You Can Say That Again

chapter seven

I spent a restless night. Although I was determined to try to escape the following morning, the more I thought about my plan, the less confident I became.

I felt confident I could knock Mazzo out, but there was the Jap chauffeur. He bothered me: an unknown factor. There was the problem of the ignition key. Did the chauffeur leave the key in the ignition lock? I thought that was unlikely, but there were guards around, and he might just think no one could get at the car and steal it, and he could leave the key in the lock.

I then thought of the high iron gates. Would they withstand the shock of the Rolls, driven fast at them? It would be a hell of a letdown if the Rolls bounced off them.

In spite of these doubts, I was determined to try.

I was shaving when I heard Mazzo wheel in the breakfast trolley. I finished shaving, slapped on lotion and walked into the living room.

‘Morning, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘Let’s have some exercise this morning. How about a little jogging?’

My plan was to jog around the estate and finish up by the garage. I would tell Mazzo I hadn’t seen the engine of a Rolls, so let’s take a look. Once inside the garage, I planned to knock him cold, get into the Rolls, lock the doors, hope the ignition key would be in place and take off.

‘You’re going to the office this morning,’ Mazzo growled.

I looked sharply at him.

‘Is Mr. Durant back?’

‘Mrs. Harriet’s orders. Eat your breakfast.’

I suddenly wasn’t hungry. What was cooking? If Durant was back with the final papers to sign, time was running out for me.

I drank coffee, ate a piece of toast and ignored the ham and eggs.

Mazzo went into the bedroom. I followed him and watched him take a suit from one of the closets. I saw the suit was mine! I began to panic.

‘You don’t put on the mask,’ Mazzo said. ‘You go to the office as yourself. Get it?’

‘What’s the idea?’

‘You talk too much. You’re paid to do what you’re told. Get dressed! We leave in half an hour,’ and he left me.

I stood for a long moment, motionless, my heart thumping.

You go to the office as yourself!

This could mean only one thing: Durant was back with the final papers for my signature, then he would tell me I was free to go. Probably, he would tell Mazzo to take me to the Miami airport for a plane to Los Angeles.

During the drive to the airport, there would be a prick of a needle and I would cease to exist.

Man! Was I in a sweat!

I went to the liquor cabinet and poured myself an enormous Scotch. I drank it down as if it were water, then I stood still until the Scotch hit me. It stiffened my wilting spine.

Come on, Jerry, I said to myself. You’re not dead yet.

I decided, when I reached the office, I would refuse to sign. That would throw a spanner in their murderous works. What could they do? At least, delaying tactics would gain time for me.

Feeling a little high, I put on my own clothes and my own shoes. After wearing John Merrill Ferguson’s super suits, my suit looked terrible as I stared at myself in the wall mirror. I had forgotten how shabby I had been looking. No wonder Lu Prentz had stopped inviting me to lunch. I looked what I was: an unemployed, seedy, bit-part actor. Then I remembered I had seven thousand dollars in the bank. If I could get out of this mess, I would refit my wardrobe and pester

Lu until he found work for me. But I had to get out of this mess first!

‘You’ll want the make-up kit,’ Mazzo said. He had come silently into the room.

‘What’s all this about?’ I demanded, staring at him.

‘You heard me! Pack it!’

Take it easy, I told myself as I walked into the bathroom.

Remember, you have the last word: no signing.

I put the mask, the moustache and the eyebrows in the make-up box. Mazzo took the box from me. On the bed was a suitcase, packed with the dark mohair suit I had worn which belonged to John Merrill Ferguson.

Mazzo put the make-up box in the suitcase, closed the lid and snapped the locks.

‘Let’s go.’

We went down the stairs and to the open front doors.

There was a beat-up looking taxi waiting. At the wheel sat Marco, the night guard.

A man came out of the shadows of the hall and took the suitcase from Mazzo.

‘This is Pedro,’ Mazzo said. ‘He’ll take care of you. You do what he says . . . get it?’

I looked at the man: short, squat, broad shouldered, wearing a pale blue light weight suit and a dark brown panama hat.

