An Ace Up My Sleeve (16 page)

Helga glanced at her watch. The time was 21.25. The Grandfather clock was a collector's piece and wasn't expected to keep faithful time.

Since Herman's telex, Helga had sat with a blank mind, waiting for the central heating engineer. She was now beginning to think he wasn't coming. Inhere had been no sound from Archer. Her threat seemed to have cowed him. She had smoked innumerable cigarettes and she had drunk another brandy. She was feeling slightly light–headed, but in spite of the heat from the radiators, she felt cold.

She had pulled up the shutter covering the smaller of the three windows and had pulled back the drapes. The distant lights of Lugano and the two red warning lights on the TV and radio masts on top of the mountain helped against the growing feeling of claustrophobia.

Then she heard the noisy engine of an approaching car. She went to the window. She saw a Volkswagen, snow on its roof, pull up by the front door and a man get out. He leaned into the car and took from it a heavy tool case which he slung over his shoulder.

She braced herself and went to the front door just as he rang. As she opened the door, an icy blast greeted her, making her shiver. She had had no idea it had turned so cold and her mind flew to Larry.

"Schroder ... heating engineers," the man said in Italian. She could see the puzzled expression in his eyes as he felt the warmth coming from the hall. "You have trouble here, madame?"

"Come in." She couldn't bear the cold for a moment longer. The freezing air cut into her like a knife. He stepped into the hall and she closed the door.

"I'm sorry Mr. Rolfe called you," she said. "When I arrived, I couldn't get the heating to work. I was being stupid. It's working perfectly now. I'm so sorry." The Engineer, a middle-aged, heavy-faced Swiss, smiled cheerfully.

"That's all right, madame. The great thing is it's working. My boss was worried. He didn't want you to freeze up. Mr. Rolfe was threatening to sue us." Helga forced a smile.

"Mr. Rolfe is always threatening to sue someone ... he never does."

"While I'm here, madame, I'll check the motor. My boss wants to send a telex back to Mr. Rolfe."

"No ... don't bother." It would be far too dangerous to let him down to the cellars. She spoke hurried. "It's working perfectly. I – I was just being stupid. I forgot to press the right button. I can't think why I forgot' The Engineer shifted the sling of his bag.

"It's no bother ... it's my job." Then she saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. He was looking at the chest pulled across the door to the cellars. She knew he had been here before and knew the geography of the villa. "I'm sorry," she said firmly. "It is not convenient. I am very tired and I was just going to bed when you arrived. Wait a moment." She went quickly to her bedroom and with shaking hands, she opened her purse and took out a fifty franc note. Then as she was leaving the room, she heard the heavy thudding sounds from the cellars.

Archer, she thought, panic seizing her, must have heard the front door bell ring and with new courage, was attacking the door again.

When she regained the hall, she found the Engineer was examining the chest. The thudding sound from below created such a din that it set Helga's teeth on edge. Somehow she kept her face expressionless.

Please take this. Thank you for coming. I'm telephoning my husband. There is no need for you to go to the expense of sending him a telex. I'll explain everything ... it is entirely my mistake."

His eyes opened wide when he saw the fifty franc note.

"Thank you, madame ... thank you very much." His eyes went to the cellar door. The thudding sound was now alarmingly loud.

"A friend of mine ... he's making something," Helga said huskily and opened the front door.

"Well, madame, if you're sure ..."

"Yes. It's working perfectly!"

He moved out into the cold.

"Good night, madame, and thank you."

As she closed the front door, she heard a sudden sound of splintering wood and then a crash as the cellar door slammed open and banged against the wall. She clenched her fists. He was out!

Her breath rasping in her throat, she looked at the heavy chest against the door. Would that be enough to stop him forcing the door open? Then as she heard Archer come pounding up the stairs she also heard the engine of the Volkswagen whirr into life and the car drive away.

She leaned against the wall, staring at the door. She could hear Archer's laboured breathing, then she saw the door handle turn.

