She looked up at him, her eyes taking in the tanned muscular body and fierce desire stabbed through her like the cruel thrust of a knife. She was glad she had put on her sun goggles for she was sure he would have seen the naked desire in her eyes.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’
‘I was kidding.’ Jackson dropped down by her side, stretched out his long legs and rested himself on his elbows. ‘I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. Rolfe.’
Another escape, she thought. If I had gone out with this man last night we would have been lovers by now and that would have been very dangerous, he knowing who I am.
‘You have been reading the newspapers?’ she said, staring across the beach wondering if anyone was watching.
‘Sure. I keep up-to-date.’ He smiled at her. ‘The most beautiful woman in the millionaire stakes: that’s how they described you and I guess they’re right.’
‘There are other more beautiful women. Liz Taylor...’
‘I haven’t met her so I wouldn’t know.’ Jackson dug up a handful of dry sand and let it run through his fingers. ‘How is your husband, Mrs. Rolfe? From the papers, he sounds real bad.’
She was certainly not going to discuss Herman’s health with a kitchen equipment salesman.
‘Are you enjoying your vacation, Mr. Jackson?’ she asked. When the need arose she could put steel into her voice. She did so now.
‘Excuse me, but I’m not just being curious. It’s important to me to know.’
She looked swiftly at him. He was staring out to sea, relaxed, smiling: a good looking specimen of male flesh.
‘Why should it be important to you?’
‘A good question. You see, Mrs. Rolfe, I have a problem.’
Instinctively a red light began to flash in her mind.
‘Should I be interested in your problems, Mr. Jackson?’
‘Problem... not problems.’ He dug more sand and allowed it to trickle between his fingers. ‘I don’t know. I’m wondering... you could be...’
‘I don’t think so. I have many problems of my own.’ She abruptly stood up. ‘Have a happy vacation. I must get back to my hotel.’
He looked up at her. The smile was a shade less friendly.
‘Sure. I was just trying to decide whether to talk to you about my problem or to Mr. Stanley Winborn.’
She felt a little jolt that set her heart racing, but she was tough enough to keep her face expressionless. She reached for her wrap and put it on.
‘Do you know Mr. Winborn?’ she asked.
‘I don’t, and between you and me, Mrs. Rolfe, I’m not crazy to get to know him. He looks a pretty tough character. He doesn’t look a helpful guy. Would you say that’s right?’ He smiled at her.
‘I don’t understand what you are talking about,’ she said curtly. ‘Well, I must be going.’
‘Please yourself, Mrs. Rolfe. I can’t stop you. I just thought you could be more helpful about my problem than Mr. Winborn, but if you’re in a hurry, then I guess I’ll have to take my chance with your attorney... that’s who he is, isn’t he?’
Helga leaned against the fender of the beach buggy. She opened her bag, took out her gold cigarette case, took out a cigarette and lit it.
‘Go ahead, Mr. Jackson: tell me about your problem.’
Jackson smiled up at her.
‘You haven’t only beauty, Mrs. Rolfe, you have brains: a very rare combination.’
She waited while he dug more sand.
‘A couple of days ago, Mrs. Rolfe, your husband telephoned me and hired me to put you under surveillance,’ Jackson said.
This time Helga couldn’t quite conceal the shock. She dropped her cigarette, but she quickly recovered. With steady hands, aware Jackson was watching her admiringly, she found and lit another cigarette.
‘Are you telling me you are the peeping Tom my husband hired?’
‘Well, I’m called an inquiry agent,’ Jackson said and chuckled. ‘Peeping Tom is all right though: not a bad description.’
‘I was under the impression you were a kitchen equipment salesman,’ Helga said contemptuously, ‘a considerable cut above a spy.’
Jackson laughed.
‘You have a point there. Actually I was a kitchen equipment salesman but it was rough going. Agency work pays a lot better.’
‘Spying on people doesn’t bother you?’ Helga asked, flicking ash on the sand.
‘No more than you cheating your husband, Mrs. Rolfe,’ Jackson returned, smiling at her. ‘It’s a job, although cheating isn’t.’
She decided she was wasting time. This man, with his deceptively friendly smile, had the skin of an alligator.
‘What is your problem, Mr. Jackson?’
‘Yeah... my problem. When Mr. Rolfe telephoned me I was pretty shaken. I am associated with Lawson’s, the New York inquiry agency, and they recommended Mr. Rolfe to call me. You know, Mrs. Rolfe, big names awe me. I don’t know why it is, but they do. Maybe, I’m a hick... could be the answer. Anyway, when Mr. Rolfe dropped this assignment into my lap I kind of flipped my lid. All I could say was “Yes, Mr. Rolfe... sure Mr. Rolfe... you can rely on me, Mr. Rolfe.” You know... like a hick.’ He shook his head frowning. ‘Well, he so flustered me with his grand manner, his curt voice — looking at me, Mrs. Rolfe, do you believe I could get flustered? That was what Mr. Rolfe did... he flustered me.’ He began to dig more sand. ‘Anyway, I accepted the assignment, but there was no talk about a retainer or a fee... are you getting the drift now, Mrs. Rolfe? I decided that I hadn’t a thing to worry about. All I had to do was to put a tail on you and after a week, shoot in an account for daily expenses along with my report. I told myself when dealing with a man of Mr. Rolfe’s stature you don’t ask for spot cash.’
Helga said nothing. She dropped the stub of her cigarette in the sand, aware of fury rising in her.
‘Well, now Mr. Rolfe is laid low,’ Jackson continued. ‘You see my problem? From what I read, he is to be carted off before long to Paradise City. Now I have a living to make. I have hired a couple of guys to watch you and they have to be paid.’ He smiled at her. ‘I run the office, you understand. I don’t do the leg work. Now these guys cost. I should have asked Mr. Rolfe for a retainer, but as I explained I was flustered. So there it is. I’ve got two guys to pay and Mr. Rolfe ill. See my problem?’
Still Helga said nothing. This time her silence seemed to irritate Jackson. He shifted restlessly and dug more sand more violently.
‘I’ve been trying to make up my mind whether to ask you for the retainer or Mr. Winborn,’ he said after a long pause.
Helga flicked more ash and waited.
‘Am I getting to you, Mrs. Rolfe?’ His voice hardened and the smile had gone.
‘Let us say, Mr. Jackson, that I am listening,’ Helga said quietly.
‘Yeah... beauty, brains and toughness. That’s fine with me, Mrs. Rolfe. Let me lay it on the line: ten thousand dollars, I call off my watchdogs, you can have fun and when Mr. Rolfe is well again, I send him a negative report. Fair enough?’
Helga regarded him, her eyes glittering.
‘I suggest you contact Mr. Winborn and ask him for your money. Mr. Winborn doesn’t leave for New York until this evening so you will have time. And there is one thing you should know about me which you seemed to have missed. To me blackmail is a four letter word and a blackmailer is a four letter man.’
As she got into the beach buggy, Jackson laughed.
‘Well, it was a try, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘No harm in trying.’
Without looking at him, Helga drove fast back to the hotel.
‘There are a number of telegrams which I have sent to your suite, Mrs. Rolfe,’ the Hall porter said as he handed Helga her key. ‘Mr. Winborn has been inquiring. He wishes to see you before he leaves.’