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.�

�I want to do some skin diving. Do you skin dive?�

�Yes.� What didn�t she do? she wondered.

�Would you know the best place... no, I guess that�s a stupid question...�you just arriving.�

She had been studying him, his beautiful muscles, his frank smile, his sexuality and that crucifying sex urge boiled up in her. If he had grabbed and raped her, it would have been the moment of her life. She looked up and down the deserted beach. They were utterly alone.

There was a pause, then she said, �How did you get here?�

�Oh, I walked. I like walking.� He smiled. �I got tired of all the noise. People sure know how to enjoy themselves here but they kick up a hell of a racket.�

�Yes.� She moved to the beach buggy and got in. �Do you want a ride back?�

�Thanks. I�ve had all the walking I want for today.�

He climbed in beside her.

As she started the engine, she looked more closely at him. He was probably thirty-three, not more: ten years her junior, she thought. She wished he would take off the sun goggles. A man�s eyes, to her, were important.

�What do you do for a living, Mr. Jackson?� she asked. She wanted to know into what class category she would place him.

�I�m a salesman,� Jackson said. �I travel around. I like the life. I�m free... on my own. That�s important to me.�

And to me too, Helga thought as she set the buggy in motion.

�What do you sell?�

�Kitchen equipment.�

�That�s good, isn�t it? Everyone needs kitchen equipment.� She was thinking: small fry, not dangerous, no connections with any of Herman�s awful people... he could be safe.

�Right. I enjoy it. As you say, people always need something for the kitchen.�

�Where are you staying, Mr. Jackson?�

�I�ve rented a beach hut. I look after myself. I like it that way. Hotels give me a pain.�

�Yes. Does your wife like that way of life?�

He laughed: an easy lilting laugh.

�I haven�t a wife, I like my freedom. I haven�t even a girl friend here, but I�ll find someone. I believe in ships that pass in the night... no complications,� and he laughed again.

She very nearly stopped the buggy and told him to take her, but she controlled herself.

�I�m Helga,� she said. �I�m on my own tonight. Should we do something about it?�

Was he going to duck out? Was he going to tell her by a look, not in words that she was too old for him? Her fingers turned white on the driving wheel.

�Wonderful!� He sounded enthusiastic. �Let�s do that. Where and when do I pick you up?�

�Have you a car?�

�Sure.�

�Then why not outside the Ocean Beach club at nine o�clock?�

She had seen the club some hundred yards down the road from her hotel. At nine o�clock, Herman would be in bed.

�It�s a date. I look forward to it.� He thought for a moment. �There�s a sea food restaurant I know. Do you like sea food?�

�Of course.�

�Fine. It�s okay... you don�t have to dress. Anything goes. Right?�

�Yes.�

They drove for some minutes in silence, then he said, �Helga... that�s an unusual name.� He suddenly took off his sun goggles and smiled at her. His big, friendly eyes gave her confidence. He was all right, she told herself. No problem with him. �You�re unusual too.�

She laughed, delighted.

�We will talk about that tonight?�

�That�s my beach hut.� He pointed. They were about half a mile from her hotel.

She slowed the buggy, looked at the line of huts standing a hundred yards or so from the sea, half hidden by palm trees. She stopped the buggy.

�Well, then tonight at nine,� she said.

�Right.� He put his hand lightly but possessively on her arm for a brief moment. His touch sent a shock through her. He knew what she wanted, she told herself. �See you and thanks for the ride.�

In an excited daze, she drove back to the hotel.

Stanley Winborn told Helga that at the last moment it had been decided that Loman, as vice president of the Rolfe Electronic Corporation, would serve a more useful purpose by remaining in New York. Now that the news had leaked, the shares of the Corporation would come under pressure. That was inevitable, but it meant little: you had only to sneeze these days for the Dow Jones index to slide, but Loman should remain at the helm: Winborn used phrases like that.

He had arrived at the Diamond Beach hotel at 11.15. Looking through the slots of the sun blinds, keeping out of sight, Helga watched him get out of the Silver Shadow, pause to talk to the reporters who had been there now for the past fourteen hours.

Although she hated him, she had to admit that Stanley Winborn was a distinguished, handsome looking man with the touch of the elder statesman about him. He was tall and thin with thick dark hair with white wings, a cool aloof expression, always immaculately dressed and a razor sharp legal brain. He treated everyone, including Helga, with cold distant politeness. She couldn�t remember ever seeing him smile, let alone laugh.

Having spent a few minutes with the reporters, allowing photographers to set off their flash lights, he disappeared into the hotel.

It was almost an hour before he came to her suite. No doubt, she thought, he had been consulting Dr. Levi. Winborn always obtained facts and information before he moved into action. While she waited, she glanced at the newspapers. The majority of them carried banner headlines:

She thought of the avalanche of inquiries, condolences, telegrams, cables and letters this line of print would cause. She hoped they would be directed to the New York office and not here.

�A sorry affair,� Winborn said as he entered the suite and he murmured sympathy which irritated Helga. �It appears to be serious.�

�Yes.�

�Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Rolfe?� The steel grey eyes ran over her. �I am, of course at your disposal.�

�There is nothing, thank you.�

A pause, then Winborn said, �Mr. Rolfe has just concluded an important contract with the Japanese government. He was about to send me the draft contract when this dreadful thing happened. The matter is urgent. Would you know where the draft is?�

Without thinking, Helga said, �Hinkle will know.�

As soon as she had said this, she realized the danger. If Winborn got talking to Hinkle about Herman�s papers, there was a possibility that Hinkle might mention the damning letter, but she need not have worried.

Winborn lifted an eyebrow.

�I would prefer not to discuss Mr. Rolfe�s affairs with a servant,� he said.

You goddamn snob! Helga thought, but thank God you are a snob!

�May I trouble you to come with me, Mrs. Rolfe,� Winborn went on, �so that we can go through his papers? This draft needs my immediate attention.�

Another escape! If she hadn�t had the foresight to remove the red folder, Winborn would have pounced on it.

�Yes, of course.�

They went into Rolfe�s suite. The two uniformed guards were still at the head of the stairs and by the elevator. They saluted and Winborn, who loved recognition, inclined his head. The door was opened by a fat, kindly-faced nurse who let them in.

�Please be as quiet as you can,� she said softly and returned to the bedroom, shutting the door.

Winborn stood by her side as Helga went through the contents of the drawers. The folder containing the Japanese contract was quickly found. Another folder lay beneath it with Swiss Portfolio printed on it.

�That reminds me,� Winborn said, his voice low. �Loman tells me there is a two million loss on the Swiss account. Mr. Rolfe told him the loss was due to reckless speculation.�

She steadied her jumping nerves. At least Rolfe hadn�t told the truth. Neither Loman nor Winborn knew of Archer�s embezzlement.

She looked up.

�The Swiss portfolio is my affair, Mr. Winborn. I am aware what has been lost. I have already discussed this with my husband. This is my problem... not yours.�

A slight tightening of his lips, but nothing more. He inclined his head.

�Then I will leave you, Mrs. Rolfe.�

�Is there anything else?�

�Not immediately. Dr. Levi thinks that if there is any sign of improvement, Mr. Rolfe should be moved back to Paradise City where he can receive even better attention than here. A decision may be made in a couple of days. I must fly back to Miami this evening. I can, of course, rely on you to keep me informed. Then you will excuse me?.. I have a number of telephone calls to make. I am in suite 14 should you want me.� He began to move to the door, then paused. �As Mr. Rolfe�s executor and legal adviser I think I should know if you are continuing to follow Mr. Archer�s advice. Two million dollars is a heavy loss.�

She looked directly at him.

�You have no need as yet to act as an executor, Mr. Winborn, and I trust it will be many years to come before you have to,� she said quietly.

Again the tightening of the lips, then he said, �I hope so too, Mrs. Rolfe. Please excuse me,� and he left the room.

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.

