With her heart beating fast, she picked up the telephone receiver.
"Give me room 556, please."
"Certainly madame ... a moment, please."
Helga grimaced. Of course the girl knew who she was speaking to. The slight flustered note in her voice told her that
There was a long pause, then the girl said, "I'm sorry, madame, there is no reply."
No reply! Helga's fingers tightened on the receiver. Surely he couldn't be asleep already? She looked at the wall clock. It was 22.35.
"Try again!" she was immediately sorry for allowing her voice to sound so harsh.
"Yes, madame." Again a long pause, then the girl said, "I'm very sorry, madame, but there is still no reply."
Helga drew in a long, slow breath. Only with an effort, she kept control of her temper.
"Give me the reception desk!"
There was another infuriating delay, then the Reception Manager came on the line. During the wait, Helga guessed the girl had alerted him. When he answered, there was a bow in his voice.
"Madame Rolfe? Is there anything I can do?"
"I want to speak to my chauffeur."
"Your chauffeur?" There was a slight lift in his voice of surprise. She thought bitterly, if she had asked to be connected to God he might have been less surprised. "Of course, madame ... please, a moment."
She sat on the bed, feeling the sensual warmth of her body evaporating. "Madame?" The voice came back on the line.
"Well?" She knew the snap in her voice was unfortunate, but she couldn't control it.
"Your chauffeur has gone out. He left an hour ago. Is there anything I can do?"
"He has gone out?" A mistake, Helga thought, but she couldn't keep the words back.
"Did you want him, madame?" The bowing voice took on a worried note.
Do you want him? Helga's body ached. How I want him!
"No ... it isn't important." Slowly she replaced the receiver.
She got off the bed and walked to the window. She pulled aside the drapes and looked down at the busy street. The snow had stopped falling. The trams clanged and sparks flew from the overhead cables. People, in furs, walked carefully over the frozen snow. She let the drapes drop and went over to the bed and slipped on the chiffon wrap. She felt cold and now she wished she hadn't drunk so much.
It was her own fault, she told herself. She hadn't given him the slightest hint that she wanted him to come to her room. But where had he gone? She dropped on to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Had he got this urge he had told her about ... the urge that was now crucifying her? Had he gone out into the cold and the snow in search of some cheap little whore when she was here, in luxury and warmth, longing for him? She lay there, her mind tormented, then after a while, she began to weep.
From a drugged sleep, Helga came awake at 08.00. She turned on the bedside lamp and then lay still, staring up at the ceiling. Thank God, she thought, for sleeping pills!
Making the effort, she picked up the telephone receiver.
"Coffee, please. Please tell my chauffeur I will be leaving at nine o'clock. Have my account ready," and she replaced the receiver.
As she got out of bed she thought what a fool she would look if they called back to tell her her chauffeur was missing. It was possible Larry had walked out on her ... he might even have taken her car! Then she told herself to be realistic. She had his passport. Anyway, why should she doubt him? Last night had been her fault. She hadn't given him the slightest hint she wanted him to make love to her.
She hated the sight of herself as she looked in the bathroom mirror, but she wasn't dismayed. She was an expert at repairing damage.
After drinking two cups of coffee and after using every guile in her make–up box, she again looked in the mirror and this time she nodded her approval. There came a tap on the door. She slipped on her mink coat, picked up her hat and opened the door.
The manager of the hotel, behind him a porter, bowed with a smile. "Your car is waiting, madame."
Together they went in the elevator to the reception lobby. Because she knew it was expected of her, she said how well she had slept and how pleased she had been with the room.
Beaming his pleasure, the manager escorted her to the desk and a bowing clerk slid the account across the polished wood. After glancing at the total, she paid. As the clerk was changing her Travellers' cheques she looked more closely at the bill.
An item caught her eye.
"What is this? A call to Hamburg?"
The clerk looked at the account, then at her and his expression became worried.
