Read Online 1977 - I Hold the Four Aces by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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o’clock.”
“It will be arranged, madame.”
At a bistro on the Left Bank, Archer and Grenville conferred.
“This is D-day,” Grenville said. “I take her to bed tonight. I managed to squeeze another five thousand out of that horrible little man. You had better have a cut,” and he offered Archer a thousand franc note.
Archer, who was getting worried by the way his money was disappearing in expensive Paris, eagerly took the money.
“I’ve read through all this junk Patterson gave me,” Grenville went on. “Surely no one in their right mind would invest money in such a scheme?”
“It is possible, but extremely unlikely,” Archer said. “It is a gamble, but I am quite sure Helga won’t be interested. She is far too shrewd to put her money in such a project. Now, here is what you tell her…”
For the next half hour, Grenville listened, then finally, when Archer had finished his coaching, Grenville nodded.
“Yes. I go along with all that, but after? When she turns me down? What do we do? Have you thought up an idea, Jack?”
“I have the germ of an idea, but it is too early yet to discuss it. Get her to bed. This is the important thing. Once in bed, she is yours.” Archer smiled. “And mine.”
At 20.00, two waiters arrived at Helga’s suite and set up a table, placed a hot plate on a trolley and two ice buckets, containing bottles of champagne. While they worked, Helga, burning with impatience, kept looking at her watch. She had on a Dior fine wool suit in apricot. Her jewellery was simple: gold ear-rings and gold bracelets. She was looking her magnificent best.
The maître d’hôtel arrived and supervised the final touches to the table.
“All is now ready, madame,” he said. “Nothing will spoil. I am sure you will be satisfied.”
Helga nodded.
“Thank you.” She gave him a hundred-franc note, and he left, bowing.
She paced around the suite, continually looking at her watch. As the minute hand moved to 20.30, there came a tap on the door. She had to restrain herself from running. She opened the door.
Grenville, in a dark immaculately cut suit, wearing the Old Etonian tie, took her hand and brushed it with his lips.
“How beautiful you look!” he exclaimed. “It seems a century since I last saw you.” As he entered the suite, he saw the laid table. “But Helga! I was going to take you…”
“Not tonight,” she said, a little breathlessly. “This is my turn. Let’s have a drink.” She waved to the bottles on a separate table. “I’ll have a vodka martini.”
“My drink too,” Grenville said, and putting a briefcase he was carrying on a chair, he began to mix the drink. “Have you been shopping?” He smiled at her. “Buying up Balmain?”
“No. I’ve been walking over a dreary building site with two very dreary colleagues. And you?”
Grenville laughed.
“I was doing exactly the same.” He carried the drinks to a table, and as Helga sat down, he pulled up a chair near her. “What are we going to eat?”
She sipped her drink and nodded her approval.
“This is as good as Hinkle makes.”
“Hinkle?”
“My old and faithful major-domo whom I have left in my Florida home. He makes the most divine omelettes.”
Grenville wasn’t interested in old and faithful major-domos.
“But you haven’t told me what we are going to eat?”
“You sound hungry.”
He gave her his flashing smile.
“I am. I am only just back from Nice. I couldn’t face that awful stuff they serve on the plane, so I haven’t eaten all day.”
He had, in fact, paused on the way back to Paris in the Maserati to have a light lunch, but Grenville could never resist gaining sympathy from women.
“Nice? I love the south of France. Drink up then, and let’s eat.”
While Grenville served the lobster mousse, Helga kept looking at him. She kept thinking: he really is marvellous! There is that wonderful thing about him no other man I’ve ever known has had.
“Tell me about
“It will be arranged, madame.”
At a bistro on the Left Bank, Archer and Grenville conferred.
“This is D-day,” Grenville said. “I take her to bed tonight. I managed to squeeze another five thousand out of that horrible little man. You had better have a cut,” and he offered Archer a thousand franc note.
Archer, who was getting worried by the way his money was disappearing in expensive Paris, eagerly took the money.
“I’ve read through all this junk Patterson gave me,” Grenville went on. “Surely no one in their right mind would invest money in such a scheme?”
“It is possible, but extremely unlikely,” Archer said. “It is a gamble, but I am quite sure Helga won’t be interested. She is far too shrewd to put her money in such a project. Now, here is what you tell her…”
For the next half hour, Grenville listened, then finally, when Archer had finished his coaching, Grenville nodded.
“Yes. I go along with all that, but after? When she turns me down? What do we do? Have you thought up an idea, Jack?”
“I have the germ of an idea, but it is too early yet to discuss it. Get her to bed. This is the important thing. Once in bed, she is yours.” Archer smiled. “And mine.”
At 20.00, two waiters arrived at Helga’s suite and set up a table, placed a hot plate on a trolley and two ice buckets, containing bottles of champagne. While they worked, Helga, burning with impatience, kept looking at her watch. She had on a Dior fine wool suit in apricot. Her jewellery was simple: gold ear-rings and gold bracelets. She was looking her magnificent best.
The maître d’hôtel arrived and supervised the final touches to the table.
“All is now ready, madame,” he said. “Nothing will spoil. I am sure you will be satisfied.”
Helga nodded.
“Thank you.” She gave him a hundred-franc note, and he left, bowing.
She paced around the suite, continually looking at her watch. As the minute hand moved to 20.30, there came a tap on the door. She had to restrain herself from running. She opened the door.
Grenville, in a dark immaculately cut suit, wearing the Old Etonian tie, took her hand and brushed it with his lips.
“How beautiful you look!” he exclaimed. “It seems a century since I last saw you.” As he entered the suite, he saw the laid table. “But Helga! I was going to take you…”
“Not tonight,” she said, a little breathlessly. “This is my turn. Let’s have a drink.” She waved to the bottles on a separate table. “I’ll have a vodka martini.”
“My drink too,” Grenville said, and putting a briefcase he was carrying on a chair, he began to mix the drink. “Have you been shopping?” He smiled at her. “Buying up Balmain?”
“No. I’ve been walking over a dreary building site with two very dreary colleagues. And you?”
Grenville laughed.
“I was doing exactly the same.” He carried the drinks to a table, and as Helga sat down, he pulled up a chair near her. “What are we going to eat?”
She sipped her drink and nodded her approval.
“This is as good as Hinkle makes.”
“Hinkle?”
“My old and faithful major-domo whom I have left in my Florida home. He makes the most divine omelettes.”
Grenville wasn’t interested in old and faithful major-domos.
“But you haven’t told me what we are going to eat?”
“You sound hungry.”
He gave her his flashing smile.
“I am. I am only just back from Nice. I couldn’t face that awful stuff they serve on the plane, so I haven’t eaten all day.”
He had, in fact, paused on the way back to Paris in the Maserati to have a light lunch, but Grenville could never resist gaining sympathy from women.
“Nice? I love the south of France. Drink up then, and let’s eat.”
While Grenville served the lobster mousse, Helga kept looking at him. She kept thinking: he really is marvellous! There is that wonderful thing about him no other man I’ve ever known has had.
“Tell me about
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