As Helga walked into the hotel lobby, the Hall porter came from behind his desk. Seeing he wanted to speak to her, she paused.

�There is an urgent call from Mr. Winborn, madame. He is staying the night at the Sonesta Beach hotel, Miami. He asks if you would please call him back.�

�Thank you.� She moved to the elevator.

In her apartment she walked out on to the terrace. She sat down, half aware of the big floating moon, its reflection on the sea and the strident shouts of the night bathers.

Ten thousand dollars presented no problem... but five hundred thousand!

Was she going to submit to blackmail?

She lit a cigarette. She never felt so alone. She thought bitterly that she had always been alone. The only child, her brilliance had cut her off from other children, her father had been interested only in his business; her mother only interested in the church. Always loneliness, plus this damnable sexual urge that had tormented her into dangerous adventures.

Face it, she said to herself, you are on your own: there is no one to help you: you are in a hell of a spot, so what are you going to do about it?

Thinking, she realized that even if Herman died this night, she would have Jackson and this half-caste on her back for life. They would give her the original letter but keep a photocopy. If she refused further demands and they sent Winborn the photocopy, he would take action. With his legal know-how and his spite, he would begin legal proceedings, especially if the hotel manager confirmed that she had taken the letter. Winborn could block her from the sixty million dollars!

She sat still, thinking, gathering her strength and her confidence in herself. This was going to be a lonely battle, she told herself. She had said to Jackson, �The best of generals lose battles.� But now she was determined this was the one battle she would not lose.

She returned to the living room and asked the telephone operator to connect her with the Sonesta Beach hotel.

�I want to speak to Mr. Stanley Winborn.�

There was a delay. Calm, she smoked and stared out at the moonlit sea. She told herself: �I have so much to lose. I can afford to take risks. If I do lose, I�ll make sure no one gains.�

When Winborn came on the line, she said, �This is Mrs. Rolfe.�

�I�m sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Rolfe.� The cold voice came clearly over the line. She could imagine the steely grey eyes and the aloof, unfriendly expression. �Could I ask you to do something for me?�

Surprised, she said, �Of course.�

�While flying to Miami, I got thinking about what your husband was trying to say. That odd phrase: �Sin on. Better law.� After repeating it several times, it occurred to me he was trying to say, �Winborn. Letter. Drawer.��

You smart sonofabitch, Helga thought.

Forcing her voice to sound casual, she said, �I would never have thought of that, Mr. Winborn.�

�I called Nurse Fairely. She asked Mr. Rolfe if that was what he was trying to say. By his reaction, it was. Nurse Fairely is sure that there is a letter for me in one of Mr. Rolfe�s drawers.� A pause. �May I ask you to check, Mrs. Rolfe?�

Not so smart, Helga thought. What you should do is to come back here and check yourself.

�We looked through all the drawers together, Mr. Winborn,� she said. �There was no letter.�

�But there could be. We were looking for the Japanese contract.� A sharp note crept into Winborn�s voice. �Would you look more thoroughly?�

�Of course. If I find a letter for you, I will call you back.�

�I am sorry to bother you with this, but Nurse Fairely tells me Mr. Rolfe keeps on about this letter.�

�If I don�t call back within an hour, you will know I haven�t found it,� Helga said.

�Thank you, Mrs. Rolfe.�

�How is he?�

�There is no change.�

She hung up and sat still for some moments. Winborn was no fool, but the immediate present was more important. She had sensed the suspicion in his voice. If he really became suspicious, he could make inquiries. The hotel manager, innocently, would tell him that she had taken the red folder from Mr. Rolfe�s desk.

She hunched her shoulders. In spite of the hot, humid air, she felt cold. But this was no time to worry about Winborn. First, she had to deal with Jackson... but how?

Suddenly, she felt exhausted. She remembered her father had often said to her, �When you have a serious problem, don�t make a quick decision... always sleep on it.�

She got to her feet and walked into the bedroom.

�Sleep alone,� Jackson had said with a jeering grin.

If only there was a man here, she thought: a muscular, tall and virile man who would take her and send her on a sensational trip of relief, who would wash away the memory of Jackson�s confident, jeering smile, her half-dead husband and this threat to her freedom.

She went into the bathroom, opened the mirror cabinet, took out a bottle of sleeping pills and shook two into her palm. She tossed the pills into her mouth and swallowed them. Stripping off her clothes, she took a shower, then went into the bedroom and dropped on to the bed.

The sounds of people enjoying themselves floated up through the open window. She could hear the roar of the passing traffic. Faintly, came the sound of the restaurant orchestra. It was playing I Follow My Secret Heart.

Secret heart?

Yes, her heart was secret but also lonely.

She fought back tears. She despised self-pity. Impatient with herself, she reached out and turned off the light.

For some minutes, she lay in the dim light of the moon coming through the slots of the sunblinds, then the two pills mercifully took hold of her and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

It was when the effect of the pills was wearing off that she began to dream. She dreamed that she was in her father�s office in Lausanne. He was sitting behind his big desk, tall, thin, upright, his face sternly handsome while she stood before him and told him about Jackson.

Although a brilliantly clever international lawyer, her father was given to old-fashioned clich�s. In this dream he talked to her but his words didn�t register. All she could hear were the clich�s: �What you put in, you take out.� �What you lose on the swings, you gain on the roundabouts.� Then leaning forward, he said distinctly, �Offence is better than defence.� She was waking as she heard his voice saying, �Always know your enemy.�

She came awake with a start. The dream had been very real and she looked around the luxurious bedroom, not knowing where she was, then remembering. The sun was coming through the slots of the blinds. She looked at the clock on the bedside table: the time was 08.13.

She lay still, thinking about her dream. Know your enemy. The drugged sleep had restored her energy. Her mind was clear. She lay thinking until 09.00, then she ordered coffee.

She was in the bathroom, finishing a quick toilet when she heard a tap on her door.

�Come in.�

She slipped on a wrap and came into the living room as Hinkle wheeled in a service trolley.

�Good morning, Hinkle,� she said. �What is new?�

�Mr. Rolfe has passed a fair night,� Hinkle said as he poured the coffee. �Dr. Bellamy will be seeing him this morning.�

She took the cup of coffee he handed to her.

�Could you find out two things for me, Hinkle?� she asked.

�Certainly, madame.�

�I want the name of the hotel detective and the name of the man who cleans this suite.�

Hinkle lifted his eyebrows: his way of expressing astonishment, but he said impassively, �The hotel detective is Tom Henessey, madame. The cleaner is a young half-caste whom they call Dick.�

�What a mine of information you are, Hinkle.�

He regarded her.

�Is there something wrong, madame?�

�Not at all. I believe in knowing the people who look after me.� She smiled at him.

�Yes, madame.� She could see she hadn�t convinced him, but she was beyond caring. �Will you be in for lunch?�

�No, I don�t think I will. I�ll either lunch in the grill-room or out.�

�Is there anything I can do for you, madame?�

How she longed to tell this solid, kindly man about Jackson. She shook her head.

�Give me one of your beautiful cocktails at six this evening,� she said. �Nothing more. Do go out and enjoy yourself, Hinkle.�

�Thank you, madame. If there is nothing then I will take advantage of the sun.�

When he had gone, she finished her coffee, completed her toilet and then went along to Herman�s suite.

Nurse Fairely, smiling, let her into the big living room.

�I�ve come to see if I can find this letter that is worrying my husband,� Helga said. �How is he?�

�He is gaining strength, Mrs. Rolfe. He had a good night.�

�Can I see him?�

�I am sure he would be pleased to see you.�

Helga felt a little chill crawl up her spine. She braced herself as she crossed to the bedroom. Nurse Fairely tactfully went into the kitchenette.

