‘The stroke, of course, as Dr. Levi has told you, was massive,’ Bernstein said. ‘It has done damage, but, let us hope, not irreparable damage. This relapse could possibly be the reaction of an overtaxed heart. I wouldn’t like to go further than this, Madame Rolfe. In fact until I have made various tests, it would be better not to go into details. I will observe the patient. It will take time.’
Bored with this fat, little man, Helga said, ‘So you don’t know what has happened? You have to make tests and you may find out. Is that the position?’
He looked at her, his eyes snapping.
‘You can rely on me to make a searching examination, Madame Rolfe. This is an unusual case.’
She nodded, then turned to Dr. Levi.
‘I am moving from here, doctor. Here is my new telephone number.’ She gave him a card. ‘Please keep in touch with me.’
‘Of course, Mrs. Rolfe.’
Turning to Dr. Bernstein who was frowning, she said, ‘You can give me no idea when my husband can go home?’
‘An idea?’ He lifted his heavy eyebrows. ‘Certainly not. It is far too soon to think of air travel. Much will depend on the results of the tests.’
That night she had to take three sleeping pills before she slept. Tomorrow, she told herself, as she lay waiting for sleep, her life would begin.
Waking, she reviewed the coming day. Hinkle had gone. Herman was in the Nassau hospital for an unspecified time. Winborn was safely in New York. She had a love nest! There was no need to wait any longer. Now for Dick!
She frowned. But how was she to contact him? Her first impulse was to get in the Mini and drive to the broken-down bungalow and collect him, but she realized at once that the wife of one of the richest men in the world couldn’t do that. She could tell the Hall porter she wanted to see Dick Jones. That too could be dangerous. Why should she want to contact a half-caste boy? The Hall porter would wonder.
Goddamn it! She thought. Must my life always be so complicated?
She had to be careful. She had to avoid gossip. So she lay in bed and thought. It irritated her to realize when one had something to conceal one had to cover one’s tracks, continually look over one’s shoulder and be cautious, and ‘caution’ was a word she loathed.
Then she thought of Frank Gritten.
She reached for the telephone and called his number.
‘This is Mrs. Rolfe, Mr. Gritten,’ she said when he came on the line. ‘Thank you again for what you did for me.’
‘I hope you were successful,’ Gritten said.
‘I was. You were good enough to say you would help me if I needed help.’
‘I am at your service, Mrs. Rolfe.’
‘I want to get in touch with an ex-servant of my hotel. His name is Dick Jones and he lives at 1150 North Beach road. Could you have a message sent to him to meet me at the Riviera Tavern at three o’clock this afternoon?’
There was a long pause. She could imagine Gritten puffing at his pipe. Then he said, ‘That’s no problem, Mrs. Rolfe.’ Another pause. ‘Would you like me to accompany you when you meet Jones?’
Startled, Helga said, ‘What on earth for?’
‘Jones is a J.D., Mrs. Rolfe. He served a year in a reform school when he was twelve years old. I suggest he isn’t the type you should meet without someone like me with you.’
Helga stared into space. She saw the boy, saw his beauty, his fawn-like eyes.
‘You surprise me, Mr. Gritten. Has he been in trouble since then?’
‘No, Mrs. Rolfe, but all the same, once in trouble, always in trouble.’
‘Isn’t that being rather cynical, Mr. Gritten?’
‘I am an ex-cop. One becomes cynical. We have a very high record here of J.D.’s. Most of them land up in jail. Do you still want to meet Jones now you know more about him?’
She didn’t hesitate.
‘Of course.’ There was a snap in her voice. ‘Please arrange it for me. Three o’clock at the Riviera Tavern.’
‘All right, Mrs. Rolfe.’
‘And thank you for not asking questions.’
He laughed.
‘If there is anything else I can do, it will be my privilege.’
She thanked him and hung up. Was she being utterly reckless and stupid?
She thought of the boy and her heart began to race.
I can be too cautious, she thought. I have him where I want him. I am glad Gritten told me he has been in trouble. That means he will be more ready to do what I want. He will know I could get him into very serious trouble with that tape.
She relaxed back in her chair.
To hell with caution! She wanted a man, so she was going to have a man!
She enjoyed her lunch in the grill-room, knowing it was the last time she would eat there. After lunch, she saw the hotel manager and arranged for her cheque to be ready the following morning. He said how much he regretted that she was leaving the hotel and how much pleasure it had given him and his staff to serve her. She said the appropriate things.
A few minutes to 15.00, she drove to the Riviera Tavern. As she pulled into the parking lot she saw a group of scantily dressed young people surrounding an Electra Glide motorcycle. There were more girls than boys. The girls were chattering and squealing like a flock of parakeets; the boys silent and envious.
Astride the motorcycle was Dick Jones. For a moment she didn’t recognize him. He was wearing a gondolier’s straw hat with a red ribbon. The hat was tilted sideways, giving him a cheeky, sexy look. He wore only a pair of skin tight red trousers. Around his neck was a thick, gilt chain from which hung a replica of a tiny human skull, carved from bone.
Was this his off-duty gear? Helga wondered or had her money bought this finery? He was certainly a brash, handsome-looking little animal, she thought. No wonder the girls were swarming around him and the glittering white and red motorcycle was impressive.
She sat watching, a cigarette between her fingers. Suddenly Dick seemed to become aware of being watched. He looked sharply at her and their eyes met. Purposely, Helga gave him her cold, steel hard stare.
His happy expression, his wide smile, revealing perfect teeth, faded. He straightened his hat and said something to the group around him.
They all stopped chattering and turned to stare at Helga who stared back at them. Then they broke up and all ran back to the Tavern, giggling and laughing, the boys shouting... all but one.
In the group Helga hadn’t noticed this particular girl, but the moment the girl became isolated as she stood by the motorcycle she seemed to Helga to be larger than life.
Around twenty-two or -three, this girl was well above average height and as she stood sideways on to Helga there seemed nothing of her: tiny breasts, no rear, long legs. Her hair that reached to her waist was tinted Venetian red. Helga thought she would probably be a mousy blonde before she had tinted her hair. The girl was wearing a grubby white T-shirt and tight, sun-bleached Levis with rabbit fur around the cuffs. All this Helga took in in one searching stare, then she looked at the girl’s face. She felt a little pang of uneasiness: a strong face without being hard: a short nose, a wide, firm mouth and big eyes: no beauty, but by God! Helga thought, she was arresting: not like the other stupid puppy girls who had run away.
The girl continued to stare at her until Dick spoke to her. Then she shrugged and walked away with long, graceful strides, her head held high.
Getting off his motorcycle, removing his hat, Dick approached the Mini.
Helga saw the group of youngsters now standing in the shade of the restaurant’s veranda. They were watching. This was a mistake, she told herself, to meet him here, but she didn’t give a damn.
He came up to her and gave a stiff little bow.
Her voice cold and hard, she said, ‘Do you know the Blue Heron villa, Dick?’