James Chase - An Ace up my Sleeve

She then walked through the old shopping centre, shop window gazing. She wasn’t in the mood to buy, but the goods displayed interested her and helped to pass the time.

She returned to the Mercedes and drove along the lake side to the Eden hotel. Leaving the car in the hotel garage, she went to the Grill room. A table was quickly found for her and the Maitre d’hotel came to shake hands. She broke the news to him that Herman would not be coming to Lugano this year and his face fell. She ordered devilled scampi with wild rice and lingered over the meal, being in no hurry. After coffee and paying her check, she walked slowly along the lake side to the Casino cinema. They were showing Katie Hepburn in The Lion In Winter . She adored this actress and she felt an anticipation of excitement as she bought her ticket. She sat in the darkness and the warmth of the cinema and concentrated on the film. Hepburn didn’t disappoint her: a wonderful, professional performance, she thought as she came out into the cold. She wandered back in the gathering gloom to the Eden hotel, analysing and remembering certain scenes of the film and r-enjoying it.

Not once since she had left the villa did she think of Larry or Archer. She settled in the comfortable hotel bar with a copy of the Herald Tribune and a vodka martini. Having spent some time checking the Stock Market quotation read the news, had another cocktail and then decided it was time for dinner.

Leaving the hotel, she drove back to the Reforma and was lucky to find a free parking meter. Then she walked to her favourite restaurant, Bianchi in via Pessina. Here she was given a warm welcome by Dino, one of the head waiters and who always looked after her. He was a good looking Italian with beautiful manners. As he conducted her to a table, he inquired after Mr. Rolfe and sighed when he learned he wasn’t coming this year.

Seated, she asked him what she should eat. The partridges were very good, he told her, but she shook her head. Then venison. A little Puccini toast and a coeur de chevreuil. She agreed and he went away to place the order.

It was early and the restaurant hadn’t begun to get busy so Dino returned to gossip. Then the Patron came over to have a word. Helga relaxed in this friendly, cosseted atmosphere. The Puccini toast was served and an excellent Merlot wine poured.

She enjoyed the impeccable meal and finished regretfully at 21.40. She paid the check, shook hands with the Patron, had a word with Dino and returned to her car. It was only when she was starting the engine that she began to think of Larry.

Immediately, she began to feel a little uneasy. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left him so long. He was such a hick he might have done something stupid. She herself would look stupid if on her return she found Archer waiting for her and Lam-imprisoned in the cellar. But she had warned Larry. Surely he must have learned his lesson? She couldn’t possibly have spent all those hours alone with him. The very sight of him now sickened her.

Driving towards Castagnola, her uneasiness increased. Suppose Archer had got out? By now the photos would be in the post. If he had trapped Larry and was free, he would wait, guarding the cellar door until the postman arrived. The envelope would be addressed to him. Then she thought of the .22 automatic she had in her bedroom. She had everything to lose. She wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him in the leg if he refused when threatened by the gun to return to the cellar and to release Larry. She felt sure he wouldn’t have the guts to oppose her after she had fired one shot towards him, threatening the next shot would be in his leg.

The Grandfather clock in the hall was chiming eleven as she unlocked the front door. She stood in the open doorway, her heart skipping a beat. The pole that had jammed the cellar door was lying on the floor and the cellar door stood open!

What was happening?

She moved into the hall and closed the front door. Was Larry downstairs with Archer? Perhaps he had gone down there with food, but surely that was unlikely at this hour.

She went silently to the head of the stairs leading down to cellars and listened, but she could hear nothing. The light in the passage below was on.

She hesitated, then called, “Larry? Are you down there?”

A sound behind her made her spin around.

Archer was standing in the sitting-room doorway, a whisky and soda in his hand. The bruise on his face had deepened to an ugly purple-black.

“Larry’s in here, Helga,” he said. “Take off your coat and come on in. We’ve been waiting for you. Did you have a pleasant day?”

She kept control of herself as she took off her coat and hat. She paused to fluff up her hair with fingers that trembled.

Archer turned and went back into the room, leaving the door open.

Helga felt fury grip her: fury against herself. Her disgust, contempt and frustration had made staying with this hulking queer impossible. She should have controlled those feelings. Now she was going to pay for them.

