She rode back in the chair lift to the villa.
Back in her bedroom, she stripped off her mink coat and let it drop on the floor. She pressed her hands against her cold face, then she looked in the mirror, opposite the bed. She stiffened. Was this white-faced, gaunt, desperately old looking woman her? Could it be her?
Damn him to hell!” she said, half aloud, staring at her reflection. “I must be going out of my mind! A gum-chewing little bastard like that! I’ve got to stop this! I’ve got to control myself! If I go on like this, I’ll be found out, then my life as I know it, as I like it, will be finished! I’ve got to stop it and I’m going to stop it!”
Aware she was trembling, she stood motionless, drawing in slow, deep breaths, then when she felt steadier, she left the room and went along to the sitting-room. She stood in the vast room, looking around: its vastness and loneliness crushed her.
She couldn’t spend the night here, she told herself. She must have contact with other people. She would call the Eden hotel. They would have a room for her. She would have a lonely, but good dinner in the grill room, then sleeping pills would give her release until the morning but first she had to have a drink.
She crossed to the well stocked bar and poured a heavy slug of vodka into a crystal tumbler. She added ice from the refrigerator and a dash of martini, then she carried the drink to one of the big settees. She sat down, sipped her drink and lit a cigarette.
She stared through the picture window at the distant view, the haze and the lights. She refused to let herself think until she had finished the drink, then getting up, she made another and then returned to the settee.
She was now calmer and her shrewd mind began to regain its keenness. She was suddenly appalled at the risk she had taken. To bring an unknown boy to her home as she had done had been utter lunacy! Her sex urge must be stamped out! She drew in a long shuddering breath. Well, he was gone! Thank God he had been a hick, and thank God the sight of her nakedness had frightened him away!
She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another.
Never again!
If she had to have a man she must look for an hotel servant in an hotel in which she wasn’t known… something like that.
But at the back of her mind there was a growing feeling of uneasiness. The gum-chewing boy had taken a lot of money from her. The passport alone had cost three thousand francs. Might he not come back for more? Might he not consider her an ideal subject for blackmail?
Helga had been trained in law, had worked with ruthless business men and she was well aware of the dangers of blackmail.
She felt her hands turn moist as she sat, thinking.
But after a little thought, stamping down on her panic, she began to relax. No, he wouldn’t dare blackmail her. He couldn’t! She knew his passport was faked. Of course she had more to lose than he, but in a showdown, she had a weapon she could and would use.
She finished her drink.
Fortified now by two cocktails, she felt much more relaxed. She remembered his warm, friendly smile. A boy who could smile like that couldn’t be a blackmailer nor could he have anything bad in him. Then she remembered his quiet words to that little pansy: What would it cost you if you got your hands crushed in a door? She felt a chill run up her spine. But he was bluffing, she assured herself. He had told her he fed on the violence of television. That had been the threat of a small boy… no, it was all right: he was a hick, and that was that. She could put him out of her mind.
It had been a moment of madness… now she must forget it.
She went across the room and telephoned the Eden hotel.
The Reception manager’s welcome flattered, soothed and pleased her.
“Yes, of course, Madame Rolfe. I have your usual suite. Only too delighted. And how is Mr. Rolfe?”
She said her husband was fairly well, that she would be arriving in about half an hour and would he reserve a table for her in the grill room?
She hung up and went to her bedroom. Taking a small suitcase from one of the many closets, she packed what she would need for the night. As she was closing the lid of the suitcase, she paused and stiffened.
Had she heard something? She listened again, hearing only the beating of her heart. Moving silently, she went to the bedroom door and opened it. She stood in the open doorway, looking along the lighted corridor, tense, her ears straining. She now could only hear the muffled roar of the motor, driving the central heating and then the slight whirr from the deep freeze cabinet in the kitchen. She frowned, annoyed with herself for imagining odd sounds, then as she was about to turn back to her room, she again paused and stiffened.
She was sure now she had heard a sound. A footfall? A door shutting? A door opening? Some sound that didn’t blend in with the expected sounds of the villa.
She listened but could hear nothing now.
Had Larry come back?
She moved into the corridor, her heart thumping, her breathing a little laboured. She waited, listening, then she heard the sound again: a door closing softly. There could be no mistaking that sound. All the doors in the villa were of heavy oak. It was impossible to close them silently. Every one of them gave out a little clicking sound no matter how carefully they were shut.
There was someone in the villa!
Was it Larry?
Panic surged through her until she got hold of herself. She turned swiftly back into her bedroom, ran across to one of the closets, opened the door, slid open a drawer and her hand dropped on a.22 automatic pistoclass="underline" a tiny, but vicious weapon she had often carried in the streets of New York when a woman with her looks had to have protection after dark. The gun gave her a feeling of security, and with this feeling of security, she began also to feel angry.
She went to the open door of the bedroom.
“Who’s there?” she called, pitching her voice high.
Silence greeted her. She hesitated only for a moment, then lifting the gun, she aimed it at the door at the far end of the corridor and squeezed the trigger.
The bang of the gun sounded very loud in the stillness of the villa. A tiny hole appeared in the woodwork of the door and splinters flew.
At least, she thought, whoever it was in the villa now knew she had a gun. Bracing herself, she went down the corridor and threw the door open. There was nothing to see: only the lights, the thick royal blue carpet and the corridor leading to the front door. Again she paused to listen, but although she remained motionless for several nerve-racking minutes, she heard nothing to alarm her further.
Still holding the gun, she went back to the bedroom. She put on her coat, her hat and gloves. She was fighting off a growing panic as she paused to look at her pale, drawn face in the mirror. Then holding the gun in her right hand and the suitcase in her left hand, leaving all the lights on, she walked warily down the corridor, opened the front door, hesitated for a moment, then switched on the lights to the garage. She put down her suitcase and locked the front door. Turning, she walked swiftly to the security of the Mercedes.
CHAPTER FOUR
In her luxury suite at the Eden hotel, Helga had just finished dressing for dinner when the telephone bell buzzed.
She looked at the telephone for a brief moment, frowning. She wasn’t expecting any calls. With Larry still on her mind, anything unexpected made her uneasy. As the buzzer sounded again, she crossed the room and picked up the receiver.
“Is that you, Helga?”
Her eyebrows lifted. She would know that booming voice anywhere. There was a time when Jack Archer went in for amateur theatricals. He had often said that only two men in the world had real actor’s voices: Sir Laurence Olivier and himself.