"Jack! Get away from that door!" she cried. "This is your last chance! Get away from that door or I'll call Larry!"

"He's not here," Archer panted. "I know! You can't bluff me! I heard the car and I know where he's gone ... he's gone to Basle! Open up or I'll break the door down! Do you hear? Open the door!"

She stared at the door. How could she make it safe? Then she remembered a scaffolding pole the builder had forgotten that was in the garage.

She ran to the front door, opened it and stumbled down the steps to the garage. The cold bit into her, but she ignored it. She opened the garage doors, found the pole and caught hold if it. It was heavy and clumsy to handle but she carried it back up the steps and into the hall.

She paused to stare at the door. The lock was now broken and the door was open an inch, but the chest was holding it. She could hear Archer's heavy breathing as he paused for his final effort. Would the pole be too long? Her own breathing was laboured. She wedged one end of the pole against the skirting of the opposite wall, then lowered the other end against the door. She gave a little sob of relief as she saw it was a fit. She jammed the pole down, forcing the door shut.

Archer made his effort and she heard his body thud against the door. The pole held the door solid and she heard his gasp of pain as his shoulder crashed against the door which didn't yield.

She heard him curse. The step at the door wasn't wide enough to give him much purchase. He wouldn't be able to use his foot, she thought. He would soon get tired of bruising his shoulder. 

"You bitch!" Archer snarled. "Open the door!"

She went into the kitchen to where the tool chest was kept. Herman was a great believer in having tools in all his homes. He never used them himself but expected Hinkle to cope with any small emergency. She found a heavy, wooden mallet and with that, standing on a chair, she hammered the pole more securely into place.

While she was working, Archer called her every obscene name that came to his mind.

Dropping the mallet, now sure the door was safe, she went unsteadily into the sitting-room. Again she looked at her watch. She had still three – possibly four – hours before Larry returned.

Now she had to persuade Herman to cancel his flight. It wouldn't do to telephone him. He would only argue. If she couldn't persuade him to cancel his flight he would be arriving at Geneva the following evening and at Agno airport the morning of the next day. This was too dangerous. She had to keep him away from the villa for at least another three days.

She listened, but heard no sound from the cellars, then she went to her desk and sat down. After thinking, she decided to ask the Eden to send a telex. Herman had a secretary at his New York apartment who would accept the message if Herman was out. She wrote the message out on a sheet of paper.

She re-read the message, decided Hinkle would be consulted and would veto flying tomorrow, then she rang the Eden and dictated the message to the clerk in charge of the telex. He promised to send the message immediately. As she replaced the receiver, she suddenly felt utterly drained and exhausted. She realized she hadn't had any food since lunch time, but the thought of preparing something was too much of an effort. She hesitated about having more brandy and decided against it. Getting to her feet, she walked slowly into the kitchen and put on the coffee percolator. She sat on a kitchen chair, her head in her hands, her eyes closed and remained like that until the coffee was ready. She sipped the strong black coffee which revived her a little, then as she was putting down the empty cup, she heard a sound that brought her alert.

She sprang to her feet and went to the kitchen door and looked across the hall to the cellar door. As she stood listening, her heart beginning to thump, the sound came again: a low moaning sigh. It was such an uncanny sound that it turned her cold.

Shakily, she crossed the hall and stood close to the cellar door, holding her breath, so tense, her muscles began to ache. The sound came again. Was Archer having an attack? He had been behaving like an infuriated bull and if he did have a bad heart as he said he had he might have brought on an attack. She cringed at the thought. Suppose he died?

Then very faintly through the door panel as if he were crouched against the other side of the door, she heard him murmur, "Helga? Helga?" "What is it?" Her voice quavering and husky.

"It's my heart' He made a low whimpering sound. "There are tablets in my overcoat pocket. Get them ... quickly."