Helga stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at her husband as he lay in the bed. She felt her heart contract. Could this ruin of a man be the mighty Herman Rolfe with all his millions, who with a flick of his fingers commanded attention, who held the magic key that unlocked the doors of the world? The skull-like face was now like a face modelled in wax and that had been exposed to a flame and had melted. The right side of the mouth was flaccid and hung open, showing his teeth and saliva dripped on to a towel on his white silk pyjamas. The useless right hand and arm lay on a pillow. The eyes that had always been cold, hard and forbidding were now like liquid pools of stagnant water without life.

They stared at each other. Helga shivered, then pity for him rushed through her and she moved forward, but she stopped abruptly as his eyes lit up. His left hand moved and a bony finger pointed accusingly at her. The slack lips twisted and a sound came: �Bore!� which she knew meant whore.

�I am sorry, Herman,� she said, her voice husky. �Really and truly, I am sorry. God help us both.�

His fingers flicked her away. The eyes expressed his dumb hatred. Shuddering, she stepped back and closed the door. For a long moment, she stood motionless, then controlling herself, she walked to the desk.

Nurse Fairely came from the kitchenette.

�It must be a shock to you, Mrs. Rolfe. So very sad... such a fine man.�

�Yes.�

Helga made a show of looking through the papers in the drawers while the fat, amiable nurse stood watching her.

�There is no letter here. Please tell Mr. Rolfe.�

�Perhaps you would tell him, Mrs. Rolfe. It is odd. He is so insistent.�

�I can�t face him again for the moment.� Helga�s voice broke. �You are at liberty to look through all these papers, nurse. Ask him if he would like you to do that.�

She was close to tears and turning away, she walked quickly back to her suite. It took her several minutes to recover, then with her capacity to absorb a shock, she switched her mind from her husband to Jackson.

Know your enemy.

That was to be her first move. Picking up the �Room vacant: please service� card, she left the suite, hung the card on the door handle and rode down in the elevator to the lobby. She asked for a taxi and was driven to the Nassau National Bank. She told the taxi driver to wait. She entered the bank and arranged for fifteen thousand dollars to be available to her for the following day. As she left the bank, she saw across the road an automobile showroom. Above the door was a banner:

Telling the taxi driver to wait, she crossed the road and entered the showroom.

A young coloured salesman approached.

�I am interested in this motorcycle,� she said. �May I see it?�

�The Electra Glide?� The salesman spread his hand in an exaggerated gesture of despair. �We sold our only model, madame, but we will have another within a few months.�

�How disappointing. I wanted to see it,� Helga smiled. �Perhaps the buyer would show it to me. Have you his name and address?�

�A moment, madame.� The salesman went away. He returned after a few minutes and handed her a card on which was written: Mr. Richard Jones, 1150, North Beach Road, Nassau.

He then gave her an illustrated folder.

�You will find all the details here, madame. I would advise you to place an order with us without delay. There is considerable demand for this machine.�

Returning to the taxi, she told the driver to take her to North Beach road. It took ten minutes of driving out of the city before they reached the long, shabby street.

The driver, a West Indian, slowed and looked over his shoulder at her.

�You want some special number, missus?�

�Just drive along slowly,� she said.

Looking out of the window, she finally spotted No. 1150: a broken down bungalow with an iron corrugated roof, weeds in the garden, grey sheets hanging out to dry and a big, fat West Indian woman with grey in her hair, sitting on the stoop, reading a magazine.

Helga told the driver to take her back to the hotel. She had been absent half an hour. As she crossed to the elevator, the Hall porter materialized by her side.

�Excuse me, madame, but your room is being serviced. It won�t be ready for you for another twenty minutes.�

�That�s all right. I only want to pick up something. Thank you.� Giving him a smile, she entered the elevator and was whisked to the top floor.

There was a big service trolley outside her open door. Silently, she entered her suite. She heard movements in the bathroom. Shutting the door, she crossed to the desk on which lay the three recorders the assistant manager had left with her the previous evening. She switched one on, adjusted the volume control, then she walked silently into the bedroom. The bed had been stripped, a pile of towels lay outside the bathroom door. She could hear the sound of the spray swishing around in the bath.

She looked into the bathroom. A slim figure in white drill was bending over the bath, his head out of sight.

�Are you Jones?� she asked, pitching her voice high to get above the sound of the spray.

The figure started, dropped the spray, straightened and spun around.

She was confronted by a beautiful looking nineteen-year-old boy with thick black silky hair, big, fawn like eyes and perfectly moulded features.

They stared at each other.

A blackmailer? Helga thought. This she found hard to believe.

�Are you Jones?� she repeated.

The boy turned off the shower, licked his lips and nodded.

�All right, Jones, I want to talk to you.� She put steel in her voice. Turning, she walked into the sitting room.

There was a long pause while she stood with her back to the window, then he came out of the bedroom, his hands moving like agitated butterflies up and down his white jacket.

�Stand over there,� she said, pointing to the desk, then she sat down, opened her handbag and took out her cigarette case.

He moved to the desk and stood staring at her. His olive skin glistened with sweat. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his tight jacket as he breathed.

�You own one of these?� She tossed the folder of the Harley-Davidson at his feet.

He stiffened and stared down at the coloured illustrations.

�Do you or don�t you own one of these motorcycles?� she demanded, determined to give him no time to think.

In a small, low voice, he said, �Yes, ma�am.�

�How did you pay for it?� The steel in her voice was like the lash of a whip.

His eyes widened and he took a step back.

�I... I saved for it, ma�am.�

�You saved for it?� She gave a scornful laugh. �You... living in a slum: your home with a tin roof. You saved more than four thousand dollars! I wonder what Mr. Henessey would say to that!�

His face turned grey.

�I saved for it, ma�am. I swear I did.�

�Listen to me, Jones,� she said. �Yesterday morning, I left a valuable diamond ring in the bathroom. It is missing. Now I find that yesterday you paid for this motorcycle. I am accusing you of stealing my ring, selling it, and with the money, you bought this motorcycle.�

He shut his eyes and swayed on his feet. For a moment she thought he was going to faint. Looking at him she felt desire stab at her. He was such a beautiful male. A half-caste. She wouldn�t have known except for the silky black hair. She steeled herself.

�Isn�t that what you did?�

�No, ma�am. I swear I didn�t take your ring.�

�You seem good at swearing. All right, then let us see how Mr. Henessey deals with you. Let us see how the police will deal with you. I can�t imagine anyone will believe you saved four thousand dollars.�

She got up and walked to the telephone.

�Ma�am... please. I didn�t take your ring.�

She paused by the telephone, her hand on the receiver, looking at him.

�But you did take something, didn�t you?�

He seemed to shrivel in his white uniform as he nodded. I�m half way there, she thought and released the telephone receiver.

�What did you take?�

In a whisper, he said, �A red folder from your suitcase, ma�am.�

She returned to the chair and sat down.

�And what did you do with it?�

�I... I gave it to a man.�

�What man?�

He hesitated, then blurted out, �Mr. Jackson.�

�Harry Jackson?�

�Yes, ma�am.�

�Why did you do that?�

Again he hesitated, then said, �I wanted the bike. Mr. Jackson said he would give me the money if I would look around your suite for something important.�

�How much money was he going to give you?�

�Four thousand dollars, ma�am.�

�So you didn�t save very much, did you... less than two hundred dollars.�

�I... I don�t earn much, ma�am.�

�Is it a fact, Jones, that Jackson employs you to spy on guests staying here?�

He licked his lips, looked imploringly at her, then said, �This is the first time. I swear it�s the first time.�

�Something important? Did he tell you what to look for?�

�He said love letters, ma�am or anything important.� He was now nearly crying. �I know I shouldn�t have done it, ma�am, but I did want the bike.�

�You read the contents of the folder?�

�I don�t read handwriting so well. I saw it was about a will. It seemed important to me so I took it.�

She remembered Jackson�s words: He won�t part with the letter for less than five hundred thousand. Could anything be more crazy? I tried to talk sense into him, but he won�t listen.

�Did you take photocopy of the letter?�

He stared at her, his eyes bewildered.