"Yes, madame. Your chauffeur made the call."
Fifteen francs! It must have been a long call, she thought. "Of course ... I was forgetting."
She picked up her change, shook hands with the clerk, saying she would see him next year, then, escorted by the manager, watched by a group of tourists, waiting for their bus, she went out into the cold where the Mercedes was parked.
Larry was standing by the car. She looked quickly at him. He gave her his warm, friendly smile as he opened the offside door. The porter put her bags into the boot and she tipped him. The manager, his nose now blue with the cold, still managed to keep a bright smile on his face. She shook hands with him, slid into the passenger's seat while Larry ran around the car and got in under the wheel.
There were more bows, then Larry moved the car into the traffic. "Morning, ma'am," he said, his voice cheerful.
"You turn right at the end of the street, then straight ahead," Helga said, her voice cold and hostile.
"Sure, ma'am, I know the way, I got it all figured out on a map." "That was very clever of you."
The snap in her voice wasn't lost on him and he looked quickly at her.
"Are you okay, ma'am?"
"I have a headache. Would you please keep quiet?"
"Sure, ma'am ... is there anything I can do?"
"Just keep quiet."
She knew she was behaving badly and she realized looking at him, that her petulance had made no impression on him. She saw him give a slight shrug, then he concentrated on his driving. She was irritated that he was so efficient, getting them through the Basle traffic with ease and then on to the autobahn to Zurich. She had always hated this part of the drive and often she had made a mistake.
Determined to sulk, she smoked cigarette after cigarette in silence, staring at the broad road as it came towards her. She had done this run so often, it bored her. But finally, as they approached the outskirts of Zurich, she said, "Do you know the way through the City?"
"Sure, ma'am," he said calmly. "Right ahead, forking left at the traffic lights, through the tunnel and on to the Chur bypass."
"That's right."
She looked at him. He was chewing gum and his face was completely relaxed. She looked at his big hands on the steering–wheel and again her body melted in desire for him.
It wasn't until they had begun to climb the twisting road to Chur that she began her probe.
"Where did you go last night, Larry?" she asked abruptly.
He whipped the Mercedes past a Peugeot 504, then stormed up the road with the speedometer needle at 180 k.p.h.
"Last night, ma'am?"
"You are driving too fast!"
"Sorry, ma'am," and the needle drifted down to 130.
"I asked you where you were last night."
"In the hotel, ma'am."
She clenched her hands into fists.
"Don't lie to me!" She was shocked to hear how shrill her voice sounded. She paused, then controlling her voice, she went on, "I wanted to speak to you. They told me you had gone out. Where did you go?"
He shot the car past a Jaguar. The driver tapped his horn as a protest at the speed of the Mercedes.
"You are driving too fast, Larry ... stop it!"
"Yes, ma'am," and the speed of the car slackened.
"Where were you last night?" she persisted.
"I went for a walk." He glanced at her, then away. "Des that bother you, ma'am?"
The gentle rebuke was like a slap in the face to her. She was losing her head about this boy, she told herself. Why shouldn't he go for a walk if he wanted to? Because she had longed for him and still longed for him, she realized she was making a drama out of everything he did.
"No ... it didn't bother me," she said, steadying her voice. "I just wondered where you were."
"I took a look at the town." His jaws moved rhythmically as he chewed. "It's not much. I got cold. I was glad to get into bed."
"Yes." She had a feeling he was lying but she wasn't sure.
They drove for the next hour in silence and it irritated her that he seemed quite happy to drive and not to have to listen to anything she might say. When they came to the entrance to the Bernadino tunnel and he flicked on his dipped headlights, she remembered the call to Hamburg.
She said, "The hotel charged me for a call to Hamburg. They said you had made it."
She was watching him, but his face remained relaxed and he continued to chew.
"That's right, ma'am. I made the call. I wanted news of Ron. Excuse me if I did wrong."
