By the time the goulash and the potatoes were ready, she had drunk another vodka-martini and was feeling a little high. The potatoes were too sloppy, but the goulash smelt good. She served both from the saucepans on to a plate, then realized she hadn’t set the table. By the time she found the cutlery and a serviette, salt and pepper, the food was cold, but it wasn’t bad, she told herself. Not what she was used to and she giggled at the thought of Hinkle’s horrified expression if he had walked in at this moment.
‘Well, at least I won’t starve,’ she said aloud. ‘This is fun!’
Leaving the debris of the meal in the sink for Dick to clear up when he arrived the following morning, she made herself another vodka-martini and went into the living room.
She turned on the Hi-fi set and found a station broadcasting strident jazz with heavy drum effects.
Sitting in a lounging chair she watched the sun dip into the sea and she stayed there until the moonlight turned the sea to silver. She was more relaxed than she had been for a long time.
Tomorrow, she thought. My first night in Nassau when I won’t be alone. She thought of Dick and her heartbeat quickened.
No boy of his age could resist the urge of sex. He might not want her, but she had experience enough to know how to arouse him. It would be over quickly: the young with their excitement and lack of control were like that, but after he had rested, the second time would be good.
Soon after 22.00, she turned off the radio, turned off the lights in the living room, locked the french windows and went up to the bedroom. She undressed, showered and putting on a shortie nightdress, she got into the kings sized bed. She had a view to the sea, lit by the moon. The night was hot, still and utterly quiet.
A love nest!
Her hands moved over her breasts and she smiled.
Tomorrow!
Helga woke with a start, frowned at the bedside clock, saw it was 07.20. For a moment or so she couldn’t remember where she was, then looking around the big, luxury bedroom, she remembered. She wondered what the owner of this love nest looked like: what his lady friend had looked like. There was a motor accident and the lady died. Helga grimaced. Some people were unlucky. Poor man! Poor girl! She remembered her father’s cliché: ‘It’s an ill wind.’
She took a quick shower, put on a white pyjama suit and went down to the kitchen. She longed for a good cup of coffee, but coffee making proved difficult. She found an elaborate machine with tubes which she didn’t understand. There was a vessel into which she put coffee. When the water began to boil, the goddamn thing exploded, scattering coffee grounds over the wall and the built-in cupboards.
She glared at the machine in frustrated fury. She was going to have coffee! She banged a saucepan of water on the burner and when the water began to boil, she ladled in two big spoonfuls of coffee. The sonofabitch promptly boiled over, messing up the whole stove.
She turned off the gas and surveyed the scene helplessly. What with last night’s meal clogging the saucepans, the stains on the cupboards and the mess over the stove, she gave up. She hoped to God Dick could make coffee.
Going to the refrigerator, she broke out ice and made herself a stiff vodka-martini and immediately regained her spirits. Changing into a bikini she had a swim. As she swam, she told herself she would have to find some woman to do the laundry. Mr. Mason would be helpful.
She got back to the villa a few minutes before 08.30. In a few minutes Dick would appear. She hurriedly changed back to her pyjama suit, then turning on the radio to pop music, she flopped into a chair.
The early drink had made her light headed and she longed for a cup of coffee. She thought of Hinkle, now so far away: his tap on her door and perfect coffee served.
Another of her father’s clichés came to mind: you can’t have your bun and your penny.
She laughed. Well, so far the bun wasn’t much!
She closed her eyes. The relaxing swim and the cocktail sent her into a light sleep. The voice of the radio announcer giving the news brought her awake with a start.
She looked at the clock on the over-mantel. It was 09.20. She stared at the clock, then looked at her watch, then she jumped to her feet.
‘Dick?’
He must have come in quietly and was cleaning up in the kitchen. She fluffed up her hair, smoothed down her pyjama suit and walked into the kitchen.
‘Dick?’
Her voice came back to her in silence.
Moving quickly she went over the villa, out on to the terrace, then returned to the living room.
He hadn’t come!
Fury took hold of her. For some moments, she stood shaking, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing.
Okay, little boy, she thought. You don’t get away with this! You little bastard! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll fix you!
Then she heard the roar of an approaching motorcycle: a deep-throated roar that made her stiffen.
Here he comes, she thought. You little creep! I’ll teach you to be late!
There was a squeal of brakes, then the engine died.
She stood there, waiting. Her heart was racing now, her hands damp. Well, he was here! She would tongue lash him and when he was sufficiently humble and frightened, she would take him up to the bedroom. She felt suddenly excited.
The front door bell rang.
She forced herself to wait. She must not let him know how eager she was. She waited until the bell rang again, then she walked into the hall and opened the front door.
She had experienced many shocks in her life, but this shock was like a vicious punch to her solar plexus, leaving her breathless, cold and unable to move.
The girl, called Terry Shields, her Venetian red hair glittering in the sunlight, stood on the front step. She was wearing the same gear as the previous day although the T-shirt had been washed. She regarded Helga, her big green eyes impersonal, no expression on her face.
Helga absorbed the shock. Again the steel in her served her.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, her voice hard.
‘Sorry to be late.’ The girl had a soft, pleasant sounding voice. ‘I got held up at the hospital.’
‘Hospital? Has something happened?’
‘Dick had an accident,’ the girl said. ‘I warned him the bike was too heavy for him. He’s broken his arm.’
Helga drew in a long, deep breath of exasperation. God! she thought, nothing, will nothing go right for me?
‘You had better come in.’ She turned and walked into the living room and dropped into a lounging chair.
Terry came in, shutting the front door, and she moved into the living room. Helga saw her give a quick glance around.
‘Sit down!’ Helga snapped impatiently. ‘How did it happen?’
Terry chose an upright chair. She sat down, her knees close together, her hands in her lap.
‘He skidded. The bike is too powerful for him.’
‘And yet you ride it?’
Terry shrugged.
‘Girls are more careful than boys.’
A wise and sensible remark, Helga thought.
‘So he has broken his arm?’
‘That’s it.’ Terry shrugged. ‘He is worried about you. You’ve paid him to work for you. He is conscientious. He asked me to take over until he is well enough.’
Helga reached for a cigarette, stared at it, then lit it.
‘Take over?’
‘Clean... run the place. I can do it if you want me to.’
Helga thought of the mess in the kitchen, the unmade bed upstairs and her need of a cup of coffee.