�No, ma�am. I just gave Mr. Jackson the folder.�

�And he gave you four thousand dollars in cash?�

�Yes, ma�am.�

�Didn�t you wonder why Jackson wanted something important from me? Didn�t you wonder why he should give you so much money?�

�I wanted the bike.�

�Don�t talk like a goddamn idiot!� Helga shouted at him. �You must have wondered!�

He flinched.

�I... I thought he wanted to make trouble for you, ma�am. I had never seen you. I was just thinking of the bike.�

�Do you know what blackmail means?�

He flinched again.

�Yes, ma�am. It is a bad thing.�

�Didn�t it occur to you that Jackson was planning to blackmail me?�

�He wouldn�t do that, ma�am. Mr. Jackson is a nice fellow. He really is. He wouldn�t do a thing like that.�

�And yet you did think he wanted to make trouble for me. What kind of trouble if it wasn�t blackmail?�

He wrung his hands.

�I didn�t think, ma�am. I just wanted the bike.�

�Jackson is now blackmailing me because of the letter you stole. He could go to jail for fourteen years... and so could you.�

Jones stared at her in horror.

�I just wanted the bike. I swear I didn�t mean...�

�Oh, stop it! If you want to stay out of jail,� Helga said, getting to her feet, �say nothing about this to anyone... especially Jackson. I will have another talk with you. In the meantime, get on with your work and wait until you hear from me. Do you understand?�

�Ma�am, I swear.�

�Do you understand?�

The snap in her voice jolted him.

�Yes, ma�am.�

She picked up the tape recorder, switched it off and without looking at him, she left the suite.

Returning to her hotel suite, Helga called the housekeeper.

�I want to speak to the man who cleans my suite,� she said. �Dick, I believe his name is. Please send him to me.�

�Is there something wrong, madame?� the housekeeper asked, alarm in her voice.

�Nothing is wrong. I wish to speak to him,� Helga said coldly.

�Certainly, madame. I will bring him to you immediately.�

�Send him to me. Your presence is not required,� and Helga hung up.

That will give them something to gossip about, she thought wryly, but she was beyond caring. She lit a cigarette and glanced at her watch. The time was 12.45. She felt in need of a drink, but decided to wait until she went down to the grill-room.

She waited three long minutes, then a soft tap came on the door.

�Come in,� she snapped.

Dick Jones entered slowly. His large dark eyes showed fear. In the hard sunlight flooding the big room his smooth skin sparkled with sweat.

�You wanted me, ma�am?� He could scarcely get the words out.

�Come in and shut the door.�

He moved further into the room, shut the door, then faced her.

�Now, listen to me, Jones. You are in trouble. I have been talking to your mother.� She saw him flinch. �She believes you saved for your motorcycle. She believes what you told her: that it cost a thousand dollars. I know it cost more than four thousand dollars. I can prove this to her. What do you imagine she will say to you when she knows?�

He raised his hands imploringly.

�You wouldn�t tell her, ma�am,� he said huskily. �Please don�t tell her.�

She took the recorder from her bag and set it on the table.

�Listen to this,� she said and switched on the play-back.

They remained still as their voices from the tape came distinctly to them both. When the tape finished, she switched off and looked at him.

�That is a confession, Jones, that you stole a valuable document.� She paused, then went on, �The police would act on it. You and your friend Jackson could go to jail for at least fourteen years.�

He shivered.

�I just wanted the bike, ma�am.�

�To get your bike, you became a thief. Your mother told me you are a wonderful son. Would she call a thief a wonderful son?�

He didn�t say anything. He just stood there, sweating, his face ashen.

She let him sweat, then after a long pause, she said, �You are going to leave here, Jones. You are going to work in my house in Paradise City. I want you away from Jackson. You will be paid, but you will do exactly as you�re told. My major-domo, Mr. Hinkle, will take charge of you. I don�t expect any trouble from you. Your mother has agreed that you should go. You will pack and be ready to leave tomorrow. Do you understand?�

His big black eyes widened.

�But, ma�am, I don�t want to leave here. I have my home here. I have a good job here. I don�t want to leave!�

�You should have thought of that before you turned thief,� Helga said ruthlessly. �You will do what I say or I will turn you over to Mr. Henessey who will have no mercy on you, understand?�

He wrung his hands.

�What�s to happen to my bike?� he said. �Ma�am.�

�Damn your bloody bike!� Helga said furiously. �Get out! You leave tomorrow!�

Staring at her, horrified, the boy backed to the door.

�Hinkle will send for you. Do exactly what he tells you and keep away from Jackson. Do you understand?�

�Yes, ma�am.�

�Then get out!�

Like a whipped puppy, he slunk out of the room.

She crushed out her cigarette, aware her hand was shaking. Offence is better than defence. She hated herself for terrifying this half-caste boy, but she had to do it. She was fighting for her future.

Consulting the telephone book she found the only other inquiry agency was The British Agency: Mr. Frank Gritten. She asked the hotel operator to call the number.

A woman answered, her voice brisk and efficient. �British Agency. Can I help you.�

Helga hesitated, then she said, �This is Mrs. Herman Rolfe. I would like to consult Mr. Gritten this afternoon at three o�clock.�

�Mrs. Herman Rolfe?�

Helga could imagine the startled expression on the woman�s face.

�Yes.�

�Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe. Mr. Gritten will be happy to see you at three o�clock.�

Helga hung up.

For a long moment, she sat motionless, thinking. She was taking a big risk, but she had everything to gain also everything to lose.

She left the suite and rode down to the lobby. She told the Hall porter she would have lunch in the grill-room and would he reserve a quiet table for her, then she went out on to the terrace. There was no sign of Hinkle. She couldn�t imagine him in the sea, but nothing Hinkle might do would surprise her.

Driving the Mini, she went to the Nassau Bank and asked to speak to the manager. She was immediately shown into his office. The plaque on his desk told her his name was David Freeman: a stout, red-faced breezy Englishman who rose to his feet.

�Happy to see you here, Mrs. Rolfe,� he said offering her a chair. �What may I do for you?�

As Helga sat down, she said, �Yesterday I arranged to be able to cash fifteen thousand dollars with you, Mr. Freeman.�

�That is quite right. It has now been arranged.�

�I want ten thousand dollars in one thousand dollars bills. I want you to make a note of the numbers. I will sign the receipt and I want the numbers of the bills on the receipt.�

Freeman looked sharply at her, but seeing her cold, hard expression decided not to be curious.

�Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe. I will arrange this immediately.� He picked up the telephone receiver, issued instructions, then went on, �I trust Mr. Rolfe is improving.�

�He is better, thank you.� Helga braced herself, �Mr. Freeman, can you tell me the standing of The British Agency: the inquiry agents? Are they reliable?�

�Yes, Mrs. Rolfe.� Freeman�s red face showed his surprise. �You can have every confidence in them. Mr. Gritten, who runs the agency is an ex-Chief Inspector of the Nassau police. He happens to be an old friend of mine. He is utterly reliable, honest and a man of integrity.�

�There is also the Discreet Agency,� Helga said.

Freeman frowned.

�In confidence, that agency should be avoided.�

�Thank you.�

A girl came in with ten one-thousand dollar bills and the receipt which Helga signed, making sure the numbers of the bills were on the receipt. She put the bills in her bag.

Looking at Freeman with her cold, hard eyes, she said, �Please keep this receipt safely, Mr. Freeman. It could figure in a criminal charge.�

�I understand, Mrs. Rolfe.�

Freeman�s bewildered expression clearly showed he wished he did understand, but this was Herman Rolfe�s wife and you didn�t ask questions when dealing with the wife of one of the richest men in the world.

Satisfied with her morning�s activities, Helga returned to the hotel. She had a lonely vodka martini on the terrace, then a light lunch in the grill-room. She had an hour before she called on the British Agency. She went to her suite and lying on the bed, rehearsed what she would say to Mr. Gritten.

The telephone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.