During my movie days, I had come across all kinds of toughies and thugs, but this man took the Oscar. It flashed into my mind that he could be my executioner. He looked deadly enough to be just that. Had he murdered Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine?

‘Aren’t you coming?’ I asked Mazzo.

He gave a sly grin.

‘I’ve things to do. Go along with Pedro. He’ll take care of you.’

Pedro waved me to the taxi. I had an urge to bolt, but I saw two guards standing close by in the sun, watching. Sweating, I walked down the steps and climbed into the taxi. As I settled on the springless seat, Pedro sat by my side. The taxi drove off.

‘Relax, Mr. Stevens,’ Pedro said in a soft spoken voice. ‘You do your job, and I’ll do mine, huh?’

His job? To murder me?

I said nothing.

As we reached the high double gates, I leaned forward. A guard opened the gates. Looking at the gates, I felt sure, if ever I had the opportunity, I could smash my way through them in the Rolls, but would I ever now have the opportunity? Had I left it too late?

I sat back as the taxi left the Largo and headed for the City. Should I make a break to escape when I got out of the taxi to enter the Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation offices? The press would be there. Pedro wouldn’t dare pull a gun. I decided as soon as we reached the offices, I would bolt. The guards and Pedro couldn’t chase after me on the busy street.

Then I was suddenly aware that the taxi had turned off the main boulevard and was cutting down a side street.

Startled, I looked at Pedro.

‘This isn’t the way,’ I said, dry mouthed.

He gave a little grin.

‘We go in the back entrance, Mr. Stevens,’ he said. ‘That way we don’t have to worry about the news jackals.’

It was as if he had read my mind. Panic took hold of me again. Should I throw myself out of the car. I looked at the car door, then saw the car door handle had been removed.

Pedro’s heavy hand fell on my arm.

‘Take it easy, Mr. Stevens.’

The car slowed and turned down a long, dark ramp.

At the end of the ramp was a pole which lifted and we drove into a big underground garage.

From the shadows came three men: Ferguson’s guards. They grouped around the car, silent, watchful and sinister.

Pedro got out, carrying the suitcase.

‘Let’s go, Mr. Stevens.’

I got out of the taxi and looked around. As if on cue, the three guards closed in, so I walked with Pedro to an elevator. We entered. He pressed a button. The guards stood back as the elevator raced upwards.

Pedro walked me down a long corridor, then opened a door and stood aside.

‘Take it easy, Mr. Stevens,’ he said. ‘Just sit and wait, huh?’

I walked into a luxuriously furnished waiting room, equipped with some twenty lounging chairs, tables on which were scattered a number of magazines.

‘Sit down,’ Pedro said, closing the door. He went to a lounging chair and settled himself, then reached for a copy of Penthouse.

I moved over to the big window and looked down the thirty stories onto Paradise Boulevard. People looked like ants; cars like miniature toys. Beyond, was the beach, the palm trees and the sea.

Pedro suddenly released a soft whistle.

‘This doll doesn’t even bother to keep her legs crossed,’ he muttered. ‘Boy! Could I give her a workout!’

I ignored him. My mind was racing. Every time I planned an escape I was frustrated. Suppose I now made a bolt from the room, yelling ‘Murder!’ Suppose . . .

The door opened and Sonia Malcolm stood in the doorway.

The sight of her gave me a surge of relief. Since I had been caught up in this nightmare, she had been the only normal person I had encountered, but I knew I couldn’t involve her. I couldn’t attempt to explain to her what a mess I was in. There would be no opportunity and even if there was, she would probably think I was out of my mind.

‘Mr. Stevens?’ she said, looking at me. ‘Will you, please, come this way?’

I saw her nice, serious eyes take in my shabby suit and my scuffed shoes. She must have been used to the immaculate, rich business men who came to the office, but her expression didn’t change.

I looked directly at her, but she showed no sign of recognition. Why should she? I wasn’t hiding behind John Merrill Ferguson’s facade. She only saw Jerry Stevens, the bit-part, unemployed actor.

I followed her out into the corridor.

Muttering, Pedro dropped the magazine, picked up the suitcase and walked behind me as I followed Sonia’s graceful back.

As we turned the corner in the corridor, I saw ahead of me the door leading to John Merrill Ferguson’s office suite.

