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.
“How is Ron?”
“He’s okay, ma’am.”
“Have the police released him?”
His eyes shifted to her and then away.
“Yeah.”
“So what is he doing now?”
Watching him, she had a feeling she had dropped salt on a snail. He retreated into a shell. His blank expression, his gum chewing told her it was a shell she wasn’t going to penetrate.
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Didn’t you ask him?”
“I didn’t speak to him. I spoke to one of his friends. He just told me Ron was out.”
She shrugged. He didn’t want to confide in her… after all, why should he?
The run through the tunnel took some minutes.
“The road ahead is tricky and dangerous, Larry. I know it well. I will drive,” she said when she saw they were reaching the end of the tunnel.
“Just as you say, ma’am.”
She looked at the gas gauge.
“There’s a service station not far from the end of the tunnel. We’ll change there.”
“Okay, ma’am.”
Ten kilometres beyond the tunnel they came to the service station and Larry stopped the car by the pumps.
He got out and she slid under the driving wheel as the attendant came out of his shelter.
She told him to fill the tank.
Larry came around and got in the passenger’s seat.
“Pay him,” she said. “It’ll be thirty francs.”
“What was that, ma’am?”
At the sound of the startled note in his voice, she looked sharply at him. He immediately shifted his eyes.
“I said… pay him thirty francs!” she snapped.
He shifted uneasily.
“Excuse me, ma’am… I haven’t thirty francs,” he said and she saw his face was now beetroot red.
She lifted her hands, then dropped them on her mink covered lap.
“All right, Larry.” She opened her bag and paid the attendant twenty-seven francs and gave him a franc tip. Then she shifted into gear and drove out on to the broad mountain road. When they were out of sight of the gas station, she drew in against the side of the mountain and stopped the car. She turned off the engine, took out her cigarette case and lit a cigarette.