�This is Dr. Bellamy, Mrs. Rolfe. I have consulted with Dr. Levi. He agrees that Mr. Rolfe can be moved. Dr. Levi has spoken to Mr. Winborn. There will be a chartered plane ready to leave tomorrow at 14.00.�

�This is splendid news, doctor, and thank you for all you have done.�

She called the Hall porter and asked him to find Hinkle. Ten minutes later Hinkle appeared. She told him what Dr. Bellamy had said.

�Please arrange for someone to pack my things tomorrow morning, Hinkle. Will you also interview this boy, Dick Jones and see he is ready to travel with us?�

Hinkle inclined his head.

�Yes, madame.�

When he had gone, she left the hotel and drove to Ocean avenue where the British Agency had their offices.

Checking the directory board she saw that the Discreet Inquiry agency: Mr. Harry Jackson was on the fourth floor. The British Agency: Mr. Frank Gritten was on the fifth floor.

She took the elevator to the fifth floor.

An elderly, brisk woman welcomed her.

�Mr. Gritten is waiting for you, Mrs. Rolfe,� she said and led Helga into a large, sunny inner office.

The V.I.P. treatment, Helga thought. How long will it last?

Frank Gritten looked what he was: an ex-police officer, big, bulky, thick white hair, steady blue eyes and a calm expression that gave confidence.

�Please sit down, Mrs. Rolfe. I was sorry to read about Mr. Rolfe.�

Helga sat down. She looked directly at Gritten.

�I have been talking to Mr. Freeman of the Nassau Bank. He tells me I can have every confidence in you, Mr. Gritten.�

Gritten smiled.

�Freeman and I have been good friends for years.� He sat down at his desk. �Yes, Mrs. Rolfe, you can have confidence in me. What can I do for you?�

�My husband, Mr. Gritten, has been ill for some time. This illness has affected his mind. He has got it into his head that I am being unfaithful to him,� Helga said and looked directly at the thoughtful, but probing policeman�s eyes. �Three days ago, he hired an inquiry agent to have me watched: a man called Harry Jackson.�

Gritten nodded, his face expressionless.

�A day after Mr. Rolfe hired this agent, he suffered this stroke. The agent is worried about his fees. According to him, no terms were discussed when my husband hired him. The agent has approached me, asking me to pay him. According to him he has worked for two days, hiring two people to watch me. I would like to ask you what would be a reasonable fee to pay him?�

Gritten reached for a battered pipe.

�May I have your permission to smoke, Mrs. Rolfe?�

She made an impatient movement.

�Of course.�

As he filled his pipe, he said, �He is entitled to a retainer. The minimum would be three hundred dollars. For a client of Mr. Rolfe�s standing, he could reasonably ask one thousand dollars. Then he would also be entitled to one hundred dollars a day expenses. For two days� work, you can pay him one thousand two hundred dollars, but not a dollar more.�

�Mr. Jackson is asking ten thousand dollars.�

Gritten�s blue eyes turned steely.

�Have you proof of that, Mrs. Rolfe?�

�Nothing in writing.�

�You are speaking to me in confidence,� Gritten said. �Nothing you say to me will leave this office. In my turn, I will speak to you in confidence. For the past six months, the Nassau police have been trying to revoke Jackson�s licence. They suspect he is a blackmailer, but so far they have no proof. If you could and would supply evidence that he is asking for ten thousand dollars for two days� work, the police would put him out of business.�

�How is it then, Mr. Gritten, that he is associated with Lawson�s Inquiry Agency in New York who I understand is a highly reputable firm?�

Gritten puffed at his pipe.

�Jackson was one of their operators. Four years ago he came down here and set up on his own. Lawson�s backed him. A year ago, Jackson got himself involved with a nightclub singer. She is demanding and to hold on to her, Jackson has been spending. He is now short of money and from what you are telling me, he appears no longer fussy how he gets it.�

Know your enemy!

Helga felt a moment of triumph. The cards were falling her way.

�Do you know anything about this woman, Mr. Gritten?�

He removed his pipe and began to rub the bowl.

�If you want to put Jackson where he belongs, Mrs. Rolfe, you should come with me to the police who will give you every assistance and in the strictest confidence.�

�Thank you, Mr. Gritten, but I prefer to handle Jackson myself,� Helga said curtly. �I would appreciate any information you can give me. Who is this woman?�

�Her name is Maria Lopez. She works at the Blue Bird club. She is married to Ed Lopez who owns and captains a mail boat that runs between here and the Out islands,� Gritten pulled at his pipe. �Lopez is an interesting character. For sometime now, the police have been watching him. He leads a waterfront gang known as the Death�s Heads. This gang terrorizes those who work on the waterfront, exacting dues, fines and so on. Lopez is as dangerous as a mad dog, Mrs. Rolfe.�

�Doesn�t he care for his wife?�

Gritten smiled.

�Yes, he cares very much. As I said, Lopez is an interesting character. When he trusts someone, he trusts them. He trusts his wife.�

�And yet she and Jackson...�

�She is greedy and Jackson spends money on her. They both know the danger they run and their affair is more than discreet, so discreet no one, except the police, know about it.�

�So you could say Jackson is playing with dynamite?�

Gritten�s smile broadened.

�That, Mrs. Rolfe, is an understatement.�

She got to her feet.

�Thank you. You have been more than helpful. What do I owe you?�

Gritten levered himself out of his chair.

�Mrs. Rolfe, I have read about you. If you will pardon me, it seems that you are what my American friends call a tough cookie. Anything I have told you that can fix Jackson is for free. You have my best wishes, but please remember that Jackson is also a tough cookie. If you need help, I am entirely at your service.�

�I won�t need help, Mr. Gritten, but thank you for the offer.� Then flashing on her most charming smile, she left the office and not bothering to wait for the elevator, she ran down the stairs.

On her way back to the hotel, she glanced at her watch. The time was 16.20. She thought of the long hours ahead of her before confronting Jackson.

If only she wasn�t so alone! If only she had someone to help her pass the hours until the morning. She must take no risks. She would stay in her suite, have a lonely dinner on the terrace and take two sleeping pills for company.

She smiled bitterly. One of the richest women in the world and alone!

Like a red ball, the sun sank slowly into the sea. Long shadows crept up the beach. The palm trees were black against the rose and yellow sky. Happy people continued to laugh, shout, run, splash and scream. Cars continued to crawl along the sea road. To Nassau this was just another hot evening with a night to come of brilliant lights, music, dancing, the beat of drums and the shuffle of feet.

Helga sat on the terrace, only half aware of the night sounds, her mind occupied with the problem of her future.

�You sent for me, madame?�

Hinkle appeared at her side. He placed a silver tray on which stood a shaker and a glass on the table. He poured, then placed the glass within her reach.

�Sit down, Hinkle.�

�I would rather not, thank you, madame.�

She turned on him.

�For God�s sake, sit down!� Her voice was strident.

Startled, Hinkle pulled up a chair and sat on the edge of it.

�I�m sorry, Hinkle. You must forgive me. I didn�t mean to shout at you. My nerves are shot.� She forced a smile.

�That is understandable, madame. Have you any news?�

�I have talked to Dr. Levi. Clever as he is and smooth as he is, I have come to the conclusion that he knows no more of what has happened to Mr. Rolfe than Dr. Bellamy does � which is exactly nothing!�

Hinkle�s fat face registered shock.

�But surely, madame...�

�The fact is, Hinkle, these expensive and so called expert doctors won�t admit when they are baffled. I am not taken in by Dr. Levi�s vague talk. He says Mr. Rolfe is much worse � that is obvious � and he thinks the worsening is nothing to do with his stroke. This is something new. At least he is honest to admit he isn�t sure what the new development can be. He talked vaguely about the symptoms resembling narcolepsy. Doctors! How they love to hide behind their jargon! When I asked him what narcolepsy meant he said it is a curious condition � I am quoting him � which brings on uncontrollable attacks of sleep. When I asked him how this could have happened to Mr. Rolfe, he said he didn�t know. He said Mr. Rolfe appeared to be in no immediate danger but it would be most unwise to fly him home. Arrangements are now being made to move him to the Nassau hospital.�

Hinkle moved uneasily.

