As we drove through the streets of Monte Carlo, with the Mediterranean shimmering like dark, rich wine in the late-afternoon shadows, I was reminded of the legendary story of the beginning of Monaco in the year 303. According to the legend, a Corsican maiden, Devote, was punished by the governor of Corsica when it was discovered that she was a Christian. The governor sentenced the girl to be bound and dragged by horses over rough ground and then to be stretched on a rack until she was dead. The instant she died, a white dove was observed floating above her body. One night later, when her body was taken by a monk and placed in the boat of a fisherman, the white dove appeared again. The fisherman followed the dove as the bird skimmed the waters, leading him to Monaco, and he buried the girl’s body there.
I wondered if my stay in Monaco would be as incredible.
Eight
My suite had a sweeping view of the sparkling sea and the towering cliffs that soared for miles along the curving coastline. As I unpacked my bags, showered, and changed, I could hear Helga moving about in her suite next door. From the sounds of her movements, I could tell that her actions roughly duplicated mine.
It was several hours before play would resume at the casino. We would, of course, dine at the hotels penthouse restaurant with the sliding ceiling that opened to the sky. But there was plenty of time to spend before dinner. I knew Helga didn’t care about sightseeing, and I thought it would be a shame if we didn’t enjoy this time together in a more pleasurable pursuit. Hoping that Helga felt the same way, I solved the minor but potentially troublesome difficulty presented by the locked door between us by ordering champagne, caviar, and three dozen red roses to be delivered to her at six. At approximately one minute after die hour, she rapped on the door and called to me softly.
“You are very thoughtful,” she said, holding out a glass of champagne as I entered her suite.
She was wearing a delicate pink negligee that outlined her body in a lovely silhouette when she moved to the windows overlooking the sea. I paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of her body through the gossamer fabric of the garment and then joined her at the window. The setting sun had disappeared somewhere below the horizon, but it had left a deep, rich, golden reflection behind in the clear sky. The waters of the Mediterranean, in turn, reflected the sky, intensifying the light so that the room seemed to be alive with dazzling gold.
“It’s a very lovely view, isn’t it?” Helga asked, turning toward me.
“Yes, very lovely,” I replied, my eyes deliberately running down the length of her body and up again until I met her gaze. She ran her tongue around her lips and asked, “Do you like me, Tony?”
“Yes, very much.”
“As much as you like my sisters?” she persisted. The question surprised me after the night we had spent together in New York, but instead of answering her directly, I held out my arms and said, “Would you like me to show you how much?”
She came toward me in a sensuous, flowing motion, her eyes half closed and her lips parted. I kissed her, and her whole body immediately responded, vibrating gently up and down against me. Her legs opened and encircled mine, and I could feel her quivering Renter seeking my own aroused, responding body. She moaned softly and swayed backwards, setting down her champagne glass. I placed my own glass on a nearby table. When I turned back, I saw her slipping off her negligee.
The golden light turned her nude body into an exquisitely molded, living bronze statue. I barely had time to remove my own clothing before she had pulled me down onto the chaise lounge with her.
“Quickly!” she whispered, pleading, as she thrust her hips up. We were joined.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she murmured breathlessly. Her hands clutched at my shoulders and arms, and her nails dug into my flesh as she urged me on. Moments later, I felt her body opening and closing around me, her head twisting from side to side in passion, until we reached the peak of a wildly convulsive climax.
As we lay side by side on the chaise, she turned her head and looked at me. She was smiling softly, “You know now, don’t you?”
I nodded.
I knew what I should have guessed ever since we had left New York — but, of course, until a few minutes ago there had been no way to tell. The woman lying beside me was not Helga, for I was familiar with her distinctive way of making love. Nor was it Maria, whom I also knew intimately.
“You’re Elsa.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “You’re not sorry, are you?”
“How can you ask a question like that? After what we just shared?”
She laughed delightedly. “Helga will be furious when she finds out what I’ve done. I was spending the night in her apartment when you phoned her in the morning. She was still asleep and didn’t hear a thing. When you suggested a trip to Monte Carlo, I just decided to pack up and go and let you think I was Helga. It sounded like such fun. Besides, you’ve already spent enough time with my two sisters. It’s my turn.”
As I listened to her words, I reflected that it was just the kind of trick that the Von Alder women were capable of playing. But even though her explanation did sound plausible enough, I had to remind myself that the Von Alders were suspects in the case I was trying to solve and that there might be something sinister in Elsa’s substitution for Helga.
But I could do nothing at that moment. I smacked lightly on her shapely little buttocks and told her to get dressed.
When we arrived at the casino after dinner, we found it was jammed. The huge crowd was standing in a tightly packed circle around one roulette wheel in hushed anticipation. There were three men inside the circle: the croupier, a second man, who wore a tuxedo and dark glasses— obviously one of the directors — and the Belgian, Tregor, the man who was breaking the bank.
Elsa and I managed to squeeze through the crowd to a spot only a few feet away from the three men. Just as we arrived, the spinning roulette wheel clicked to a stop, and the watching crowd pressed forward and gasped. The croupier shoved a mountainous stack of chips across the table to Tregor, who imperturbably put them beside another huge stack in front of him.
“My God!” a woman near me whispered excitedly. “He just won half a million dollars! What’s he going to do now?”
Tregor seemed oblivious to the people pressed around him. He was a giant, imposing man with a big belly who sipped from a glass of mineral water he kept filled from a bottle standing at his elbow. Dark glasses hid his eyes, but his face, I noticed, was set in an absolutely blank mask.
Every eye in the room was trained on him, waiting to see what he’d do next. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the fist he had made with his right hand as if he was meditating and remained in that posture for several seconds. At that moment I was probably the only one in the crowd who glanced toward the director standing opposite. He was in almost die identical pose as Tregor! It was almost as if they were silently communicating with one another!
A second later both men raised their heads simultaneously, and Tregor with a steady hand confidently placed his whole stack of chips on the red square in front of him.
Elsa clutched my arm. “He’s going to bet all his winnings!” she whispered unbelievingly. “A million dollars!”
Tregor settled back into his chair as the croupier raised a hand and set the wheel spinning again. It spun dizzily for a second or two. As it began to slow, die onlookers started chanting in unison, “Red, red, red”—Tregor’s bet. Finally the wheel stopped. The Belgian had won again. The croupier pushed another stack of chips toward Tregor’s original stack. Two million dollars! Then the director stepped forward and announced in a quiet voice, “The wheel is closed for the evening.”