1977 - I Hold the Four Aces (8 page)

A little flustered, and losing his cool, Grenville opened the briefcase and took out the coloured brochure and the plan of the site.

“Give yourself a brandy, nothing for me,” Helga said, and sitting back, studied the brochure, then the plan of the site, while Grenville, sure now he had lost control of the situation, wandered to the drinks table and poured himself a brandy.

“You will see…” he began, but she silenced him with an impatient wave of her hand.

“Let me read this first!”

He cut himself a piece of cheese and ate it. Holding his brandy glass, he wandered over to the window, drew aside the drapes and stared down at the traffic. This woman, he warned himself, was going to be difficult, but he thought of the possibilities. Although his confidence in himself had been shaken, he was still sure, that once he could get her to bed, all would go well.

Finally, she put down the papers. Her sharp mind had absorbed the details. She realized this promotion would never get off the ground, but she did see how she could control this man who meant so much to her. It was ridiculously easy.

“This could be interesting,” she said. “Let us talk about it.” She moved to the settee, and Grenville came over, and sat by her side. “I have so much money and I believe money should always be put to work. If Mr. Patterson is really prepared to pay twenty-five per cent on two million, yes, it is interesting.”

Grenville stared at her.

“But, Helga, dear! Surely you…”

She waved him to silence.

“Two million is nothing to me, and it would be nice for you to get two per cent. Now, this is what we will do. You and I will look at this site at Vallauris. I love the south of France. It’ll be fun, and also business. We will stay at Cannes for a couple of days. The Carlton Hotel is always so kind to me. Don’t worry about expenses: leave all that to me. Tell your Mr. Patterson that I am interested, and that you have persuaded me to look at the site. Telling him that will ensure, if the deal goes through, that you will get your commission.” She patted his hand. “Let us catch the 22.30 night flight tomorrow. What do you think?”

Dazed, Grenville nodded.

“That would be wonderful. I’ll tell Mr. Patterson. He will be delighted.”

“I am sure he will.” The blue eyes were steely. “All right, Chris, this has been very exciting. I have had a long day. Leave all the arrangements to me. Let us meet in the lobby tomorrow evening at 19.00. Then together, we will fly to Nice.”

He realized, with a sense of shock, that she was dismissing him.

“I was hoping…” he began, but stopped as she got to her feet.

“Later, Chris, tomorrow then.” As he reached for the papers and the brochure, she said curtly, “Leave those. I want to study them. Good night, Chris. I am sure we are going to have fun.”

For the first time in his career as a gigolo, Grenville felt completely dominated. He kissed her hand, then bewildered, he let himself out of the suite. He stood in the corridor for several moments, then pulling himself together, he hurried to his own suite. He telephoned Archer and gave him a blow-by-blow account of the evening.

He heard Archer draw in a deep breath of exasperation.

“I told you she was nobody’s fool!” Archer exploded. “I warned you! You’ve blown it! She now knows this is a con!”

“But she is taking me to Vallauris tomorrow!” Grenville said, his voice high-pitched. “If she knows it is a con, why should she do that?”

“That shows how little you know about her, but you’ll learn,” Archer said sourly. “She is after your body. Now listen, Chris, do exactly what she wants you to do. Don’t argue with her. Go along with her. My idea is germinating.”

“For God’s sake! What idea?”

“Give me a few more days, and remember, Chris, don’t ever imagine you can outsmart Helga. She is very special.” He paused, then went on, “But I can. Go along with her, and leave the rest to me,” and hung up.

* * *

Grenville stood on the balcony of his room at the Carlton Hotel, Cannes, feeling the hot sun against his face. He looked down at the crowded Croisette. For the first time in his gigolo life, he felt unsure of himself and unhappy.

The previous day, in Paris, he had talked to Patterson, telling him that Helga wanted to see the site at Vallauris. Patterson beamed and clapped Grenville on his shoulder.

“So she’s biting! You’re doing a swell job, Grenville! When she sees the site, she’s going to get really steamed up! It’s a beaut! Now, here’s what you do: call Henri Leger when you get to Cannes. You’ll find him in the book. He’s the guy who is handling the site. He’ll take you both there. Once she has seen it, the deal’s as good as fixed!”

