‘Saw him? Why, sure, ma’am. I helped him pack so he could move into your fine house.’ Mrs. Jones turned and looked sharply at Helga. ‘He did arrive last night, didn’t he?’
Helga hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, he arrived.’
Mrs. Jones beamed.
‘That’s it, ma’am... like I say, he is a good boy.’
Helga pulled up outside the broken down bungalow.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Mrs. Jones said. ‘You’re real nice and kind. You make my boy work, ma’am. He is willing but he needs telling.’
Helga watched the big woman stump up to her front door, weighed down by her two shopping bags, then she did a U-turn and headed back towards the Blue Heron villa.
As she drove, her mind was busy. This meeting with Dick’s mother had been fortuitous. The cards were continuing to fall her way. So she was being taken for a sucker. Her lips moved into a hard smile. As Dick wasn’t living at home, where was he living? She guessed he had moved in with Terry. The story of the broken arm was a lie. Helga put herself in Terry’s place. Dick would have told Terry he had been forced to work for her (Helga). Terry probably realized that she (Helga) had designs on Dick. The broken arm was a way out. Again Helga smiled. Don’t rush this, she told herself. She needed a lot of information before she could fix these two. No one played her for a sucker. In her past a number of people had tried and later, were sorry.
She found she was driving along Ocean avenue and on impulse, she slowed and drove into a parking lot.
She walked to Frank Gritten’s office block. As she waited for the elevator, she opened her bag and took out her cigarette case. The descending cage reached the ground floor, the doors swished open and she found herself confronted by Harry Jackson, wearing his glamour suit.
He started and lost colour when he saw her.
‘Hello, Mr. Jackson, how smart you look,’ she said.
He moved by her.
‘Hi, Mrs. Rolfe.’ His voice was husky. ‘How is it?’
She stepped into the elevator, still staring at him.
‘Thank you... fine. I hope you and Mrs. Lopez are still happy.’
She thumbed the fifth floor button and as Jackson rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, the elevator doors closed.
Frank Gritten was sitting at his desk, puffing at his pipe. He got to his feet as Helga was ushered in by his elderly secretary.
‘Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. Take a chair. Nice morning, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ She lit her cigarette, sat down and went on, ‘I want to use your service, Mr. Gritten. I suggest a thousand dollar retainer.’
Gritten nodded.
‘That’s what I am here for, Mrs. Rolfe. What do you want me to do?’
‘I have hired Dick Jones who I have already spoken to you about to keep my rented villa in order. The Blue Heron villa,’ Helga said, crossing her shapely legs. ‘He should have arrived this morning, but instead, his girl friend, Terry Shields turned up, riding his motor-cycle. She tells me Jones has had an accident and has broken his arm. As I have already paid him a hundred dollars, he asked this girl to act as his stand-in. I have talked to Jones’ mother and she believes her son is not only living at my villa, but is working for me. I find all this odd and I admit it intrigues me. I don’t like people lying to me. I want you to find out what Jones is doing, whether he did break his arm, where he is living and who this girl is. I want it all in depth, Mr. Gritten.’
Gritten looked thoughtfully at her, then nodded.
‘Should be no problem, Mrs. Rolfe.’
‘I will be interested to know why Jones went to reform school. I also want to know all about Terry Shields. In fact, Mr. Gritten, I want all this in depth.’
Gritten nodded, then smiled.
‘You will have it in depth.’
Helga dropped a one-thousand-dollar bill on his desk, then got to her feet.
‘And I want it fast, Mr. Gritten.’
‘You will have it fast,’ Gritten said and escorted her to the elevator.
When Helga got back to the Blue Heron villa she saw the Electra Glide motorcycle had gone. She drove into the garage and lugged out her three suitcases, unlocked the front door and carried the cases, one at a time, into the living room. It irritated her that there was no servant to do this chore for her, but she shrugged this off.
She inspected the villa and found it was immaculate. The kitchen was spick and span. Dragging a suitcase up the stairs, she found the bedroom and the bathroom also immaculate.
She spent the next hour unpacking and putting her clothes away. By the time she had finished it was 13.10 and she was hungry.
Should she go out? She went down to the kitchen and inspected the ‘Heat and eat’ packs. The chilli con carne pack carried an appetizing photo in colour of the finished dish. She decided to eat here instead of the bore of finding a small restaurant. This time the potatoes were a success and she enjoyed the meal. She was about to leave the cleaning up, but decided not to let Terry know she had eaten ‘junk.’ It took her a while to wash up and this irritated her, but she took care to restore the stove and the sink as she had found them.
She then went into the living room, stretched out on the big settee and did some thinking. Dick would have to be punished, she told herself. She must wait for Gritten’s report. If the boy really imagined he could fool her, he was in for a shock.
Around 15.00, she left the villa and drove to the Ocean Beach club. The magic name of Rolfe swept away any sponsors or the entrance fee.
The secretary of the club, a fat little man with a beaming smile, said the club would be honoured to have her as a temporary member. He was sure she would find everything to her liking and he extolled the club’s facilities.
‘You will want to meet people, Mrs. Rolfe. I assure you you will be welcomed by everyone.’
He took her around the club, introducing her to the English members: the old and the over-fat, the men with veins of drinking raddling their faces, the women in odd hats who smiled suspiciously, but all anxious to welcome the wife of one of the world’s richest men.
Helga hated them all, but she knew she just couldn’t go on living alone in the villa and had to have contacts... but what contacts!
She endured an English tea with sandwiches and plum cake, surrounded by kindly, yakking people who kept looking with greedy eyes at the trolley loaded with cream cakes.
She thought of Dick. If the little bastard had kept faith, she and he would be in the king’s size bed right at this moment. She refused another cucumber sandwich.
‘But they are so good, Mrs. Rolfe. With your beautiful figure, you don’t have to worry about dieting.’
Stifled and utterly bored, she finally broke away. She noticed the men were looking with astonishment at her modest car. Rolls, Bentleys, Cadillacs surrounded the Mini.
She drove back to the villa. Remembering Herman, she called the hospital to be told there was still no change in his condition. The time was 18.15. She went up to her bedroom and put on a white pyjama suit, then going down to the living room, she mixed herself a vodka-martini. She listened to the T.V. news. The fluctuation of the dollar worried her. She thought of all the dollars she had in the Swiss account. She should have converted them into Swiss francs.
A few minutes before 19.00, she heard the roar of the approaching Electra Glide. The engine cut, then the front door opened.
Terry Shields came into the living room, carrying a paper sack.
‘There you are, Terry,’ Helga said, smiling. ‘Thank you for cleaning up so well.’
The girl was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and dark blue stretch pants. Her hair looked damp as if she had been swimming.
‘I got scampi,’ she said. ‘That okay for you?’
Helga regarded her. Again she was impressed by the strength of character that showed in her face. A no-good girl? She certainly didn’t look no-good.