Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

‘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: crêpes 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.’

Taking out his handkerchief, Grenville wiped his damp hands.

‘I did say, didn’t I, Helga, no one in their right minds...?’

‘Yes,’ she broke in. It irked him that she kept cutting him short. ‘We can forget Patterson. I’m sorry, because you won’t get the two per cent on this so-called deal.’

Grenville shrugged.

‘Life is like that, isn’t it? I never really thought I would.’ He stared down at the crowd, moving on the promenade. ‘Maybe I had better see this farce to the end. If Patterson really wants me to go to Saudi Arabia, it could pay me to do so.’

He thought this was a smart move, and looked at Helga. But her searching stare made him immediately uncomfortable. He forced himself to smile at her.

‘Forget Saudi Arabia,’ Helga said curtly. ‘I have a suggestion to make.’

‘You have? What is it, Helga?’

‘My corporation can use your talents. I want you to become a member of my executive staff.’

With an effort, Grenville kept his face expressionless.

‘But I know nothing about electronics.’

‘You won’t need to. I want you as my personal assistant.’ Helga put her hand on his. ‘You can’t imagine how many things I have to deal with, and with you at my side, my work would be halved. What do you think?’

Here it is, Grenville thought and suddenly gained confidence. His fingers caressed Helga’s wrist.

‘I would love that, but tell me first: your personal assistant?’ He looked at her with that sensual look he could produce for middle-aged or elderly women that had never failed. ‘How personal?’

‘Very, very personal, Chris, darling,’ Helga said and got to her feet.

As he went with her into the bedroom, Grenville thought that this time he hadn’t fluffed it. He could almost hear Archer applauding on the sidelines.

The warm sun, coming through the slats of the shutters, woke Helga. She moved voluptuously, sighing, then opened her eyes. Looking at the bedside clock, she saw it was 10.00.

She had never slept so well. Turning on her side, she looked at the pillow beside her and touched it.

Grenville had left her soon after 03.00, and she hated him going, but both had agreed he must return to his room for appearances’ sake.

She ran her fingers through her silky hair.

What a lover! The best ever!

She arched her body, longing for him to be by her side, and longing for him to take her yet again.

What a lover!

For some minutes, she lay still and re-lived the events of the night. Perfect! And it must be repeated and repeated and repeated! This wonderful man must be her husband! She now couldn’t bear the thought of ever being parted from him. He had everything: looks, intelligence, talents, and was magnificent as a lover!

Hooked! she told herself and laughed. Yes... and why not? He loved her as fiercely as she loved him. She knew it by the way he looked at her and had caressed her. Of course she must be careful. She mustn’t rush this. He was English, and there was this reserve about him. He was certain to have a stupid bias that as she was so rich, he shouldn’t marry her, but this, she felt sure, she could handle.

But certainly not in the Carlton Hotel.

She turned on her side as she thought, then suddenly, she smiled. Of course! The villa in Castagnola! The perfect love nest: away from the prying eyes of the press... Chris and herself. Nothing could be more perfect!