She had agreed to his terms, believing then that sex could be replaced by the advantages and the glamour of being the wife of one of the world’s richest men, but it hadn’t worked out like that. To her, she had to accept the fact that sex was life.
‘I am sorry,’ was all she could find to say.
He shrugged.
‘That is all right. The past is the past.’ Rolfe moved restlessly. ‘I am relieving you of the burden of handling my money, Helga. I now only expect you to act as my hostess; continue to enjoy my money and remain a faithful wife. Winborn will take over the Swiss portfolio.’ He dug a thin finger into the bell-push at his side.
Shocked, suddenly furious, Helga said, ‘So you no longer trust me?’
‘It is not a matter of trust,’ Rolfe said, his voice hard and cold. ‘Of course you are not to blame. Rather I am to blame for choosing Archer. You have done very well. I have been satisfied, but it is better, under the circumstances, to relieve you of further responsibilities.’
Hinkle came out on to the terrace in answer to the bell. Seeing them, he paused discreetly, out of hearing.
Helga said angrily, ‘So I am to be downgraded... punished because of your own stupid judgement!’
The black goggles swung in her direction. The skull-like face remained impassive.
‘Enjoy the beach, Helga.’ Rolfe’s voice revealed his complete indifference. ‘And behave yourself. Remember this... I seldom make a mistake, but when I do, I never repeat it.’
He snapped his thin fingers at Hinkle who came forward.
Leaving the portfolio on the chair, Helga, flushed and furious, left the terrace and returned to her apartment.
The only child of a brilliant international lawyer, Helga had had a continental education. She had had training in law and secretarial practice. Her father had joined a firm in Lausanne, Switzerland, specializing in tax problems. When she was twenty-four and fully qualified, her father had brought her into the firm as his personal assistant. She had a flair for finance and quickly made herself indispensable. The heart attack that killed her father some six years later made no difference to her position with the firm. Jack Archer, one of the junior partners, grabbed her as his personal secretary. He was handsome, dynamic and magnificently sexy. She had always been oversexed. Men were necessary in her life and she had so many lovers she had lost count of them. She became Archer’s mistress an hour or so after she had agreed to work with him. Somehow, no one seemed to know quite how, Archer got hold of the Herman Role’s account and by doing so became a senior partner. Helga had helped him to handle the massive portfolio. Rolfe had been impressed by her financial flair, her looks and her personality. He had offered marriage. Urged on by Archer, she had accepted. All had gone well until Archer had been tempted to make himself a quick million dollars by investing in Australian nickel where there was no nickel. To save himself, he had forged Helga’s signature and had taken over two million dollars of Rolfe’s money.
Sitting on the terrace, staring out at the beach, Helga heard again Archer’s persuasive words: ‘Look Helga, Herman needn’t know about this. You know he never cheques anything. He is far too busy. You initial all this stuff and he accepts it. I’m asking you to help me out of a hole. After all he’s worth around sixty million... he will never miss two will he?’
Although she was sure Herman wouldn’t miss two million, she had refused to be Archer’s accomplice. How right she had been! For Herman knew that Archer had turned embezzler before she could tell him! She drew in a long, deep breath. Thank God, she hadn’t submitted to Archer’s attempted blackmail!
So...
It is better, under the circumstances, to relieve you of further responsibilities.
The crippled bastard! After all she had done for him! After all the money she had made for him by shrewd and careful investing! To be tossed aside like this!
I now only expect you to be my hostess; continue to enjoy my money and remain a faithful wife.
No longer would she have the excuse to fly to Lausanne, Paris, Bonn, representing him. No longer would she receive the V.I.P. treatment at the airports and the luxury hotels. A hostess! A smiling face, the right words to fat, old men who wanted favours from her husband, who fawned over her, hoping she might advance their interests. No more freedom! No more waiters who came to her room, serviced her and went away with money in their experienced hands. No more young, well-built men, ready and willing. It was only on her travels that she looked for lovers: never in Miami, Paradise City, New York: Herman’s neck of the woods. She was now condemned to sit in this kind of hotel or in the luxury of the Paradise City villa or in the New York penthouse with her crippled husband always nearby, staring at her behind black sun goggles.
Then she thought of what Dr. Levi had said.
He could die tomorrow. He could die next year. Give and take, I would say perhaps six months unless he gives up this rat race and relaxes.
That Herman would never do. So... six months! She was prepared to wait six months. And then... Sixty million dollars! Rolfe’s magic key her own!
She put on a bikini swim suit. Still not entirely sure of herself, she again surveyed herself in the mirror. The Swiss winter tan was becoming but paling a little. Her figure was provocative. She knew this. Pulling on a beach wrap, she took the elevator to the lobby.
The reception manager was immediately at her side.
‘Is there anything, madame?’
‘Yes, please... a beach buggy.’
‘Of course.’
No more than a three minute wait and the beach buggy was pulling up at the hotel entrance. The smiling attendant offered to show her the controls, but she was familiar with the controls of machines on wheels.
A smiling traffic cop, obviously alerted, stopped the traffic and gave her a salute as she drove across the main road and on to the beach. She waved to him, smiling. A beautiful man, she thought. God! How I would like him in my bed!
Driving fast, she soon put the crowds behind her and headed for the sand dunes, the deserted beach and the sea. When she was sure she was on her own, she left the beach buggy and throwing off her wrap, she ran into the sea. She swam furiously, getting rid of all that irked her: Herman, Archer, her boxed-in future. She was an excellent swimmer, and by swimming fast, she came out of the water feeling cleansed both in mind and body.
As she walked back to the beach buggy, her step faltered. A man in swim trunks was standing by the vehicle, examining it: a big man with muscular shoulders, deeply tanned body, black, over-long hair and green sun goggles.
He looked towards her and grinned, showing big white teeth, teeth good enough to feature on a T.V. commercial in spite of the sun goggles which hid his eyes; the rest of his face was friendly, pleasant without being handsome.
‘Hi, there,’ he said, ‘I was admiring this thing. Is it yours?’
‘It belongs to the hotel,’ Helga said and reached for her wrap. He got it before she did and with just the right movements, nothing familiar, nothing servile, he helped her on with it. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m Harry Jackson,’ he told her. ‘Down here on vacation. I saw you swimming. Olympic style,’ and he grinned.
She looked sharply at him, but he wasn’t putting her on. He had said what he meant.
‘Well.’ She shrugged, pleased. ‘I swim a bit. Are you enjoying your vacation, Mr. Jackson?’
‘I sure am. This is the first time I have visited this neck of the woods. It’s something, isn’t it?’
‘It would seem so. I have only just arrived.’