Behind the door, I thought, would be Joe Durant with final papers to sign. I braced myself.

Sonia opened the door and stood aside.

‘Mr. Stevens, sir.’ She motioned me forward.

I walked into the familiar room, expecting to see Durant at the desk.

I stopped short and stared as Sonia closed the door behind me.

Instead of Durant at the desk, where I had sat a couple of days ago, was the man I was impersonating: John Merrill Ferguson!

* * *

The mind moves with the speed of light.

As I stood there, looking at the man at the desk, into my mind came a memory of a drunken, famous film star who had buttonholed me and told me he had had a frightening experience.

‘I was asleep, Jerry,’ I remembered him saying. ‘Then I suddenly woke and I saw myself standing by the bed. It was as if I had stepped out of my body, and I looked at myself, solid, not a mirror reflection, but myself. It was the most frightening, uncanny thing. Me . . . away from my body!’

I knew he was drunk, but I remembered what he had said.

Now, I was looking at a reflection in a mirror. For days, I had stared at myself, disguised as John Merrill Ferguson, telling myself I could be John Merrill Ferguson.

I then understood fully my drunken film star: I was having his experience; a frightening, uncanny thing.

John Merrill Ferguson got to his feet, came around the desk with a wide, friendly smile.

‘Mr. Stevens!’ he exclaimed, reaching me. ‘This is quite a moment, isn’t it?’ He grasped my hand and shook it with warmth. ‘You must be a little bewildered. Come and sit down. Let’s talk.’

Still holding my hand, he steered me to a chair.

‘Don’t look so worried. I have a lot to thank you for.’

The friendly voice was relaxing. ‘Sit down. Let’s have a drink.’

As I sat down, he went to the liquor cabinet.

He looked over his shoulder and grinned.

‘A bit early, but never too early for champagne.’

I just sat there, trying to get on balance while he popped the cork, poured the wine, came over, put my glass on an occasional table, then sat down, facing me.

‘You have done a marvelous job, Mr. Stevens,’ he said and raised his glass. ‘I drink to you.’

This was so unexpected, I couldn’t say a word, but, pulling myself together, I picked up my glass with an unsteady hand and we drank.

‘I didn’t think it possible that any man could impersonate me as brilliantly as you are doing.’ He put down his glass. ‘I have seen photographs of you, playing tennis, here at my desk, entering our offices. I have kept staring at them. They could be me! I’ve heard a tape recording of you talking to Walter Bern. Your voice was mine!’

He sounded so friendly and enthusiastic, I, like most actors, responded to this praise. I began to relax.

‘Well, sir,’ I said, ‘I was hired to do the job, and I am glad you are satisfied.’

‘Satisfied? That’s an understatement!’ His smile widened. ‘You have saved me a lot of money, Mr. Stevens . . . to hell with calling you Mr. Stevens. Let’s be informal. Jerry and John, how’s that?’

I gaped at him.

One of the richest and one of the most powerful men in the world offering to be on Christian name terms!

Did this do something for my ego!

‘Why, yes, sir,’ I said.

He laughed.

‘Okay, I’ll give you time to relax, Jerry. You have done a fine job. It is unbelievable. You have fooled the press. You have even fooled my old butler. Without you, I couldn’t have gone to Peking and pulled off a big deal. All the sharks, including the CIA, imagined I was home.’ His face suddenly turned serious. ‘I’m talking to you in confidence, Jerry. What I am saying mustn’t go beyond these walls. Right?’

‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson.’

‘I have a proposition for you, but, first, I want to know how you feel about your future as an actor. Do you want to return to that rat race? Be frank with me. If you have an itch to go back, then tell me and I’ll understand, but if you are prepared to give it up, I have a proposition for you that will establish you with a big salary and no problems, moneywise for the future.’

My mind flashed to Lu Prentz and to the dreary days of waiting for the telephone bell to ring. I thought of returning to Hollywood, finding some tiny apartment, waiting and hoping. The thought chilled me.