Grenville had hoped to see Helga, but the concierge at the Plaza Athenee Hotel had told him that Madame Rolfe had gone out and he had no idea when she would be returning.

After a lonely, unhappy day, wandering around Paris, Grenville was in his suite when Helga telephoned. The time was 18.00.

“See you in an hour, Chris, in the lobby,” she said briskly. “Everything is arranged. Bring enough clothes for a week.”

Never before had a woman given him orders. He attempted to assert himself.

“Helga, I…”

She cut him short.

“Later Chris, I have people here,” and she hung up.

Then Archer telephoned.

“How is it going?” he asked.

“God knows!” Grenville said. “She’s getting on top of me! I don’t know if I can stand her much longer! She’s treating me like a damned gigolo!”

Archer laughed sourly.

“That’s what you are, aren’t you? Take it easy. My brain child is getting underway. When you get to the Carlton, telephone me. Now, remember, Chris, be her gigolo, get her into bed!”

Angrily, Grenville slammed down the receiver.

But he was in the lobby at 19.00 with a suitcase. He was aware that Patterson, sitting in an alcove, a whisky in his hand, was watching.

Helga appeared with the manager of the hotel. There were elaborate good-byes, tips, handshaking while Grenville stood and watched.

Finally, Helga came to him, smiling.

“Let’s go, Chris.” She laughed. He thought she was looking young and marvellous, and very alive.

There was a chauffeur-driven Cadillac waiting. While they were being driven to Orly airport, Helga chatted. She had had a dreadful day with her colleagues.

“The fuss men make about buying a site!” she exclaimed and threw up her hands. “I’m so glad to get away from them! Tell me, Chris, what have you been doing today?”

What had he been doing? Nothing, but he pulled himself together, and launched into a fictitious visit to a picture gallery on the Left Bank, but he quickly realized she wasn’t listening.

There were two porters to handle the luggage at the airport. There was an air hostess to take them to the V.I.P. lounge. Grenville was aware that he was just an onlooker, a role that irritated him, and he realized for the first time the power of Rolfe’s millions. On the plane, two air hostesses administered to them. The Flight captain came and shook hands with Helga, ignoring Grenville. She seemed to know him for she asked after his children. Grenville found he was no more than a stooge, and he turned sulky, but Helga apparently didn’t notice. She talked gaily, laughed and enjoyed herself.

There was a Mercedes waiting for them at the Nice airport. The chauffeur, an elderly man, took off his cap as Helga approached. She shook hands with him, and asked after his wife, while Grenville waited, feeling like a dummy.

The drive to Cannes took only twenty minutes. The manager of the Carlton Hotel was there to greet Helga. He bowed distantly to Grenville, scarcely seeing him as Helga introduced him to Grenville.

“Chris, I’m tired, tomorrow,” she said, and was whisked away, while he took the second elevator to his room.

Now, this morning, a note arrived with his breakfast.

Bore! I have business. Enjoy yourself. Meet me in the lobby at 21.00. Helga.

This woman was beginning to frighten him. He had told her he had visited the site at Vallauris. Now, he realised how stupid that lie had been. She would expect him to take her there tomorrow, and he hadn’t the vaguest idea where the site was! He had to do something about that! He called Henri Leger's office.

A girl said, “Monsieur Leger is out. He won’t be back until this afternoon.”

“I am acting on behalf of Mr. Joe Patterson who has an option on a site at Vallauris,” Grenville said. “Can you tell me where the site is situated?”

“Mr. Leger is on the site now,” the girl told him. “Madame Rolfe is with him.”

Grenville felt a chilly sensation run up his spine.

“It’s all right, don’t bother,” he said and hung up.

He remembered Archer’s warning. Don’t ever imagine you can outsmart Helga.

Well, all right, he thought, then I play along with her. The crunch will come after I have slept with her. That is what Archer has kept telling me. At least, I am covered. I have always told her this promotion is ridiculous.

He put a call through to Archer.

“It’s all right,” Archer said, after listening to Grenville’s tale. “By now, she has found out Patterson’s promotion is a lemon, but she is still interested in you. Play the innocent. I’m coming down, and I’ll be at the Clarice Hotel tonight. I am almost ready with my idea. Take it easy, Chris. We are going to get two million dollars out of her. She’s smart, but I am smarter.”

