Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

Segetti kept saying, ‘No problem, sir.’

As Archer drove up the steep hill that led past Helga’s villa, he slowed, but didn’t stop.

‘That’s it. Villa Helios. I’ll come back the same way.’

Both Segetti and Belmont peered at the wrought-iron gates that led to the villa as the Mercedes crawled by. At the top of the road, Archer reversed and then again drove slowly past the villa.

‘Have you got it?’ he asked.

‘Sir, there is no problem.’

‘All right. You have about eight hours. Do you want to stay at my villa or what do you want to do?’

‘We would like to look at Lugano, sir,’ Segetti said. ‘We have never been here before. May I ask you to take us back so we can use our car?’

Archer was relieved. The thought of having these two with him for eight hours didn’t appeal to him.

‘Yes.’

He drove them back to the villa.

As they got out of the Mercedes, Segetti said, ‘We will be here at 22.15 tonight, sir.’

Archer watched them drive away. He unlocked the door of the villa, went into one of the bedrooms and stretched out on the bed. He had a long wait, but at least, the operation was now in motion.

A million dollars! he thought. With that money he would go to New York. He would be able to start his own business as a tax consultant. There was nothing that bitch could do once he had her money. He was sure she would never cry ‘thief’. She wouldn’t want to face the blaze of publicity that she had been conned by a handsome gigolo as Herman Rolfe hadn’t prosecuted because he knew Archer would have talked of his affair with Helga. No... he had nothing to worry about as far as she was concerned. But these two men did worry him a little. There was something sinister about them, especially the young one. He would have been very worried if he had been able to see these two as they parked near the Lugano post office.

Leaving Belmont in the car, Segetti hurried into the post office and, shutting himself in a telephone booth, he called Bernie in Geneva. He talked briefly. Bernie listened, then said, ‘Call me back in two hours, Max,’ and he hung up.

Bernie had many contacts in Switzerland. One of his most reliable contacts was in Lugano: Lucky Bellini, so called because, many years ago, a jealous woman had plunged a knife into his fat back and he had survived.

‘Lucky?’ Bernie said. ‘I want information. Who lives at a villa called Helios at Castagnola?’

‘Helios?’ Lucky’s voice went up a note. ‘That’s the Herman Rolfe home. He’s dead, but his wife uses it from time to time. She’s there now.’

Bernie grinned.

‘Stick around, Lucky,’ he said. ‘I’ll be at your place sometime this evening,’ and he hung up.

He called the airport and booked an air taxi that would get him to Agno, close to Lugano, at 18.00.

When Segetti called back, Bernie told him he would be joining him.

‘Do just what this fink Archer tells you, Max. Collect this guy, then I’ll handle it.’

‘Sure, Bernie,’ Segetti said. ‘Where do we meet?’

‘At the Agno airport at six o’clock. Pick me up there. Okay?’

‘No problem, Bernie.’

Still smiling, Bernie hung up.

At midday, Grenville, not only bored to distraction, but also hungry, made his appearance on the terrace.

Helga was sitting at one of the big terrace tables, studying a file of papers. Seeing him, her face brightened.

‘Dear Chris! Are you feeling better?’

Wearing a wan expression, Grenville crossed to her and kissed her lightly on her cheek.

‘I’ll survive.’ He sank into a chair near hers. ‘Do you think Hinkle could get me some coffee?’

‘Of course, darling.’ She rang the bell at the table. ‘Are you really feeling better?’

‘A bit shaken.’ He gave her a brave smile. ‘It’s most odd. I haven’t had an attack for months.’

Hinkle appeared.

‘Coffee please, Hinkle. Mr. Grenville is feeling better.’ Looking at Grenville, she went on, ‘Wouldn’t you like an omelette?’

Grenville, who would have preferred a steak, said he thought he could manage an omelette.

Inclining his head, Hinkle went away.

‘I see you are working, Helga,’ Grenville said. ‘You carry on. I’ll relax,’ and leaning back, he closed his eyes.

After a moment’s hesitation, Helga picked up the file.

When Hinkle brought the tray of coffee, toast and a herb omelette, Helga closed the file.

‘Thank you,’ Grenville said as Hinkle removed the silver cover to reveal the omelette. ‘This looks marvellous.’

Hinkle inclined his head and walked away.

‘We can talk business tomorrow,’ Helga said. ‘At last, Winborn is seeing sense. I had a long telephone call from him this morning. We are getting the site at our price.’

‘Oh, good.’ Grenville winced. ‘Right now, darling, my brain feels scrambled. Do let’s have a real discussion tomorrow,’ he said, knowing there would be no tomorrow. He poured himself a cup of coffee.

‘Of course.’ Helga regarded him, then went on, ‘You know, you are the very last person I would have thought was a migraine sufferer.’

‘I inherited it from my father,’ Grenville lied. ‘He was a martyr to it.’ He drank the coffee and poured another cup, then began to eat the omelette which he found excellent. ‘Hinkle can certainly throw an omelette together.’

‘Don’t let him hear you say that,’ Helga said uneasily. ‘He creates omelettes, and, Chris dear, I want you to be really nice to him from now on. I must tell you, he doesn’t approve of us getting married.’

Grenville stared at her, lifting his eyebrows.

‘Doesn’t approve? He’s your servant, isn’t he? Who cares if he approves or not? There are plenty of other servants.’

Helga stiffened, and the steely look came into her eyes.

‘Chris, please. We must come to an understanding about Hinkle. There is no one, except you, who means so much to me. He has helped me so often in so many ways. He understands me. He...’ She broke off and forced a smile. ‘I don’t want to sound dramatic about this, but Hinkle is part of my life, and I wouldn’t lose him for all the money in the world!’

Grenville realized he had moved onto very dangerous ground, not that it mattered, but he didn’t want to antagonize her.

Smiling, he said, ‘Sorry. I didn’t realize that he meant so much to you. I will do everything I can to make him approve of me. I promise you.’

‘He does mean so much to me,’ Helga said seriously. ‘He is loyal and kind and utterly dependable.’

‘I promise,’ Grenville said and touched her hand.

‘Thank you, Chris. I am sure he will come to know you as I know you and give you the same wonderful loyalty and service he gives me.’

God! Grenville thought. This drivel about a fat, pompous old butler! But he turned on his charm.

‘I do hope he does.’

Just after 13.00, Hinkle appeared with a shaker of vodka martinis and two glasses. Grenville, remembering he was still supposed to be recovering from a severe attack of migraine, reluctantly refused, then turning to Hinkle, he went on, ‘That was the most marvellous omelette! I can’t imagine how you can make an omelette so light and delicious.’

‘I am glad it pleased you, sir,’ Hinkle said stiffly, then turning to Helga, ‘For lunch, madame, I suggest a mignon de veau in a mushroom sauce and there is an excellent Brie to follow.’

‘Wonderful.’ Helga looked at Grenville. ‘Do you feel like some?’

Grenville hesitated. The omelette hadn’t taken the edge off his appetite.

‘I think I could manage a little,’ he said.

He felt Hinkle’s disapproving eyes on him. When Hinkle had gone, Grenville said, ‘He’s not exactly loving me, is he?’