‘Let me put the cards on the table, Jerry,’ Ferguson said, seeing my hesitation. ‘Again, what I say to you is in strict confidence. Your brilliant impersonation has given me ideas. I am offering you a permanent position on my staff. Whenever I want to disappear, you will take my place. You will be my personal assistant. You will have an office of your own. Simple work will be found for you. This will be a front. You will have plenty of time off. Your real job will be to impersonate me when I don’t want publicity. You will sign unimportant papers.’ He paused and grinned. ‘I couldn’t believe your marvelous forgeries were my signatures. That’s the proposition. Now for the terms. If you accept, I will pay you one hundred thousand dollars a year and provide you with living accommodation and a car. I will give you a seven-year contract with a rise of ten thousand dollars after three years, and you can break the contract any time after giving me six months’ notice.’ He smiled. ‘The fact is, Jerry, you are too valuable to lose. In return for what I am offering, you will take a lot of strain and problems off my back. What do you say?’

I sat there, gaping. I just couldn’t believe what he was saying.

‘Of course, you will want to think about it. I won’t rush you,’ Ferguson went on. ‘First, I want you to see your office, where you will live, and your car before you make up your mind. If you agree to my proposal, then you will become a member of my staff. You might not have any work to do for a couple of weeks or so, then when I go away, you will take my place. While you are not impersonating me, you will be entirely free to do what you like in this city. If your friends want to know what you do, tell them you are my personal assistant and no member of my Corporation talks about their work. All my staff are loyal, and I would expect you to be loyal too.’

He got up, went to his desk, flicked down a switch on the intercom.

‘Miss Malcolm, would you come in, please?’ To me, he said, ‘Miss Malcolm is my assistant secretary. She will take care of you. She knows about the impersonation. Only Mr. Durant, my secretary, Miss Malcolm and Mazzo know. You can entirely rely on her.’

Sonia came in.

‘I’ll hand Mr. Stevens over to your care, Miss Malcolm,’ Ferguson said, smiling at her. ‘You know what to do.’

‘Yes, sir.’

In a daze, I got to my feet.

‘Think about it, Jerry,’ Ferguson said. He shook my hand. ‘Will you let me know your decision before six o’clock this evening?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said, and followed Sonia out of the room.

My brain was racing. What an offer! One hundred thousand dollars a year, accommodation and a car! Little work! I would be free to explore this wonderful city!

No more Mazzo, Pedro, no more panic about being murdered.

I just couldn’t believe it!

Sonia paused outside a door and opened it.

‘We’ll share an office, Mr. Stevens,’ she said, and walked into a large sunny room with two desks, equipped with typewriters, telephones, intercom and with a view onto the distant beach.

‘Isn’t he wonderful?’ she said, smiling at me. ‘He really is like God. He just picks people and makes their lives happy. I can’t yet believe he picked me.’

‘Well, I’m lucky too.’

‘I’ve seen you on television. It must be marvelous to be a star.’

‘Don’t you believe it.’ I was looking at her, liking her. ‘I’m glad to be out of it.’

She laughed.

‘Oh, no. You must tell me about it. Let’s go. You have a wonderful home and your car . . . !’

She led me down the corridor to the elevators, then down into the garage.

‘Here it is,’ she said, pointing to a pale blue, two-seater, drop head Mercedes. ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’

I had always wanted a Mercedes. I walked around it, patted it and grinned at her.

‘Marvelous!’

She opened the offside door and slid into the seat.

‘We must hurry, Mr. Stevens. I’ve a load of work to do this afternoon.’

I got behind the driving wheel, aware two guards were watching me. I drove to the barrier that lifted.

Man! Was I driving on a cloud!

‘You turn right and keep along the boulevard,’ Sonia told me. ‘I’ll tell you when to turn off.’

I drove in a Technicolor dream: a marvelous car! A beautiful girl!

At the end of the boulevard, she told me to turn left to the beach. We drove along the crowded seafront, then she told me to turn right. That brought us to a narrow sandy road.

‘This leads to Mr. Ferguson’s private beach,’ she said.

Ahead of us were high iron gates and a guard who saluted as he swung back the gates. I drove further up the road, came to high hedges and palm trees, then I saw the beach cabin.

I pulled up.

‘Is this it?’

