‘I want to do some skin diving. Do you skin dive?’
‘Yes.’ What didn’t she do? she wondered.
‘Would you know the best place... no, I guess that’s a stupid question... you just arriving.’
She had been studying him, his beautiful muscles, his frank smile, his sexuality and that crucifying sex urge boiled up in her. If he had grabbed and raped her, it would have been the moment of her life. She looked up and down the deserted beach. They were utterly alone.
There was a pause, then she said, ‘How did you get here?’
‘Oh, I walked. I like walking.’ He smiled. ‘I got tired of all the noise. People sure know how to enjoy themselves here but they kick up a hell of a racket.’
‘Yes.’ She moved to the beach buggy and got in. ‘Do you want a ride back?’
‘Thanks. I’ve had all the walking I want for today.’
He climbed in beside her.
As she started the engine, she looked more closely at him. He was probably thirty-three, not more: ten years her junior, she thought. She wished he would take off the sun goggles. A man’s eyes, to her, were important.
‘What do you do for a living, Mr. Jackson?’ she asked. She wanted to know into what class category she would place him.
‘I’m a salesman,’ Jackson said. ‘I travel around. I like the life. I’m free... on my own. That’s important to me.’
And to me too, Helga thought as she set the buggy in motion.
‘What do you sell?’
‘Kitchen equipment.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it? Everyone needs kitchen equipment.’ She was thinking: small fry, not dangerous, no connections with any of Herman’s awful people... he could be safe.
‘Right. I enjoy it. As you say, people always need something for the kitchen.’
‘Where are you staying, Mr. Jackson?’
‘I’ve rented a beach hut. I look after myself. I like it that way. Hotels give me a pain.’
‘Yes. Does your wife like that way of life?’
He laughed: an easy lilting laugh.
‘I haven’t a wife, I like my freedom. I haven’t even a girl friend here, but I’ll find someone. I believe in ships that pass in the night... no complications,’ and he laughed again.
She very nearly stopped the buggy and told him to take her, but she controlled herself.
‘I’m Helga,’ she said. ‘I’m on my own tonight. Should we do something about it?’
Was he going to duck out? Was he going to tell her by a look, not in words that she was too old for him? Her fingers turned white on the driving wheel.
‘Wonderful!’ He sounded enthusiastic. ‘Let’s do that. Where and when do I pick you up?’
‘Have you a car?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then why not outside the Ocean Beach club at nine o’clock?’
She had seen the club some hundred yards down the road from her hotel. At nine o’clock, Herman would be in bed.
‘It’s a date. I look forward to it.’ He thought for a moment. ‘There’s a sea food restaurant I know. Do you like sea food?’
‘Of course.’
‘Fine. It’s okay... you don’t have to dress. Anything goes. Right?’
‘Yes.’
They drove for some minutes in silence, then he said, ‘Helga... that’s an unusual name.’ He suddenly took off his sun goggles and smiled at her. His big, friendly eyes gave her confidence. He was all right, she told herself. No problem with him. ‘You’re unusual too.’
She laughed, delighted.
‘We will talk about that tonight?’
‘That’s my beach hut.’ He pointed. They were about half a mile from her hotel.
She slowed the buggy, looked at the line of huts standing a hundred yards or so from the sea, half hidden by palm trees. She stopped the buggy.
‘Well, then tonight at nine,’ she said.
‘Right.’ He put his hand lightly but possessively on her arm for a brief moment. His touch sent a shock through her. He knew what she wanted, she told herself. ‘See you and thanks for the ride.’
In an excited daze, she drove back to the hotel.
The time was 19.15. Alex, the amiable hotel hairdresser had done her hair: his assistant had given her a facial. A waiter had brought her a shaker of vodka martinis. She had had a nap and was now refreshed and thinking of her date at 21.00 at the Ocean Beach club.
She had put on a simple white dress: white was becoming. It showed up her tan and, looking at herself in the mirror, she was satisfied. She would have one more drink, then she would go along to say good night to Herman, telling him she intended to take a walk, needing to stretch her legs after the journey. He wouldn’t be interested, but she would tell him.
As she poured the drink, the telephone bell buzzed. Frowning, she lifted the receiver.
‘Do I disturb you, madame?’
She recognized Hinkle’s fruity voice.
Surprised, she said, ‘Why, no, Hinkle. What is it?’
‘If you could spare me a few minutes, madame?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, madame,’ and he hung up.
Puzzled, Helga sat down, sipped her drink and waited. She couldn’t imagine what Hinkle wanted to see her about unless it was about Herman. She had known Hinkle now for some three years. He had never approached her in this way before and she had seldom asked him to do anything for her. She had her own personal maid, and she regarded Hinkle strictly as Herman’s property.
A light tap came on the door and Hinkle entered. He was wearing a white jacket, a black bow tie and black trousers. In spite of the servant’s uniform, he still looked like a benign bishop. He shut the door, moved further into the room, then paused.
She looked inquiringly at him.
‘Yes, Hinkle?’
‘I would like, madame, if you would permit, to speak frankly with you.’
‘Is it about Mr. Rolfe?’
‘Yes, madame.’
‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘Thank you, madame. I would rather not.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘I have worked for Mr. Rolfe for some fifteen years. He is not an easy gentleman to work for but I believe I have given him acceptable service.’
‘I know you have, Hinkle,’ Helga said quickly. Was he breaking the news that he had had enough of Herman and was leaving? She shrank from the thought. ‘No one could have done more for him.’
‘I believe that is so, madame. I now find myself in a distressing position. Naturally, after all these years, I have a feeling of loyalty to Mr. Rolfe. As you know, I look after Mr. Rolfe’s papers when he is travelling. Mr. Rolfe has come to regard me as a background figure: someone who is always at hand, someone who is neuter if you follow my meaning. While filing some papers I came across a draft letter to Mr. Winborn. In order to place it where Mr. Rolfe could find it again, I read it. I now find myself in a dilemma. However, there was a subsequent happening and I decided I must speak to you.’
Helga stiffened.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said sharply.
‘If you will bear with me, madame, I will explain as you have given me permission to speak frankly.’
‘Well?’
‘I have to admit, to my regret, that I did not approve of you when you married Mr. Rolfe. Since I have got to know you, madame, I have come to realize your worth, what you have done for Mr. Rolfe, the burden you have accepted to make his home life easy, your constant journeys on his behalf. If I may say so, madame, I am impressed by your industry, your unfailing willingness, your financial abilities and the sacrifices you have made.’
Helga sat back, staring.
‘Well, Hinkle, that is quite a testimonial. Thank you.’
‘I don’t speak lightly on such matters, madame,’ Hinkle said, looking directly at her. ‘Mr. Rolfe is far from well. I realize this more than Dr. Levi does since I am in such close contact with Mr. Rolfe. I have discerned a distressing mental weakness in Mr. Rolfe which Dr. Levi, so far, has failed to observe.’