“With Herr Director’s compliments, madame,” he said and poured from the shaker.
When he had gone, she drank the vodka martini gratefully, then, seeing the time was slipping by, she began to dress. While she slapped lotion on her face, then arranged her eyelashes, she thought of Larry. After the second vodka martini which was very strong, she was sufficiently nerved to telephone the reception desk.
“This is Madame Rolfe… what have you done with my chauffeur?”
“Madame Rolfe?” The voice became servile. “Your chauffeur? A moment, please.”
There was a pause and she could hear whispering voices and she regretted asking. This was a stupid, dangerous thing to have done. Why should a woman in her position ask after her chauffeur? Well, she had done it, now she would have to carry it off.
“Madame Rolfe?” A new voice, even more ingratiating.
“Yes.”
“Your chauffeur is in room 556. He will have dinner with the staff. Is that satisfactory?”
Staff? What did that mean? But she didn’t have the courage to ask.
“Yes… thank you,” and she hung up.
Because she was ashamed of her cowardice, she had a third vodka martini and by the time she had finished dressing, she was slightly drunk. She paused before the mirror at the door of the suite and surveyed herself. She was pleased with her reflection. She was really remarkable, she told herself. At the age of forty (forty-three?) she was slim and lovely to look at and immaculately dressed. She knew, as most women know who accept the truth, that she was still attractive to any man.
Karl Fock was waiting for her in the cocktail bar. In the haze of two more vodka martinis and rather overpowered by his guttural voice, Larry slipped from her mind. She remembered him as Fock escorted her into the restaurant but forgot him again when she was enveloped by the Maitre d’hotel and three of his satellites and then the Chef, in his white cap and coverall, who bowed, beamed and shook hands with her while the rest of the guests in the restaurant stared, whispered and envied.
The dinner was impeccable: Belon oysters and a Chablis: a plump partridge and a 1959 Petur.
She heard herself talking. No, her husband wasn’t too well, but he planned to be in Basle next year (A lie). Yes, the drive from Bonn had been bad, but there had been no ice on the autobahn. Yes, of course, she was delighted to be back in her favourite City (A lie). Her chauffeur? This question was unexpected and for a moment she lost her poise, then she smiled, shrugged her beautiful shoulders. Yes… something new, but her husband wanted someone to drive her. She looked into Fock’s moist, admiring eyes and she pulled a comic grimace. Husbands get fussy. She preferred to drive herself. But husbands! She laughed, and Fock was enchanted. Yes, this new chauffeur seemed very capable. He had been recommended… an American student… very serious.
Tired of being questioned, she switched the conversation to Fock’s wife (a gruesome bore) and to his children (monsters).
Fock insisted on champagne with the sorbet and Helga was pretty drunk by the time coffee and brandy were served.
She made a charming little speech of thanks at the end of the meal, and then allowed herself to be escorted to her room.
Thankfully, she got rid of Fock at her bedroom door, then she walked a little unsteadily to her bed and dropped on to it.
She had been spoilt. It had been a wonderful reception. It had been a wonderful meal. Bore though he was, Fock had been kind to her. Now, to complete a perfect evening, she wanted Larry. She wanted this primitive boy to use her as he must have used the stupid, giggling girls on his farm. She wanted to be bruised, violently used, even beaten if that was what he liked, but she wanted him… how she wanted him!
Getting off the bed, she threw off her clothes, tossing her dress, her bra, her pants, her stockings from her until she was naked.
Drunk, excited, she stood in the middle of the bedroom, her hands cupping her breasts, feeling the stabbing need for a man tormenting her. She imagined the scene in another few minutes. She had to be careful not to be too blatant… not to shock him. She would have on her chiffon wrap. When he came into the room, she would look at him… a long pause… then a smile. Then, when he had closed the. door, she would go to him. She was sure he would read from her smile the green light to go ahead and he would take her. She hoped he wouldn’t turn shy. It was possible he might be too scared of her to take what she was offering, but she thought that couldn’t be possible.
With her heart beating fast, she picked up the telephone receiver.
“Give me room 556, please.”
“Certainly madame… a moment, please.”
Helga grimaced. Of course the girl knew who she was speaking to. The slight flustered note in her voice told her that
There was a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m sorry, madame, there is no reply.”
No reply! Helga’s fingers tightened on the receiver. Surely he couldn’t be asleep already? She looked at the wall clock. It was 22.35.
“Try again!” she was immediately sorry for allowing her voice to sound so harsh.
“Yes, madame.” Again a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m very sorry, madame, but there is still no reply.”
Helga drew in a long, slow breath. Only with an effort, she kept control of her temper.
“Give me the reception desk!”
There was another infuriating delay, then the Reception Manager came on the line. During the wait, Helga guessed the girl had alerted him. When he answered, there was a bow in his voice.
“Madame Rolfe? Is there anything I can do?”
“I want to speak to my chauffeur.”
“Your chauffeur?” There was a slight lift in his voice of surprise. She thought bitterly, if she had asked to be connected to God he might have been less surprised. “Of course, madame… please, a moment.”
She sat on the bed, feeling the sensual warmth of her body evaporating.
“Madame?” The voice came back on the line.
“Well?” She knew the snap in her voice was unfortunate, but she couldn’t control it.
“Your chauffeur has gone out. He left an hour ago. Is there anything I can do?”
“He has gone out?” A mistake, Helga thought, but she couldn’t keep the words back.
“Did you want him, madame?” The bowing voice took on a worried note.
Do you want him? Helga’s body ached. How I want him!
“No… it isn’t important.” Slowly she replaced the receiver.
She got off the bed and walked to the window. She pulled aside the drapes and looked down at the busy street. The snow had stopped falling. The trams clanged and sparks flew from the overhead cables. People, in furs, walked carefully over the frozen snow. She let the drapes drop and went over to the bed and slipped on the chiffon wrap. She felt cold and now she wished she hadn’t drunk so much.
It was her own fault, she told herself. She hadn’t given him the slightest hint that she wanted him to come to her room. But where had he gone?
She dropped on to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Had he got this urge he had told her about… the urge that was now crucifying her? Had he gone out into the cold and the snow in search of some cheap little whore when she was here, in luxury and warmth, longing for him?
She lay there, her mind tormented, then after a while, she began to weep.
CHAPTER THREE
From a drugged sleep, Helga came awake at 08.00. She turned on the bedside lamp and then lay still, staring up at the ceiling. Thank God, she thought, for sleeping pills!
Making the effort, she picked up the telephone receiver.
“Coffee, please. Please tell my chauffeur I will be leaving at nine o’clock. Have my account ready,” and she replaced the receiver.
As she got out of bed she thought what a fool she would look if they called back to tell her her chauffeur was missing. It was possible Larry had walked out on her… he might even have taken her car! Then she told herself to be realistic. She had his passport. Anyway, why should she doubt him? Last night had been her fault. She hadn’t given him the slightest hint she wanted him to make love to her.