She drew in a long, slow breath. His constant 'excuse me's' were gnawing at her nerves.
"How is Ron?"
"He's okay, ma'am."
"Have the police released him?"
His eyes shifted to her and then away.
"Yeah."
"So what is he doing now?"
Watching him, she had a feeling she had dropped salt on a snail. He retreated into a shell. His blank expression, his gum chewing told her it was a shell she wasn't going to penetrate.
"I don't know, ma'am."
"Didn't you ask him?"
"I didn't speak to him. I spoke to one of his friends. He just told me Ron was out."
She shrugged. He didn't want to confide in her ... after all, why should he? The run through the tunnel took some minutes.
"The road ahead is tricky and dangerous, Larry. I know it well. I will drive," she said when she saw they were reaching the end of the tunnel.
"Just as you say, ma'am."
She looked at the gas gauge.
"There's a service station not far from the end of the tunnel. We'll change there."
"Okay, ma'am."
Ten kilometres beyond the tunnel they came to the service station and Larry stopped the car by the pumps.
He got out and she slid under the driving wheel as the attendant came out of his shelter.
She told him to fill the tank.
Larry came around and got in the passenger's seat.
"Pay him," she said. "It'll be thirty francs."
"What was that, ma'am?"
At the sound of the startled note in his voice, she looked sharply at him. He immediately shifted his eyes.
"I said... pay him thirty francs!" she snapped.
He shifted uneasily.
"Excuse me, ma'am ... I haven't thirty francs," he said and she saw his face was now beetroot red.
She lifted her hands, then dropped them on her mink covered lap.
"All right, Larry." She opened her bag and paid the attendant twenty–seven francs and gave him a franc tip. Then she shifted into gear and drove out on to the broad mountain road. When they were out of sight of the gas station, she drew in against the side of the mountain and stopped the car. She turned off the engine, took out her cigarette case and lit a cigarette. "I would like to get this straight, Larry," she said. He looked furtively at her. "What was that, ma'am?"
"I want an explanation. I gave you three hundred marks in Bonn. The meal couldn't have been more than twenty marks so you had a balance of around two hundred and eighty. I then gave you fifteen hundred francs to get clothes. You told me you had something over from that. You also told me twice that you do not accept money. Now you can't even find thirty francs ... did you lose what I gave you?"
He rubbed the side of his jaw as he hesitated, then he nodded. "Yeah... I guess I did."
She stared at him.
"But how did you lose all that money, Larry?"
He chewed on his gum and she could see sweat–beads forming on his forehead. "I guess I just lost it, ma'am."
"Do you expect me to accept such a stupid answer?" The angry snap in her voice stiffened him. He remained silent, staring through the wind shield at the falling snow.
"It's a lot of money to lose," she went on, softening her voice when she saw he wasn't going to reply. "How did you lose it?"
Still he said nothing. If he were wearing his cap she was sure he would be pulling at the peak.
"Larry! Will you please answer my question! Did some woman get it from you last night?"
He moved uneasily, then he nodded. "I guess that's how it happened, ma'am."
She thought of the previous evening. The terrible letdown when she had been told he had gone out. She felt so frustrated she couldn't speak for several seconds. Finally she said, her voice unsteady, "You wanted a woman and you went out in the snow to look for one ... is that right?" "Yes, ma'am." She closed her eyes, her hands turning into fists.
There was a long silence, then she said, "Tell me about it." Again he shifted uneasily.
"There's nothing to tell, ma'am ... excuse me ... I'm sorry."
"Tell me about it!" Her voice was ugly and harsh.
Startled he looked at her, then away.
"Larry!"
He slumped down in the car seat as if defeated.
"Well, ma'am, if you must know ... I went to a cafe. There was this girl on her own. We got talking." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe you can understand. I wanted her. We went to her place. She had a girl friend there." He stared through the wind shield, frowning. "I guess they took me to the cleaners. When I got back to the hotel I hadn't five francs left."