She entered the sitting-room. Archer was standing by a lounging chair, waiting for her. Across the room, Larry was sitting on an upright chair, his hands hanging between his knees, his head down so she couldn’t see his face.

“Sit down, Helga,” Archer said.

She was glad to sit down. Once again her legs felt weak and once again she was struggling to absorb a shock.

“Excuse me.” He walked up to her and took her handbag from her before she realized what he was doing.

“How dare you!” she exclaimed but without conviction.

“Come off your high horse, Helga. You’re not in a position to get snooty.” Archer backed away, opened the bag and took from it one of the air tickets and the leather folder containing the Travellers’ Cheques. He carried them across the room and put them on an occasional table by Larry.

“There you are, my boy,” he said. “Your ticket and your money… now you get off.”

Helga watched.

Larry didn’t look up. He just sat slumped in his chair, his head down.

“Come along, Larry,” Archer said in his soothing, professional voice. “There’s no point in you hanging around here any longer. Take Helga’s car and leave it at the Lugano station. I’m sure she won’t mind and she can pick it up later. There’s a train to Milan you could catch if you hurry.”

Slowly, Larry got to his feet. He picked up the ticket and the leather folder and stuffed them into his hip pocket. Then he looked directly at Archer.

“I don’t want her car… I don’t want anything from you.”

His voice was a mumble and Helga could scarcely make out what he was saying.

“All right, Larry… you handle it,” Archer said. “Good luck… have a good trip.”

Walking heavily, Larry made for the door. As he opened the door, Helga said huskily, “Haven’t you anything to say to me?”

He didn’t appear to hear her. He went out and through the open door. She watched him open the front door and go out into the darkness. The front door shut behind him.

She closed her eyes.

There was a long pause, then Archer said, “Well, he’s gone. I’m sure you are puzzled, Helga. He lowered his bulk into an armchair. Taking his cigar case from his pocket, he selected a cigar and bit off the end. “Let me explain. Up to this morning, I have always regarded you as a clever and astute woman. You have disappointed me. To be successful in dealing with people, one needs to have a certain amount of psychological insight. This I thought you had, but obviously you haven’t. You were so besotted by Larry’s bulk and his apparent virility that you failed to realize he was a homo. That was a mistake and a bad one. I spotted it, not immediately, but soon enough to understand that he would need different handling from the way you were handling him. The one thing a homo dislikes more than anything else is contempt. He will put up with the jokes and giggles: these are things he has come to live with, but he hates contempt. So long as you thought you could drag him into your bed, you gave him kindness which he was thirsting for: all homos do. In actual fact, Helga, Larry is rather a nice boy. He’s stupid, of course, immature, doesn’t know his own strength, but basically he is simple and nice and there is no real viciousness in him. He is handicapped by his size. He would be a lot happier if he had been a pretty boy, but as he looks like an athlete, he has tried to give people who don’t spot what he really is a false image of himself drawn, no doubt, from the toughs he has seen on television. The scowl and the hard voice are marks to encourage those who think he is just another hard guy in a leather jacket and jeans. All rather pathetic really because his own breed recognize him instantly.” Archer paused to light his cigar. “You couldn’t have played a better card for me and a worse card for yourself when you reacted the way you did after Larry had told you the truth about himself. I realize you were frustrated and bitter that you weren’t going to drag him into your bed, but where was your psychological insight? Instead of being understanding and sympathetic, you were stupid enough to show him your true feelings: disgust and contempt. From the moment you knew, you treated him like, something unclean… like a leper, you might say, and you hurt him, Helga. You hurt him deeply, and you are so insensitive you didn’t even care that you had hurt him. He admired and respected you and even loved you in an odd way because up moment he told you what he was, you had whelmed him with kindness. This morning, you behaved even more stupidly if you were hoping to keep him as an ally. Without saying it in so many words, you told him you couldn’t bear to stay a minute longer in his company and your contempt was like a branding iron on his very sensitive skin. You walked out on him. I was at the cellar door, listening. The contempt in your voice when you told him to amuse himself with television and you wouldn’t be back until late, leaving him alone, told me, because of your complete lack of understanding that you had once again handed me the four aces.”