�I am very sorry, madame. This is most distressing news. What does Dr. Levi propose?�

Helga lifted her hands in despair.

�He is calling in Dr. Bernstein who will fly from Berlin today.�

�There is, of course, no decision of when we can leave here?�

�I wish to God there was. No, Hinkle, we must wait.�

Hinkle, his face gloomy, got to his feet.

�Very well, madame. Will you be dining here?�

�I think I will... on the terrace. Dr. Levi wanted me to dine with him but I have had enough of doctors for tonight.� She looked up at him. �Give me one of your lovely omelettes.�

His face lit up.

�That will be a pleasure, madame.�

�Still no news of Miss Sheila?�

He shook his head.

�No, madame, but the mail, these days, is very unreliable.�

An hour later, Helga watched Herman�s removal to the hospital. Dr. Levi, Dr. Bellamy and his assistant, two interns, two stretcher men and Nurse Fairely fussed around the inert body as it was carried to the elevator.

One of the richest and most powerful men in the world, she thought, now a sleeping, half-dead body but which still commanded the V.I.P. treatment.

�Leave all this to me,� Dr. Levi said in his deferential voice. �Should any change occur I will let you know immediately. You must not worry. Once we get this extraordinary change in him diagnosed, I feel confident there will be a recovery.�

Words! Words! Words!

�Thank you,� she said.

How much better it would be, she thought, as she watched the elevator descend from sight, if he had said there was no hope: better for Herman: much, much better for her.

The rest of the evening was a dreary, depressing repetition of the previous evenings. She ate the omelette, praised it and then sat on the terrace, listening to the people still on the beach, enjoying themselves. The hours dragged. She tried to read a book, but it failed to interest her. She thought of Dick. What was he doing now? Rushing along the roads on his motorbike? Had he a girl? Was the girl clinging to him on the back of the bike? If it hadn�t been for Herman�s new and mysterious illness, the boy, Hinkle and she would, at this moment, be at the villa in Paradise City.

Dr. Levi had said he could give her no idea when it would be safe to fly Herman home. So she was stuck in this hotel, alone, until this goddamn doctor made up his goddamn mind! It could be days or even months!

Suddenly she realized she was wallowing in self pity. She pulled herself together. She was not going to just sit here, pitying herself, prepared to accept a long, lonely wait either for Herman to die or for him to be taken home. She must do something! She would do something!

Her eyes narrowed as she thought. She would have to remain in Nassau. This was something she had to accept and now wanted to accept because Dick was here. But that didn�t mean she had to stay in this stifling hotel, watched and talked about. Her active brain began to race. If she could find a small villa! Frowning, she saw a problem. Hinkle! She had gained his trust. She must be very careful to keep that trust. She knew Hinkle was longing to return to the Paradise City villa. She knew how he hated hotel life. She sat still, a cigarette between her slim fingers, as she thought. A villa with Dick! A villa without Hinkle! This was the solution! Keep thinking, she told herself, the solution will come if I keep thinking.

The buzz of the telephone startled her. Impatiently she went into the living room.

�Who is it?�

�Mr. Winborn, Mrs. Rolfe, calling from New York.�

�Put him on.�

�Mrs. Rolfe, Dr. Levi has telephoned me.� Winborn�s voice, cold and polite came on the line. �It seems that Mr. Rolfe has had a relapse. I am exceedingly sorry. It is a puzzling business, isn�t it?�

�Yes. Dr. Levi is going to consult Dr. Bernstein.�

�So I understand. I called to know if there is anything I can do for you.�

�I won�t be going to Switzerland. Perhaps you could arrange for me to be able to cash cheques here?�

�Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe. I will make the necessary arrangements... say five thousand a week?�

�That will be more than ample.�

How easy it was to spend other people�s money, she thought. If the money had been his, he wouldn�t have thought in terms of five thousand dollars a week.

�You didn�t find a letter for me then, Mrs. Rolfe?�

�I would have called you if I had.�

�Odd, isn�t it? Nurse Fairely said Mr. Rolfe was so persistent.�

�Most odd.�

Go on talking, Helga thought, you�re not as smart as you think.

A long pause, then he said, �Well, please keep me informed. Good night, Mrs. Rolfe,� and he hung up.

Helga looked at her watch. The time was 23.25. She wondered if she should take sleeping pills. Why not? Sleep shut away her loneliness. She went into the bathroom. Half an hour later, she was dreaming that Dick was lying beside her. It was an erotic, wonderful dream and when she woke to find the sun coming through the blinds, she felt relaxed and refreshed.

She was dressed when Hinkle brought her her coffee.

�I�ll call the hospital,� she said as Hinkle poured the coffee.

�There is no change, Mrs. Rolfe,� Dr. Bellamy�s assistant told her.

As she hung up, she looked at Hinkle and shook her head.

�No change.�

�Let us hope when the other doctor arrives...�

�Yes.�

When he had gone, Helga went down to the lobby and asked the Hall porter who was the best real estate agent in town. He gave her a name and directions and taking her Mini, she drove to the agency.

William Mason, the estate agent, was a young, cheerful looking Englishman who gave her a warm welcome. He said he was sorry to read about Mr. Rolfe�s illness and he offered his best hopes for a speedy recovery.

�I am told there is difficulty in renting a furnished villa, Mr. Mason,� Helga said. �My major-domo has made inquiries and everything seems to be taken. I don�t know how long I will have to remain in Nassau, but I must have a furnished place. I can�t continue to stay at my hotel.�

�I can well understand that, Mrs. Rolfe, but I regret I have nothing suitable for you. I can assure you, to save you wasting your time, that there is nothing the other agents could offer you either. The big villas have been snapped up.�

�Haven�t you something small? Now my husband is in hospital, I don�t need anything large.�

�Well, yes, I have something very small, but I don�t think it would be suitable for you, Mrs. Rolfe. It has only one bedroom. It is a gem of a place, but tiny.�

Her heart began to beat fast with excitement.

�I would only want it for myself. My servant would come in daily.�

Mason beamed.

�Well then, perhaps you would like to see it. It is expensive and very isolated, but it is really nice.�

�Can I see it now?�

The tiny villa was exactly what Helga wanted. Completely isolated, with a quarter of a mile of private, screened beach, it had a big covered terrace which led into an enormous living and dining room, two bathrooms, an elaborately equipped kitchen, a big swimming pool with a covered Barbecue, a bar and up a steep flight of stairs a bedroom nearly as big as the living room. It was immaculately furnished throughout and it seemed to her everything was brand new.

�But this is wonderful!� she exclaimed. �This is just what I want.�

�The rent is three thousand dollars a month. I have tried to get it reduced, but the owner won�t budge.� Mason smiled at her. �In confidence, Mrs. Rolfe, this is a wealthy man�s love nest. As you can see nothing has been spared in the way of luxury. A woman comes in every day to clean. Unhappily there was a motor accident and the lady was killed. My client hasn�t been near the place since. This is the only reason why it is to rent.�

A love nest!

Helga smiled. What a love nest! Again the cards were falling her way.

�I�ll take it for a month,� she said. �When can I move in?�

�As soon as the agreement is signed.� Mason looked slightly startled at her quick decision. �Will you need the cleaning woman?�

�No. I have my own servant. You mean I can move in tomorrow?�

�Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe. It will be two thousand dollars paid in advance and the agreement signed, then it is yours.�

�The telephone is connected?�

�Yes, no problem.�

�Then let us return to your office and I will sign.�

Driving back to the hotel, Helga�s mind was busy. First, she would have to handle Hinkle, then she would have to get hold of Dick. In spite of her impatience to have Dick on her own, she would have to wait (this goddamn waiting again!) until Dr. Bernstein had arrived and had seen Herman. She would have to wait until Hinkle left.