She looked at the black overcoat lying on the hall chair. With shaking hands she searched the pocket and her fingers closed around a glass phial. She took it out and stared at it. It contained about eight oval shaped tablets. There was no label attached to the phial. The moan came again.

Without thinking, now in a blind panic, she caught hold of the pole to jerk it free, but it was jammed so tight, she couldn't move it.

"For God's sake, Helga ... I'm dying," Archer called. "Give me those tablets!" The harsh note in his voice tinged with angry impatience her pause. Was he bluffing? She looked at the phial. These could be anything: digestive tablets, sleeping pills ... anything.

"Helga? Are you there?" His voice was stronger as if he was afraid she might have moved away and wouldn't hear him.

If he was bluffing and she opened the door, she would be at his mercy, she thought. But suppose he wasn't? Suppose he really was having a heart attack?

She moved to the door. "They're not there. Would they be in the car?"

"They're there!" There was now a snarl in his voice. "You haven't looked! A phial with white tablets in it. Look again! Open the door ... I can't breathe! For God's sake, Helga, don't let me die!"

The snarl in his voice stiffened her resolve not to open the door. Moving unsteadily, she went into the sitting-room and closed the door. She crossed to the bar and poured brandy into a glass and swallowed it in one shuddering gulp. Then she dropped on to the settee.

If he died ... he died! She dare not risk opening the cellar door. He had shown no mercy to her. Why should she show mercy to him? A blackmailer is the dirtiest thing on earth. Let him die! She would be free of him then forever! But she knew she was desperately trying to justify her action. She knew that it was only because she was exerting tremendous control over herself she wasn't rushing to his aid.

He's bluffing, she tried to assure herself. He's unscrupulous, ruthless and an expert bluffer. She held her head in her hands. But was he bluffing? Suppose, when Larry returned, they found Archer dead? The thought sickened her. What would they do? How would Larry react? She touched her dry lips with her tongue. If he died she would have to call a doctor. Would the news of his death travel fast? Would the Bank hear of it before they posted the letter? In the event of my death! They certainly wouldn't post the letter to a dead man. They would act on his instructions and get a messenger to hand the envelope to Herman when he arrived at Geneva.

She struck her clenched fists together in an agony of indecision and despair. Getting to her feet, she opened the sitting-room door to listen.

Faintly, she could hear a sound on the lower panel of the cellar door. Irregular sounds, as if feeble fingernails were tapping on the panel.

"Helga ... the tablets ..." Archer's voice was now so faint she could scarcely hear it. "The tablets."

With her hands pressed to her ears, Helga blundered into her bedroom and threw herself face down on the bed.

The sound of the garage doors slamming shut startled her out of a sleep of exhaustion. Dazed, she scrambled off the bed. She was so unsteady she had to sit down abruptly on the bed or she would have fallen. She looked at her watch. The time was 03.10. Had Larry returned?

She forced herself to her feet and stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall. She looked fearfully at the cellar door, and then she went to the front door and opened it

By the porch light, she saw it was snowing heavily and the cold struck at her. She saw Larry coming towards her, holding the envelope she had given him. It was only the steel in her that prevented her from bursting into tears of relief.

He came up the steps, chewing hard and smiling his warm smile. "I got it, ma'am! Get inside and ... you'll catch cold."

She stepped back, her knees trembling and she had to clutch hold of the door to prevent herself falling. He gave her a searching stare and then caught hold of her, pushing the front door shut. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

"I'm so glad you're back." Her voice broke and then the tears came and she leaned against him, shaking and sobbing.

"Hey, ma'am! What's the matter? Did you ..." He stopped as he saw the pole jamming the cellar door. "Did you have trouble?" "Oh, God ... yes!"

He lifted her off her feet and carried her into the sitting-room. Gently, he put her on the settee. "What happened, ma'am? He didn't get away?"

She fought to control herself and succeeded. As she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, she said, "No ... but, Larry... I – I think he's dead."