James Chase - An Ace up my Sleeve

“He has gone out?” A mistake, Helga thought, but she couldn’t keep the words back.

“Did you want him, madame?” The bowing voice took on a worried note.

Do you want him? Helga’s body ached. How I want him!

“No… it isn’t important.” Slowly she replaced the receiver.

She got off the bed and walked to the window. She pulled aside the drapes and looked down at the busy street. The snow had stopped falling. The trams clanged and sparks flew from the overhead cables. People, in furs, walked carefully over the frozen snow. She let the drapes drop and went over to the bed and slipped on the chiffon wrap. She felt cold and now she wished she hadn’t drunk so much.

It was her own fault, she told herself. She hadn’t given him the slightest hint that she wanted him to come to her room. But where had he gone?

She dropped on to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Had he got this urge he had told her about… the urge that was now crucifying her? Had he gone out into the cold and the snow in search of some cheap little whore when she was here, in luxury and warmth, longing for him?

She lay there, her mind tormented, then after a while, she began to weep.

From a drugged sleep, Helga came awake at 08.00. She turned on the bedside lamp and then lay still, staring up at the ceiling. Thank God, she thought, for sleeping pills!

Making the effort, she picked up the telephone receiver.

“Coffee, please. Please tell my chauffeur I will be leaving at nine o’clock. Have my account ready,” and she replaced the receiver.

As she got out of bed she thought what a fool she would look if they called back to tell her her chauffeur was missing. It was possible Larry had walked out on her… he might even have taken her car! Then she told herself to be realistic. She had his passport. Anyway, why should she doubt him? Last night had been her fault. She hadn’t given him the slightest hint she wanted him to make love to her.

She hated the sight of herself as she looked in the bathroom mirror, but she wasn’t dismayed. She was an expert at repairing damage.

After drinking two cups of coffee and after using every guile in her make-up box, she again looked in the mirror and this time she nodded her approval.

There came a tap on the door. She slipped on her mink coat, picked up her hat and opened the door.

The manager of the hotel, behind him a porter, bowed with a smile.

“Your car is waiting, madame.”

Together they went in the elevator to the reception lobby. Because she knew it was expected of her, she said how well she had slept and how pleased she had been with the room.

Beaming his pleasure, the manager escorted her to the desk and a bowing clerk slid the account across the polished wood. After glancing at the total, she paid. As the clerk was changing her Travellers’ cheques she looked more closely at the bill.

An item caught her eye.

“What is this? A call to Hamburg?”

The clerk looked at the account, then at her and his expression became worried.

“Yes, madame. Your chauffeur made the call.”

Fifteen francs! It must have been a long call, she thought.

“Of course… I was forgetting.”

She picked up her change, shook hands with the clerk, saying she would see him next year, then, escorted by the manager, watched by a group of tourists, waiting for their bus, she went out into the cold where the Mercedes was parked.

Larry was standing by the car. She looked quickly at him. He gave her his warm, friendly smile as he opened the offside door. The porter put her bags into the boot and she tipped him. The manager, his nose now blue with the cold, still managed to keep a bright smile on his face. She shook hands with him, slid into the passenger’s seat while Larry ran around the car and got in under the wheel.

There were more bows, then Larry moved the car into the traffic.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said, his voice cheerful.

“You turn right at the end of the street, then straight ahead,” Helga said, her voice cold and hostile.

“Sure, ma’am, I know the way, I got it all figured out on a map.”

“That was very clever of you.”

The snap in her voice wasn’t lost on him and he looked quickly at her.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I have a headache. Would you please keep quiet?”

“Sure, ma’am… is there anything I can do?”

“Just keep quiet.”

She knew she was behaving badly and she realized looking at him, that her petulance had made no impression on him. She saw him give a slight shrug, then he concentrated on his driving. She was irritated that he was so efficient, getting them through the Basle traffic with ease and then on to the autobahn to Zurich. She had always hated this part of the drive and often she had made a mistake.

Determined to sulk, she smoked cigarette after cigarette in silence, staring at the broad road as it came towards her. She had done this run so often, it bored her. But finally, as they approached the outskirts of Zurich, she said, “Do you know the way through the City?”

“Sure, ma’am,” he said calmly. “Right ahead, forking left at the traffic lights, through the tunnel and on to the Chur bypass.”

“That’s right.”

She looked at him. He was chewing gum and his face was completely relaxed. She looked at his big hands on the steering-wheel and again her body melted in desire for him.

It wasn’t until they had begun to climb the twisting road to Chur that she began her probe.

“Where did you go last night, Larry?” she asked abruptly.

He whipped the Mercedes past a Peugeot 504, then stormed up the road with the speedometer needle at 180 k.p.h.

“Last night, ma’am?”

“You are driving too fast!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” and the needle drifted down to 130.

“I asked you where you were last night.”

“In the hotel, ma’am.”

She clenched her hands into fists.

“Don’t lie to me!” She was shocked to hear how shrill her voice sounded. She paused, then controlling her voice, she went on, “I wanted to speak to you. They told me you had gone out. Where did you go?”

He shot the car past a Jaguar. The driver tapped his horn as a protest at the speed of the Mercedes.

“You are driving too fast, Larry… stop it!”

“Yes, ma’am,” and the speed of the car slackened.

“Where were you last night?” she persisted.

“I went for a walk.” He glanced at her, then away. “Des that bother you, ma’am?”

The gentle rebuke was like a slap in the face to her. She was losing her head about this boy, she told herself. Why shouldn’t he go for a walk if he wanted to? Because she had longed for him and still longed for him, she realized she was making a drama out of everything he did.

“No… it didn’t bother me,” she said, steadying her voice. “I just wondered where you were.”

“I took a look at the town.” His jaws moved rhythmically as he chewed. “It’s not much. I got cold. I was glad to get into bed.”

“Yes.” She had a feeling he was lying but she wasn’t sure.

They drove for the next hour in silence and it irritated her that he seemed quite happy to drive and not to have to listen to anything she might say. When they came to the entrance to the Bernadino tunnel and he flicked on his dipped headlights, she remembered the call to Hamburg.

She said, “The hotel charged me for a call to Hamburg. They said you had made it.”

She was watching him, but his face remained relaxed and he continued to chew.

“That’s right, ma’am. I made the call. I wanted news of Ron. Excuse me if I did wrong.”

She drew in a long, slow breath. His constant ‘excuse me’s’ were gnawing at her nerves.