James Chase - An Ace up my Sleeve

But she did worry, wondering what was happening to Larry. The maid, fat, slow and kind, irritated her. She wanted to telephone down to the reception desk and find out just what they were doing with Larry, but with the maid in the room, she felt it would be indiscreet. She was sure Larry was being taken care of, but she did want to know how he was reacting.

The maid made a great fuss about drawing the bath, but eventually she left.

Helga longed to get into the bath, but she hesitated by the telephone. Would it cause the hotel’s eyebrows to lift if she inquired after her chauffeur? Because she had an uneasy conscience, she moved away from the telephone. She had to be careful, she told herself, and yet, she longed to know what was happening to Larry.

After lying in the hot, scented bath for some twenty minutes, she dried herself, put on a black chiffon wrap and lay on the vast bed. She looked at the wall clock. The time was 18.10. She stretched herself like a relaxing cat, spreading her beautiful legs and then cupping her heavy, firm breasts in her hands. If only Larry would walk into the room and take her, she thought. She closed her eyes, releasing her mind into an erotic dream.

She came awake by a gentle tapping on the door. Startled, she looked at the wall clock. The time now was 19.30. pulling her wrap around her, she called to come in. Could it be Larry? Her heart beat quickened.

The sight of the waiter who came in, carrying a frosted cocktail shaker and a glass which he placed on the table with a flourish sent her heart beat practically down to zero.

“With Herr Director’s compliments, madame,” he said and poured from the shaker.

When he had gone, she drank the vodka martini gratefully, then, seeing the time was slipping by, she began to dress. While she slapped lotion on her face, then arranged her eyelashes, she thought of Larry. After the second vodka martini which was very strong, she was sufficiently nerved to telephone the reception desk.

“This is Madame Rolfe… what have you done with my chauffeur?”

“Madame Rolfe?” The voice became servile. “Your chauffeur? A moment, please.”

There was a pause and she could hear whispering voices and she regretted asking. This was a stupid, dangerous thing to have done. Why should a woman in her position ask after her chauffeur? Well, she had done it, now she would have to carry it off.

“Madame Rolfe?” A new voice, even more ingratiating.

“Yes.”

“Your chauffeur is in room 556. He will have dinner with the staff. Is that satisfactory?”

Staff? What did that mean? But she didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Yes… thank you,” and she hung up.

Because she was ashamed of her cowardice, she had a third vodka martini and by the time she had finished dressing, she was slightly drunk. She paused before the mirror at the door of the suite and surveyed herself. She was pleased with her reflection. She was really remarkable, she told herself. At the age of forty (forty-three?) she was slim and lovely to look at and immaculately dressed. She knew, as most women know who accept the truth, that she was still attractive to any man.

Karl Fock was waiting for her in the cocktail bar. In the haze of two more vodka martinis and rather overpowered by his guttural voice, Larry slipped from her mind. She remembered him as Fock escorted her into the restaurant but forgot him again when she was enveloped by the Maitre d’hotel and three of his satellites and then the Chef, in his white cap and coverall, who bowed, beamed and shook hands with her while the rest of the guests in the restaurant stared, whispered and envied.

The dinner was impeccable: Belon oysters and a Chablis: a plump partridge and a 1959 Petur.

She heard herself talking. No, her husband wasn’t too well, but he planned to be in Basle next year (A lie). Yes, the drive from Bonn had been bad, but there had been no ice on the autobahn. Yes, of course, she was delighted to be back in her favourite City (A lie). Her chauffeur? This question was unexpected and for a moment she lost her poise, then she smiled, shrugged her beautiful shoulders. Yes… something new, but her husband wanted someone to drive her. She looked into Fock’s moist, admiring eyes and she pulled a comic grimace. Husbands get fussy. She preferred to drive herself. But husbands! She laughed, and Fock was enchanted. Yes, this new chauffeur seemed very capable. He had been recommended… an American student… very serious.

Tired of being questioned, she switched the conversation to Fock’s wife (a gruesome bore) and to his children (monsters).

Fock insisted on champagne with the sorbet and Helga was pretty drunk by the time coffee and brandy were served.

She made a charming little speech of thanks at the end of the meal, and then allowed herself to be escorted to her room.

Thankfully, she got rid of Fock at her bedroom door, then she walked a little unsteadily to her bed and dropped on to it.

She had been spoilt. It had been a wonderful reception. It had been a wonderful meal. Bore though he was, Fock had been kind to her. Now, to complete a perfect evening, she wanted Larry. She wanted this primitive boy to use her as he must have used the stupid, giggling girls on his farm. She wanted to be bruised, violently used, even beaten if that was what he liked, but she wanted him… how she wanted him!

Getting off the bed, she threw off her clothes, tossing her dress, her bra, her pants, her stockings from her until she was naked.

Drunk, excited, she stood in the middle of the bedroom, her hands cupping her breasts, feeling the stabbing need for a man tormenting her. She imagined the scene in another few minutes. She had to be careful not to be too blatant… not to shock him. She would have on her chiffon wrap. When he came into the room, she would look at him… a long pause… then a smile. Then, when he had closed the. door, she would go to him. She was sure he would read from her smile the green light to go ahead and he would take her. She hoped he wouldn’t turn shy. It was possible he might be too scared of her to take what she was offering, but she thought that couldn’t be possible.

With her heart beating fast, she picked up the telephone receiver.

“Give me room 556, please.”

“Certainly madame… a moment, please.”

Helga grimaced. Of course the girl knew who she was speaking to. The slight flustered note in her voice told her that

There was a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m sorry, madame, there is no reply.”

No reply! Helga’s fingers tightened on the receiver. Surely he couldn’t be asleep already? She looked at the wall clock. It was 22.35.

“Try again!” she was immediately sorry for allowing her voice to sound so harsh.

“Yes, madame.” Again a long pause, then the girl said, “I’m very sorry, madame, but there is still no reply.”

Helga drew in a long, slow breath. Only with an effort, she kept control of her temper.

“Give me the reception desk!”

There was another infuriating delay, then the Reception Manager came on the line. During the wait, Helga guessed the girl had alerted him. When he answered, there was a bow in his voice.

“Madame Rolfe? Is there anything I can do?”

“I want to speak to my chauffeur.”

“Your chauffeur?” There was a slight lift in his voice of surprise. She thought bitterly, if she had asked to be connected to God he might have been less surprised. “Of course, madame… please, a moment.”

She sat on the bed, feeling the sensual warmth of her body evaporating.

“Madame?” The voice came back on the line.

“Well?” She knew the snap in her voice was unfortunate, but she couldn’t control it.

“Your chauffeur has gone out. He left an hour ago. Is there anything I can do?”