‘One of them. This is yours.’

‘One of them?’

‘There are four cabins on the estate, but each one is completely private. Mr. Ferguson doesn’t use them anymore.’

I got out of the car and with Sonia, approached the cabin.

A cabin?

It was constructed of pinewood with a big veranda with sun chairs, tables and a bar. It oozed opulence.

Sonia ran up the steps to the veranda, unlocked the door and waved me in.

I walked into a lush, luxuriously furnished living room. There was everything: TV stereo radiogram, bar, lounging chairs, polished pine flooring with Persian rugs, a desk, two telephones and modern art on the walls.

My new home!

I just stood there and gaped.

‘There are two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a fully equipped kitchen,’ Sonia went on. ‘You’re lucky, Mr. Stevens! It’s paradise!’

She led me to the master bedroom: an enormous bed closets, TV at the foot of the bed. The other bedroom was smaller but equally luxurious.

‘Mrs. Swanson looks after the cabins,’ Sonia said. ‘Right now, you are the only occupant. She will get you breakfast and cook for you. You have only to dial 22 on the green telephone and tell her what you want. I hear she is a great cook. She’ll take care of your laundry.’

‘Marvelous!’

‘The refrigerator is well stocked, but ask for anything you fancy.’ Watching my face, she laughed. ‘It’s marvelous, isn’t it? What it is to work for Mr. Ferguson!’

‘You can say that again.’

As we moved back into the living room, a car horn sounded.

‘That’ll be my car, Mr. Stevens. I must run. You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

‘Just one thing. Call me Jerry.’

She gave me a flashing smile.

‘Okay, Jerry. ‘Bye,’ and she ran down to the waiting car. At the wheel sat Pedro, probing his teeth with a matchstick.

The sight of him made me uneasy. He looked such a murderous thug. I went out onto the veranda and Sonia waved as Pedro drove away.

I sat down in one of the sun chairs and stared across the silver sand to the sea.

I had to adjust. This seemed a fantasy. Only last night, I was scared I was going to be murdered, and now this!

You are too valuable to lose.

Thinking about what Ferguson had said, I decided it made sense. Ferguson, watched by rivals, hampered to make important business moves, had found a perfect standin who not only looked like him, but spoke like him and could forge his signature. For this, he was prepared to give me a seven year contract and pay me one hundred thousand dollars a year! At first thought, this seemed a grossly exaggerated figure, but thinking of Ferguson’s empire, his vast wealth, it would be peanuts to him.

I would need to have my head examined not to accept such a proposal!

Having made my decision, I realized it was past lunchtime and I was hungry. I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. As Sonia had said, there was plenty of cold food. Heaping a plate with cold chicken, ham and salad, I carried the plate to the veranda and sat down at one of the tables.

Man! I thought as I began to eat, this is the life!

* * *

At 17.30, I drove to the Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation and entered by the back entrance. The guard recognized me, nodded and lifted the barrier. I took the express elevator to the top floor.

I had spent a wonderful afternoon, making plans. I needed clothes. I couldn’t go around in my shabby suit. For clothes I needed money, then remembered I had seven thousand dollars to my credit at the Chase National Bank. I telephoned them and told them to transfer the money to the Paradise City branch. They said they would telex it right away. I then had a swim. As the mile long beach was completely deserted, I swam nude.

Later, I drove to the bank, signed the necessary forms, got a checkbook and drew out one thousand dollars.

Tomorrow, I told myself, I would have a shopping spree.

I felt like a ten foot tall man when I tapped on my office door and walked in.

Sonia was typing. She looked up and smiled at me.

‘Everything okay?’

‘Couldn’t be better,’ I said. ‘Mr. Ferguson wanted me at six.’

‘He’s free now.’ She flicked down the switch on the intercom.

There was a pause, then Ferguson’s voice, the voice I could so faithfully imitate, said, ‘Yes, Miss Malcolm?’

‘Mr. Stevens is here, sir.’

‘Fine. Send him in, please.’

She switched off and smiled at me.

‘Go ahead, Jerry.’

‘If you have nothing better to do, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’ I asked.

Her smile widened.

‘I’d love it, but first, see what Mr. Ferguson wants.’