Back at the hotel, she found Hinkle sitting on the second terrace reading John Locke�s essays.

She sat beside him, putting her hand on his arm to prevent him from rising.

�I�ve been thinking, Hinkle,� she said. �It is unnecessary for both of us to remain here. I am worried about the villa. If Mr. Rolfe can return, I want the place ready for him. You know what the servants are like without your supervision. They do nothing. The gardeners also will be doing nothing. We have experienced this before when you came to Switzerland with Mr. Rolfe. I have to stay as much as I dislike it, but I want you to go back and make sure everything is immaculate when Mr. Rolfe returns.�

Hinkle�s eyes lit up.

�But I can�t do that, madame,� he said without much conviction. �Who will look after you? No, madame, I would worry about you.�

She forced a laugh.

�Kind Hinkle! Surely you know me well enough by now to know I can look after myself. The hotel service is really very good. I know you hate sitting around like this. There are so many things to attend to at home. Wouldn�t it be a wonderful opportunity to have Mr. Rolfe�s study re-decorated? You have so often said how it needs a face lift and while he is in bed, you could have it done. So please leave tomorrow and make a start.�

Hinkle beamed.

�Well, yes, madame, I have long wanted to refurbish Mr. Rolfe�s study. Yes, if you really think you could manage, it would be an opportunity.�

It was as easy as that.

Helga woke with a start, frowned at the bedside clock, saw it was 07.20. For a moment or so she couldn�t remember where she was, then looking around the big, luxury bedroom, she remembered. She wondered what the owner of this love nest looked like: what his lady friend had looked like. There was a motor accident and the lady died. Helga grimaced. Some people were unlucky. Poor man! Poor girl! She remembered her father�s clich�: �It�s an ill wind.�

She took a quick shower, put on a white pyjama suit and went down to the kitchen. She longed for a good cup of coffee, but coffee making proved difficult. She found an elaborate machine with tubes which she didn�t understand. There was a vessel into which she put coffee. When the water began to boil, the goddamn thing exploded, scattering coffee grounds over the wall and the built-in cupboards.

She glared at the machine in frustrated fury. She was going to have coffee! She banged a saucepan of water on the burner and when the water began to boil, she ladled in two big spoonfuls of coffee. The sonofabitch promptly boiled over, messing up the whole stove.

She turned off the gas and surveyed the scene helplessly. What with last night�s meal clogging the saucepans, the stains on the cupboards and the mess over the stove, she gave up. She hoped to God Dick could make coffee.

Going to the refrigerator, she broke out ice and made herself a stiff vodka-martini and immediately regained her spirits. Changing into a bikini she had a swim. As she swam, she told herself she would have to find some woman to do the laundry. Mr. Mason would be helpful.

She got back to the villa a few minutes before 08.30. In a few minutes Dick would appear. She hurriedly changed back to her pyjama suit, then turning on the radio to pop music, she flopped into a chair.

The early drink had made her light headed and she longed for a cup of coffee. She thought of Hinkle, now so far away: his tap on her door and perfect coffee served.

Another of her father�s clich�s came to mind: you can�t have your bun and your penny.

She laughed. Well, so far the bun wasn�t much!

She closed her eyes. The relaxing swim and the cocktail sent her into a light sleep. The voice of the radio announcer giving the news brought her awake with a start.

She looked at the clock on the over-mantel. It was 09.20. She stared at the clock, then looked at her watch, then she jumped to her feet.

�Dick?�

He must have come in quietly and was cleaning up in the kitchen. She fluffed up her hair, smoothed down her pyjama suit and walked into the kitchen.

�Dick?�

Her voice came back to her in silence.

Moving quickly she went over the villa, out on to the terrace, then returned to the living room.

He hadn�t come!

Fury took hold of her. For some moments, she stood shaking, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing.

Okay, little boy, she thought. You don�t get away with this! You little bastard! If it�s the last thing I do, I�ll fix you!

Then she heard the roar of an approaching motorcycle: a deep-throated roar that made her stiffen.

Here he comes, she thought. You little creep! I�ll teach you to be late!

There was a squeal of brakes, then the engine died.

She stood there, waiting. Her heart was racing now, her hands damp. Well, he was here! She would tongue lash him and when he was sufficiently humble and frightened, she would take him up to the bedroom. She felt suddenly excited.

The front door bell rang.

She forced herself to wait. She must not let him know how eager she was. She waited until the bell rang again, then she walked into the hall and opened the front door.

She had experienced many shocks in her life, but this shock was like a vicious punch to her solar plexus, leaving her breathless, cold and unable to move.

The girl, called Terry Shields, her Venetian red hair glittering in the sunlight, stood on the front step. She was wearing the same gear as the previous day although the T-shirt had been washed. She regarded Helga, her big green eyes impersonal, no expression on her face.

Helga absorbed the shock. Again the steel in her served her.

�What do you want?� she demanded, her voice hard.

�Sorry to be late.� The girl had a soft, pleasant sounding voice. �I got held up at the hospital.�

�Hospital? Has something happened?�

�Dick had an accident,� the girl said. �I warned him the bike was too heavy for him. He�s broken his arm.�

Helga drew in a long, deep breath of exasperation. God! she thought, nothing, will nothing go right for me?

�You had better come in.� She turned and walked into the living room and dropped into a lounging chair.

Terry came in, shutting the front door, and she moved into the living room. Helga saw her give a quick glance around.

�Sit down!� Helga snapped impatiently. �How did it happen?�

Terry chose an upright chair. She sat down, her knees close together, her hands in her lap.

�He skidded. The bike is too powerful for him.�

�And yet you ride it?�

Terry shrugged.

�Girls are more careful than boys.�

A wise and sensible remark, Helga thought.

�So he has broken his arm?�

�That�s it.� Terry shrugged. �He is worried about you. You�ve paid him to work for you. He is conscientious. He asked me to take over until he is well enough.�

Helga reached for a cigarette, stared at it, then lit it.

�Take over?�

�Clean... run the place. I can do it if you want me to.�

Helga thought of the mess in the kitchen, the unmade bed upstairs and her need of a cup of coffee.

�Dick gave me fifty bucks,� Terry went on. �So it won�t cost you anything and I can do with the money.�

�I want a cup of coffee,� Helga said. �Can you make coffee?�

�Oh, sure.�

Terry got to her feet, looked around and without being told, made her way into the kitchen.

Helga smoked two cigarettes. Goddamn it! she thought. So I sleep alone again tonight! A broken arm! You don�t take a boy with a broken arm into your bed. So again she must wait! Her fists clenched. Would there ever be an end to this eternal waiting?

Terry came into the living room with a pot of coffee, cup and saucer, sugar and cream on a tray. She set the tray on a table close to Helga.

�That machine you were using for coffee,� she said, �is for making tea.�

Helga felt a moment of inferior complex which she immediately shook off.

�Oh? Who uses a machine to make tea for God�s sake?�

Saying nothing, Terry returned to the kitchen. Helga heard her beginning to clean up.

The coffee was excellent, just as good as Hinkle made for her. She drank two cups, then getting to her feet, she went into the kitchen. Terry had already cleaned the stove and was now washing the stains from the wall.

�What is your name?� Helga asked although she already knew.

�Terry Shields.� The girl didn�t pause as she rinsed a cloth in the sink.

�All right, Terry, until Dick is well enough you can work here.�

Terry paused and looked directly at Helga who wished some kind of expression would light up the girl�s face, but the expression remained wooden.

�Okay. Do you want me to cook?�

�Can you cook?�

�Most women can, can�t they?�

�I will be lunching out every day,� Helga said preferring to ignore what the girl had said. �I would like dinner: nothing elaborate.�

�Do you want to eat this junk in the cupboard?�

Helga stared at her.

�Junk?�

�These �Heat and eat� packs.�

�What�s the matter with them?� Helga demanded, now angry.

