stove and the sink as she had found them.

She then went into the living room, stretched out on the big settee and did some thinking. Dick would have to be punished, she told herself. She must wait for Gritten’s report. If the boy really imagined he could fool her, he was in for a shock.

Around 15.00, she left the villa and drove to the Ocean Beach club. The magic name of Rolfe swept away any sponsors or the entrance fee.

The secretary of the club, a fat little man with a beaming smile, said the club would be honoured to have her as a temporary member. He was sure she would find everything to her liking and he extolled the club’s facilities.

‘You will want to meet people, Mrs. Rolfe. I assure you you will be welcomed by everyone.’

He took her around the club, introducing her to the English members: the old and the over-fat, the men with veins of drinking raddling their faces, the women in odd hats who smiled suspiciously, but all anxious to welcome the wife of one of the world’s richest men.

Helga hated them all, but she knew she just couldn’t go on living alone in the villa and had to have contacts... but what contacts!

She endured an English tea with sandwiches and plum cake, surrounded by kindly, yakking people who kept looking with greedy eyes at the trolley loaded with cream cakes.

She thought of Dick. If the little bastard had kept faith, she and he would be in the king’s size bed right at this moment. She refused another cucumber sandwich.

‘But they are so good, Mrs. Rolfe. With your beautiful figure, you don’t have to worry about dieting.’

Stifled and utterly bored, she finally broke away. She noticed the men were looking with astonishment at her modest car. Rolls, Bentleys, Cadillacs surrounded the Mini.

She drove back to the villa. Remembering Herman, she called the hospital to be told there was still no change in his condition. The time was 18.15. She went up to her bedroom and put on a white pyjama suit, then going down to the living room, she mixed herself a vodka-martini. She listened to the T.V. news. The fluctuation of the dollar worried her. She thought of all the dollars she had in the Swiss account. She should have converted them into Swiss francs.

A few minutes before 19.00, she heard the roar of the approaching Electra Glide. The engine cut, then the front door opened.

Terry Shields came into the living room, carrying a paper sack.

‘There you are, Terry,’ Helga said, smiling. ‘Thank you for cleaning up so well.’

The girl was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and dark blue stretch pants. Her hair looked damp as if she had been swimming.

‘I got scampi,’ she said. ‘That okay for you?’

Helga regarded her. Again she was impressed by the strength of character that showed in her face. A no-good girl? She certainly didn’t look no-good.

‘Scampi? Yes... fine.’ A pause, then she asked, ‘How is Dick’s arm?’

As Terry moved towards the kitchen, she said, ‘I didn’t ask him.’

Helga’s mouth tightened. She finished her drink, then getting to her feet, she went to the kitchen door. Terry was unpacking the paper sack.

‘How long have you known Dick?’ she asked, leaning against the doorway.

‘Long enough,’ Terry said curtly. ‘Do you like these grilled in their shells or in a sauce?’

‘Whichever is the easiest,’ Helga said impatiently.

The girl turned and looked at her, her face wooden.

‘No good cooking is easy, Mrs. Rolfe,’ she said. ‘Say what you want and you’ll get it.’

‘Oh, in their shells. I’m not hungry.’

Terry dropped the scampi into a sieve and ran cold water over them.

‘Is Dick your boy friend, Terry?’ Helga asked.

Terry shook the scampi, then turned them out on to a cloth.

‘You could say that.’

‘And you? Where do you live?’

‘I have a pad.’

‘I am sure you have, but where?’

‘North side.’

A long pause while Terry blotted the scampi dry. Helga was determined to persist.

‘I was talking to Dick’s mother this morning. She tells me he isn’t living at home. Is he staying with you?’

Terry turned on the grill.

‘Does it matter?’ She picked up a pack of rice. ‘Rice okay? You can have dehydrated potatoes if you want them.’

‘I’ll have rice.’ A pause. ‘I am asking you: is he staying with you?’

Terry poured rice into a cup.

‘Are you that interested, Mrs. Rolfe?’

Helga controlled her rising temper.

‘Oddly enough, Terry, I am. Is he living with you?’

Terry poured hot water into a saucepan and set it on a burner.

‘Yes, he is staying with me and he screws me.’

Shocked, for a moment Helga was speechless. She abruptly realized, by questioning this girl, she was inviting insolence.

‘I am not interested in your relations with him,’ she said, her voice cold. ‘I want to know where he is.’

Terry added salt to the water. She began to wash the rice.

‘His mother said nothing about his breaking his arm,’ Helga said through the silence.

Terry tipped the rice into the boiling water.

‘Do you mind eating early, Mrs. Rolfe?’ she said without looking at Helga. ‘I have a date.’

‘Did you hear what I said?’ Helga snapped. ‘I don’t believe he has broken his arm!’

