Helga relaxed back in the chair, drawing in a long, deep breath. She had acquitted herself well, she thought. If the letter had been found, this dangerous man would have unsheathed his claws.
Returning to her suite, she found Hinkle waiting. He looked tired and his usual benign expression was less in evidence.
‘How are you, madame?’ he asked, coming forward.
‘All right. And you, Hinkle?’
‘It has been an anxious night, but now Mr. Rolfe appears less poorly, madame. We must not give up hope.’
‘Did Dr. Levi tell you... paralysis?’
‘Yes, madame. Quite shocking, but we mustn’t dwell on it. May I suggest lunch on the terrace? The press people have gone. You won’t be disturbed and the sun is good for you.’
‘All right. Oddly enough, Hinkle, I feel hungry.’
‘It is the strain, madame. It is understandable.’
Dear, kind Hinkle, she thought. If Herman died, she did hope Hinkle would stay with her.
‘I suggest a little quail pate, madame, then a steak au poivre en chemise. I will supervise the chef.’ Hinkle’s face darkened. ‘He has little talent. Then a champagne sorbet. The wine here, I fear, is not to be trusted, but the Bollinger is acceptable.’
‘It sounds wonderful, Hinkle.’
He turned to the table where a shaker and a glass stood on a silver tray. He poured a drink.
She studied his movements, looked searchingly at his fat, pink and white face. No, she thought, no blackmailer. No, this time I can be sure.
‘You think of everything, Hinkle,’ she said as he handed the glass to her.
‘I like to think I do, madame.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘At the moment I am unable to help Mr. Rolfe. Regrettably he is out of my hands. I would be happy if you would call on my services, madame. It would give me considerable pleasure.’
‘Thank you, Hinkle. I will.’ Her quick active brain saw her chance. She must get Hinkle firmly on her side. ‘Mr. Winborn asked for some papers to do with a deal. I told him you were familiar with Mr. Rolfe’s affairs but Mr. Winborn...’ She stopped, seeing a faint blush come to Hinkle’s face. Looking away, she said, ‘Mr. Winborn is a snob.’
She then looked at Hinkle and their eyes met.
‘So I believe, madame,’ he said, gave a little bow and moved to the door. ‘Then lunch in half an hour.’
When he had gone, she went out on to the terrace and surveyed the beach, the crowds and the traffic.
‘I think Hinkle is mine,’ she said to herself.
After lunch, Dr. Levi came to see her. He told her the haemorrhage in the brain hadn’t increased. This was an encouraging sign. He took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. But the hemiplegia was severe. However, in time some sort of recovery was possible.
‘Two or three months could see a marked change,’ he went on. ‘I have asked Professor Bernstein to make himself available. He is the best man in Europe. The condition of Mr. Rolfe’s heart, however, is not satisfactory so I don’t want to raise hopes. All the same, under the intensive care treatment he is receiving, I am satisfied that he should be able to be moved within three days. Unfortunately I am unable to remain here any longer and I am anxious to get him to our hospital, but Dr. Bellamy is most competent and you can have complete confidence in him.’
Helga’s mind worked swiftly.
‘A marked change? What does that mean?’
‘If his heart continues to withstand the shock he has had, I feel confident that he will regain his speech and the paralysis that has attacked his right side will be less severe.’
‘Two or three months?’
‘It could take longer but certainly not less.’
‘You mean that for two or three months he will be unable to speak?’
‘It is most unlikely: mumbling, of course, but nothing that could be understood. I mention this because Mr. Winborn is most anxious to consult him. I have warned Mr. Winborn not to attempt to persuade Mr. Rolfe to make any effort.’
Two or three months if his heart held out, Helga thought.
‘Could I see him?’ she asked, not wanting to but knowing it was the right thing to say.
‘Unwise, Mrs. Rolfe. There is no need to distress yourself unnecessarily.’ Dr. Levi replaced his glasses. ‘You have no need to worry. Dr. Bellamy will be in constant touch with me. I will make a decision by Friday whether he can be moved or not.’ He regarded her. ‘Now, Mrs. Rolfe, you must not sit around in this room. You must get out and enjoy the beach and the sunshine.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t want another important patient on my hands: one is quite enough. So attempt to enjoy yourself. Mr. Rolfe is not going to die.’ He paused, realizing he was committing himself. ‘Let me say he will certainly survive for a number of days and I have every hope to say he will live at least to the end of the year. What I am trying to say is you may leave the hotel, try to live normally knowing Mr. Rolfe is in expert hands.’
‘You are most understanding and kind,’ Helga said.
When he had gone, she went out on to the terrace, feeling the hot sun like a sensual caress.
If a heart attack doesn’t kill him, she thought, then in two or three months’ time he would tell Winborn about his letter.
Well, a lot could happen in two or three months. She still had control of the Swiss portfolio: the stocks and bonds amounted to some fifteen million dollars. This was something she had to think about. She did her best thinking at night. So tonight, in bed, she would review her future. At the moment, it seemed to her she was holding trump cards: Herman unable to speak for say two months, the damning letter in her possession and the control of fifteen million dollars: all trump cards.
She went into her bedroom and changed into a bikini. She put on her beach wrap, then called the Hall porter.
‘A beach buggy, please.’
‘Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe: three minutes.’
If ever Herman regained his speech, this V.I.P. treatment would abruptly end. If she had asked for a sixty ton motor yacht there would have been no problem, but the magic key was trembling in balance.
When she left her suite she noticed the two security guards had gone. This gave her a feeling of relief. Until Herman died, he and she were no longer news.
She drove on to the beach, waving to the saluting policeman who had stopped the traffic for her, then she headed away from the crowd towards the deserted, distant dunes.
As she drove by the row of huts, she remembered Harry Jackson. Up to this moment he had gone completely out of her mind, but seeing the huts, remembering he had told her he had rented one of them, made her think of him with regret.
The morning’s newspapers had carried photographs of her. By now Harry Jackson would know she was Mrs. Herman Rolfe. He was no longer safe to have an affair with. In spite of his frank, friendly face, she knew now she could take no risks and also there could now be no affairs in Nassau. She remembered she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder. No one was following her. The empty beach stretched behind her, but that didn’t mean someone with powerful field glasses wasn’t keeping track of her. She felt a little spurt of fury. It was only in Europe that she really could be safe. Certainly not in Paradise City: that was the last place in which to misbehave.
She must find some excuse for a quick return to Switzerland as soon as she could. It would be difficult, but not impossible.
Leaving the beach buggy in the shade of a palm tree, she ran into the sea and swam vigorously, then turning on her back, she floated, letting the gentle swell rock her until, feeling the bite of the sun, she walked across the sand and sat down in the shade of the palm.
‘Hi!’ Harry Jackson, smiling, sun goggles in hand, wearing only swim trunks, came across the sand and joined her. ‘Do you always stand up your dates?’