Grenville hoped to God he was.

He was in the lobby at 21.00, after spending a day wandering around the shops at Cannes, then taking a swim, but not enjoying a moment of it.

Helga, in a turquoise-coloured silk chiffon dress and a white fox stole, swept out of the elevator and joined him.

“Chris! I’m starving! We are going to the Boule d’or. Did you have a lovely day?”

Without waiting for his reply, she swept through the lobby, and to where the Mercedes was waiting.

They were driven swiftly to a restaurant overlooking the harbour where Helga received a royal welcome while Grenville, feeling more and more inadequate, stood around, until the welcome was over.

“My husband and I always ate here,” Helga explained as they settled at a table on the terrace. “Louis can be relied on.” She smiled at the maître d’hôtel as he hurried to her side. “Louis! So good to see you again! We want a lovely dinner. Suggest something.”

“Madame, why not your favourite: crepes with shrimps and tuna fish, and a boned duck with prunes?”

Helga looked at Grenville.

“It is wonderful. Why not?”

Grenville hesitated. He longed to assert himself, but his confidence had gone.

“All right.”

“Now you choose the wines, Chris. You are so expert.”

That, at least, gave him back some initiative. He began to examine the wine list as the wine waiter hovered. Then just as he was about to order, Helga said, “Jacques, have you that divine Margaux ‘29 which my husband so enjoyed?”

The wine waiter bowed.

“Just two bottles left, madame.”

“Oh, Chris, you must try that, and they have a wonderful Domaine de Chevalier.”

Defeated and deflated, Grenville closed the wine list.

“Anything you say, Helga.”

He now realized she was completely dominating him. A Margaux ‘29 would cost at least five hundred francs, but he remembered Archer’s advice: play along with her!

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling.

“This is fun, Chris. Tell me about your day.”

“My day? Oh, I wandered around, had a swim, and missed you.”

That pleased her and she patted his hand.

“I missed you too, but tomorrow will be different. We can enjoy ourselves. I’m dying for a swim.”

“And what did you do?” he asked, knowing already what she had done.

“Let’s talk about that later.” The direct stare made him uneasy.

So they ate the meal which was excellent, and talked about this and that. Grenville found he wasn’t able to launch into one of his monologues, although he wanted to tell her about Monte Carlo and the Rainiers. Somehow, Helga dominated the conversation, telling him of her experiences when Herman Rolfe and she had spent many weeks in Cannes.

The meal finished, she said, “Let’s return to the hotel.”

To his relief, she signed the check and gave a lavish tip.

He said rather feebly, “This should be on me, Helga,” but apparently, she didn’t hear.

Driven back to the hotel, they went together to her suite. She walked out onto the balcony and looked at the sea, the crowds, the palm trees and the lights.

“I love Cannes,” she said, as Grenville joined her.

“Yes: it is special.”

He stood by her side, uneasy and worried.

“Now let’s talk business.” She dropped into a chair.

Grenville wished Archer was here. This woman was demoralizing him. He had never met a woman with her strength of character; never before heard such sudden steel in her voice, or had to meet such a direct stare.

“Business? Of course.” He sat beside her. “You mean the Patterson thing.”

She smiled at him.

“Chris, you have many splendid talents, but property promotion is not for you.”

Grenville crossed his long legs and opened his gold cigarette case, which he offered. Helga took a cigarette and he did. He lit the cigarettes before saying, “You could be right.”

She threw back her head and laughed. Looking at her, Grenville suddenly realized she was really a beautiful woman. Her throat line was superb.

“When you told me about this Blue Sky promotion and that you had become involved,” Helga said, “I decided to check. Yesterday, I instructed my people to investigate Joe Patterson. This morning I inspected the site at Vallauris. Now, let me tell you what I have discovered. First, Joe Patterson: he has spent five years in a U.S. jail for fraud. He has very little money: just enough to keep up appearances. The Blue Sky promotion is yet another of his many swindles. I went this morning to the cadastre at Vallauris. They told me that there are two footpaths through this piece of land, so it would be impossible to build. Leger, the agent, is a crook. You now have to face the fact, Chris, that you have got yourself involved in a swindle.”