Terry began to lay the scampi on the grill.

‘Do you like lemon juice, Mrs. Rolfe? Some people are allergic to lemon. If you don’t dig lemon, there’s tabasco.’

‘Terry! Has he or has he not broken his arm?’

‘If you want dinner, Mrs. Rolfe, could you let me get on with it? All this talk holds me up.’

Helga controlled herself with an effort. The calm, cold effrontery of this girl was something she had never before experienced.

‘I am asking you a question and I want an answer!’ she said, her voice strident.

‘It’ll be ready in ten minutes, Mrs. Rolfe. Excuse me. I’ll set the table.’

Side-stepping Helga, Terry went in to the living room.

Helga stood motionless, her hands into fists. She longed to rush into the living room, grab hold of this insolent little bitch and slap her face. Get hold of yourself. You’re handling this like a moron.

She walked into the living room and not looking at Terry who was laying the table, she turned on the television set. A close up picture of a girl swam into focus on the screen. She seemed to be trying to swallow a microphone and her mouth was as big as a fire bucket. Her amplified, brash voice exploded into the room. Helga winced and turned down the sound.

Terry returned to the kitchen.

There was a long pause while the girl on the screen fought with the microphone and made noises like a cat on heat.

Terry returned, carrying a dish and a plate.

‘It is all ready, Mrs. Rolfe. You haven’t any wine. If you had told me, I would have got you some.’

Helga walked over to the neatly laid table and sat down.

‘I’ll get some tomorrow. This looks very good.’ She surveyed the scampi, perfectly cooked and the bowl of rice. ‘You seem to be a very good cook, Terry.’

‘Well, if that’s all, Mrs. Rolfe, I’ll run along,’ Terry said. ‘I’ll clear up tomorrow.’

Helga, now calm, now steel hard, began to peel one of the scampi.

‘No, it is not all, Terry. Sit down.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Rolfe. I told you. I have a date.’

Helga spooned some rice on to her plate.

‘Sit down!’ She ate one of the scampi. ‘Excellent.’

Terry was moving to the door.

‘Terry! Did you hear what I said? Sit down!’

‘Sorry, Mrs. Rolfe. I am late already.’ She reached the door and opened it.

‘Sit down!’ Helga screamed at her. ‘Unless you want to see your fancy boy in jail!’

Terry paused, then shrugging, her face expressionless, she came back into the room and dropped into a lounging chair.

Score one, Helga said to herself. So this little bastard does mean something to her! She ate another scampi, squeezed lemon over her rice, wished there was a glass of Chablis to go with the meal.

‘Did Dick tell you he is in trouble?’ she asked, selecting another scampi. She forced her voice to sound calm.

‘Say what you have to say, Mrs. Rolfe, and make it short,’ Terry said indifferently. ‘I have a date.’

‘These scampi are very good,’ Helga said, thinking. I’ll give this little bitch a taste of her own medicine.

‘Is your date with Dick?’

‘Why should you care, Mrs. Rolfe?’

A point to her, Helga thought. Be careful.

‘Yes, Dick is in trouble,’ she went on. ‘Didn’t you wonder how he managed to buy a motorbike costing over four-thousand dollars?’

The girl leaned back in the chair, crossing her long legs.

‘That is his business. Only people with little to do stick their noses into other people’s business.’

Another point to her, Helga thought, but I hold the trump card.

‘He didn’t tell you he stole a ring from me, sold it and with the proceeds bought the bike?’

She shelled another scampi and squeezed more lemon.

Terry said nothing. She looked at her watch, then re-crossed her legs.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes. Why should I care?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Is there anything else you have to say, Mrs. Rolfe?’

‘Yes. Tell Dick that unless he is here by nine o’clock tonight, a police officer will pick him up and I will charge him with stealing my ring.’

Terry nodded and got to her feet.

‘At nine o’clock? What would you want him for at that time, Mrs. Rolfe?’

Helga finished the last of the scampi.

‘Oh, to clear up, Terry. Just run along and tell him.’ She stared at the girl, steel in her eyes. ‘Unless, of course, you want him to spend the night in jail.’

‘Mrs. Rolfe, I will make a suggestion.’ Terry groped in the hip pocket of her pants and took out two crumpled fifty dollar bills which she dropped on the floor. ‘That’s the money Dick owes you. You won’t be seeing him nor me again. Now for the suggestion: when a middle-aged woman gets hot pants for a boy young enough to be her son, cold water helps. Go sit in a cold bath, Mrs. Rolfe,’ and turning, she walked out of the room and out of the villa.

As she listened to the roar of the motorcycle fading into the distance, Helga stared down at the empty scampi shells as empty as she felt at this moment.