‘I’ll be right back and we’ll fix something.’

I walked down the corridor to Ferguson’s office door, tapped and entered.

Ferguson was at his desk. Sitting in a lounging chair was Joe Durant. The sight of him startled me. He regarded me with cold, steely eyes.

Ferguson got to his feet.

‘Come on in, Jerry,’ he said with a warm smile, but I saw there was tension in his eyes. ‘What’s the decision?’

I moved further into the room and shut the door.

‘I’ll be happy to work for you, sir.’

The tension went out of his eyes.

‘Sit down.’ He waved to a chair near where Durant was sitting. ‘That’s good news. You are happy with your office, your car and your accommodation?’

‘Who wouldn’t be, sir?’

‘Right. Joe has the contract. Seven years. You understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You will be paid in advance. Eight thousand, three hundred and thirty three dollars: a month’s salary. Miss Malcolm will arrange the tax deduction and for a check to be paid to you.’

As I sat down, Durant took a paper from his briefcase and handed it to me. It was a simple contract, but I read it carefully. It stated the facts: I was to be Ferguson’s personal assistant. I was to be paid one hundred thousand dollars a year with a raise of ten thousand dollars after three years. The contract was for seven years and could be terminated with a six months’ notice by either side.

Durant thrust a pen at me, so I signed. He then gave me a copy which was signed: ‘Joseph Durant, Vice President.’

‘You are now a member of my staff,’ Ferguson said. ‘You will remember my staff do not talk to anyone about what goes on here. You will remember if the press question you, you are my personal assistant, and you say nothing more. Right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, I have work for you.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sorry to start you so soon, but it is necessary. I am leaving in an hour. I need to avoid the press and others.’ He waved to the bathroom. ‘You will find your make-up kit and clothes there. Will you change? I want you to leave by the front entrance with Mazzo. You will return to my residence. You will remain there until I return. Probably, I’ll be back in a day or so. As soon as I return, you will be free for maybe a couple of weeks to do what you like.’

I felt a pang of disappointment. I had been looking forward to taking Sonia out to dinner. Then I remembered I was Ferguson’s hired assistant at one hundred thousand dollars a year.

‘Yes, sir.’ I got up and went into the bathroom where I found the suitcase Mazzo had packed. It took me some fifteen minutes to change and put on the mask. I limped to the bathroom door and opened it.

Ferguson had left his desk and was standing by the window. Durant had gone.

At the sound of the door opening, Ferguson turned and looked at me. He stood rooted, staring at me, then he lifted his hand to his face. I lifted my hand to my face. He took a step back. I took a step forward.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s uncanny!’

‘Good God!’ I said, imitating his voice. ‘It’s uncanny.’ Then in my voice, I went on, ‘I’m glad, sir, you think so.’

He gave a shaky laugh.

‘You are marvelous, Jerry! Goddamn it, it’s like looking in a mirror.’ He came over and peered closely at me. ‘That’s a remarkable disguise.’ He patted my shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it possible.’ He laughed again. ‘And the voice.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have only a few minutes.’ He went to the intercom, flicked down a switch, said, ‘I’m ready for you Mazzo.’

The door opened and Mazzo came in.

‘Take Jerry back home, Mazzo,’ Ferguson said. He turned to me. ‘Please do what Mazzo tells you to do.’ He smiled. ‘You are a damn fine artist.’

‘Let’s go,’ Mazzo said.

I followed him out of the office, down the corridor towards the elevators. As I passed my office door, I hesitated. I wanted to ask Sonia to give me a rain check, but Mazzo gently shoved me on.

The press were waiting, but the guards got me to the Rolls. It was like playing the same old disc once again.

As the Rolls drove away, I heard the plaintive shouts: Mr. Ferguson! One moment, Mr. Ferguson!

‘Those bastards never give up,’ Mazzo growled.

I was thinking, only hours ago, I was planning to steal the Rolls and make a break out. Now, I was a member of Ferguson’s staff, pulling down an unheard of salary.

I relaxed and thought of Sonia. She was my kind of woman. In a few days, I would take her to dinner. I wanted to develop our association: badly wanted to.

Back in Ferguson’s suite, I took off the mask, then returned to where Mazzo was waiting.

‘I’ve got instructions,’ he said. ‘The instructions say you stick around, and I don’t have to bother with you. You’ve got the free run of the place, but don’t go near the gates where someone might spot you. Get it?’

‘You mean I don’t have to stay in this room? I can go anywhere on the estate?’

‘That’s it. You are now one of us, palsy. I told you you were going to survive, didn’t I?’ He pointed to a green telephone on the desk. ‘You want something to eat, you want anything, use that phone.’ He moved to the door. ‘I have a date with a doll.’ He grinned. ‘Man! Am I going to give her a going over! Right now, palsy, you are on your own, but keep clear of the gates.’ Still grinning, he left me.

The time now was 17.05. I went to the rear window and looked down at the swimming pool. It looked marvelously tempting. I found it hard to believe that I was now free to do what I liked as long as I remained on the estate.

I stripped off, put on swimming trunks I found in one of the clothes’ closets, then taking a towel from the bathroom, I went down the stairs to the hall.

As I walked around the terrace to the pool, I saw Mazzo take off in the Jaguar. I gave him a wave, but he didn’t see me.

I spent an hour in the pool. The evening sun was perfect. As I was toweling myself, Jonas appeared.

‘Perhaps a drink, Mr. Stevens?’

‘Why not? A very large, very dry martini.’

‘Certainly, Mr. Stevens,’ and he went over to the bar.

Man! I thought, this is the life!

I settled myself on one of the lounging chairs, catching the last rays of the sun.

Jonas brought the drink.

‘For dinner, Mr. Stevens, I suggest chicken breasts in a lobster sauce,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a prawn cocktail. The prawns are exceptional.’

‘You have a deal,’ I said, my mouth watering.

‘Would you care to dine in the dining room or would you prefer to dine in your suite?’

I looked at him. The dark, old face was deadpan.

‘Mrs. Harriet?’

‘She will be dining in her suite.’

‘Mrs. Loretta?’

‘She will also be dining in her suite.’

‘Okay. I’ll dine in Mr. Ferguson’s suite.’

‘Certainly, Mr. Stevens,’ and he went away.

I lay there, sipping the drink and watching the sun slowly sink. It was hard to believe this was happening to me. The menace had gone. I was in a fantastic dream world. I thought back on those days when I had sat by the telephone, practically starving, waiting and waiting for the telephone bell to ring. Now this!

I stayed watching the sun sink and the moon climb.

Watching the moon, I remembered what Mrs. Harriet had said: Whenever there is a full moon, she will be confined.

The moon was nearly full: in another three days, the moon would be full.

My mind switched to Loretta. I was sure she was out of her mind. She had to be! But this talk of about a full moon I couldn’t accept.

Why should I worry? I told myself. I was now a member of the Ferguson’s staff. I was free. I wasn’t supervised any longer. John Merrill Ferguson, enormously rich and powerful, was pleased with me.

What more could I want?

Leaving the terrace, I returned to the suite. I took a shower, then put on one of Ferguson’s shirts and slacks.

As I moved into the living room, Jonas came in, wheeling the dinner trolley.

The meal was marvelous. When Jonas had served me, he left. I regretted eating alone. How much better it would have been to have had Sonia with me. In a day or so, I told myself, I would fix that, but it wouldn’t be here: some quiet restaurant by the sea, lit by the moon and with soft music.

The meal finished, I wandered out onto the big balcony and sat in a lounging chair. I was at peace with the world. I sat there, watching the moon light the lawn and the trees, seeing the guards move around and not caring about them. They no longer had become a problem. How life can alter abruptly, I thought.

Yesterday, I was scared of being murdered, now I was relaxed, without a care in the world.

Around 22.50, I stubbed out my cigarette, got to my feet and decided I would go to bed. I found a paperback among the books Mazzo had brought me.

I turned off the living room lights and went into the bedroom, switching on one of the lamps.

I yawned. It had been some day, and the meal had been excellent. Maybe, I wouldn’t read. I would sleep.

Then my body stiffened with shock.

Sitting by the window was Loretta.