�Please yourself.� Terry shrugged and she scraped the rest of the goulash from the saucepan into the trash bin. �If you want me to cook for you, give me some money to buy decent food.�

After a moment�s hesitation, Helga went into the living room, found her purse, took from it four fifty-dollar bills and returning to the kitchen put the bills on the kitchen table.

�Go ahead. I�m going out now. You don�t have to stay here all day. Fix the place and come back to cook dinner tonight. I like to eat at eight-thirty.�

�Okay.�

Helga felt this was the moment to exert her authority.

�I would prefer you to say, �Yes, Mrs. Rolfe,� instead of �Okay�.�

�Okay, Mrs. Rolfe.� Terry looked at the four fifty-dollar bills. �Do you want to feed an army?� She flicked aside three of the bills. �Fifty is enough.�

Helga picked up the remaining bills, feeling irritated.

�You seem competent, Terry.�

�If I had your money, I wouldn�t need to be,� the girl said and began to clean one of the saucepans.

Helga stared at her, then, as the girl paid her no attention, she went upstairs, changed into a green linen dress, took a beach bag with a wrap and a bikini in it and returned to living room.

�I will be back about six,� she said. �Lock up, please. I have a duplicate key. I expect you here around seven.�

�Okay, Mrs. Rolfe. Rest easy. I won�t steal anything.�

�You will stop being insolent if you want to continue to work for me!� Helga snapped. �I don�t expect you to steal anything!�

Terry looked at her, her face expressionless.

�You won�t be surprised, Mrs. Rolfe,� and she moved by Helga and went up the stairs to the bedroom.

For a long moment, Helga stood motionless, then with an impatient shrug, she went to the garage and started the Mini. As she drove to the Diamond Beach hotel, she considered the new situation.

Dick out of action and now this girl. She had to admit the girl intrigued her. From her she might learn more about Dick and she wanted to know more about him. She realized to her surprise that her sexual need had faded. She was lonely. This girl could provide a stop-gap until Dick was well enough to come to bed.

Her bags, carefully packed, were in the hotel�s lobby. She paid her cheque, shook hands with the hotel manager, lavishly tipped the Hall porter and then accompanied by smiles and bows, she drove back towards the Blue Heron villa. She would unpack, she told herself, then drive to the Ocean Beach club and become a member. She just couldn�t go on living here without company. From the club�s brochure she had read in the hotel the club offered everything to pass time: there was a casino, a swimming pool, tennis, golf, dancing, bridge and high speed motorboats to hire.

The traffic was heavy and she was forced to crawl along the main sea road, but she was relaxed and didn�t mind. Passing a big Self-service store, she saw Dick�s mother standing at the bus stop, two big shopping bags at her feet.

Helga swerved into the bus stop and pulled up.

�Hello, Mrs. Jones,� she called. �Can I give you a ride?�

The big fat woman�s face broke into a beaming smile.

�That�s a little car, ma�am and I guess I�m a big woman.�

She came up to the car, leaning forward smiling at Helga.

�We�ll manage.�

Helga opened the off side door.

Mrs. Jones heaved her two shopping bags on to the back seat, then laboriously climbed into the front seat. The car sagged a little. As she closed the door, Mrs. Jones said, �That�s real nice of you, ma�am. Not many folk stop to give a lift. I guess my dogs are giving me gyp this morning.�

Dogs? Helga thought. Feet?

�My son has been telling me about your place, ma�am,� Mrs. Jones went on. �He says it is fine and big and splendid. I told him he was a lucky boy to have a room like that.� She looked searchingly at Helga. �Ma�am, I hope he is taking proper care of you. I told him he has to be conscientious. This is a chance of a lifetime, I told him. He knows. My boy is no fool. He knows when he is well off.�

Helga�s mind raced.

�So he likes his room?� she said. �I�m so glad.�

�Yes, ma�am. He described it. He even has a T.V. set.�

�He only began working this morning,� Helga said, fishing for information.

�That�s right, but you remember, ma�am, he came to see you yesterday evening. He came right back to me and told me all about it. I thought he would stay home with me while he worked for you, but he explained you needed someone around all the time.�

�I have friends who visit me,� Helga said. �Dick will be helpful.�

�That I can see, ma�am.� Mrs. Jones nodded. �It�s a fine chance for him.�

Helga�s face was expressionless as she said, �I would like your advice, Mrs. Jones. Dick did mention a girlfriend... Terry Shields. He suggested she might also help in the villa.�

For a brief moment, she took her eyes off the traffic and looked searchingly at the big, fat woman at her side. She saw the dark face become set and a heavy frown creased the forehead.

�That girl? A no-good white trash!� Mrs. Jones snapped. �You have nothing to do with her, ma�am. Dick�s a good boy, but he�s sort of crazy in the head about this no-good girl. You keep him working, ma�am. You see he doesn�t have too much free time. If he does, he�ll go running after this no-good girl.�

�What makes you think she is no-good, Mrs. Jones?�

�If you had kids, ma�am, if you were a mother, ma�am, you would know what is a good girl and what is a no-good girl. I know. I�ve seen her. She�s no-good.�

�You saw Dick last night?�

�Saw him? Why, sure, ma�am. I helped him pack so he could move into your fine house.� Mrs. Jones turned and looked sharply at Helga. �He did arrive last night, didn�t he?�

Helga hesitated, then said, �Yes, he arrived.�

Mrs. Jones beamed.

�That�s it, ma�am... like I say, he is a good boy.�

Helga pulled up outside the broken down bungalow.

�Thank you, ma�am,� Mrs. Jones said. �You�re real nice and kind. You make my boy work, ma�am. He is willing but he needs telling.�

Helga watched the big woman stump up to her front door, weighed down by her two shopping bags, then she did a U-turn and headed back towards the Blue Heron villa.

As she drove, her mind was busy. This meeting with Dick�s mother had been fortuitous. The cards were continuing to fall her way. So she was being taken for a sucker. Her lips moved into a hard smile. As Dick wasn�t living at home, where was he living? She guessed he had moved in with Terry. The story of the broken arm was a lie. Helga put herself in Terry�s place. Dick would have told Terry he had been forced to work for her (Helga). Terry probably realized that she (Helga) had designs on Dick. The broken arm was a way out. Again Helga smiled. Don�t rush this, she told herself. She needed a lot of information before she could fix these two. No one played her for a sucker. In her past a number of people had tried and later, were sorry.

She found she was driving along Ocean avenue and on impulse, she slowed and drove into a parking lot.

She walked to Frank Gritten�s office block. As she waited for the elevator, she opened her bag and took out her cigarette case. The descending cage reached the ground floor, the doors swished open and she found herself confronted by Harry Jackson, wearing his glamour suit.

He started and lost colour when he saw her.

�Hello, Mr. Jackson, how smart you look,� she said.

He moved by her.

�Hi, Mrs. Rolfe.� His voice was husky. �How is it?�

She stepped into the elevator, still staring at him.

�Thank you... fine. I hope you and Mrs. Lopez are still happy.�

She thumbed the fifth floor button and as Jackson rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, the elevator doors closed.

Frank Gritten was sitting at his desk, puffing at his pipe. He got to his feet as Helga was ushered in by his elderly secretary.

�Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. Take a chair. Nice morning, isn�t it?�

�Yes.� She lit her cigarette, sat down and went on, �I want to use your service, Mr. Gritten. I suggest a thousand dollar retainer.�

Gritten nodded.

�That�s what I am here for, Mrs. Rolfe. What do you want me to do?�

�I have hired Dick Jones who I have already spoken to you about to keep my rented villa in order. The Blue Heron villa,� Helga said, crossing her shapely legs. �He should have arrived this morning, but instead, his girl friend, Terry Shields turned up, riding his motor-cycle. She tells me Jones has had an accident and has broken his arm. As I have already paid him a hundred dollars, he asked this girl to act as his stand-in. I have talked to Jones� mother and she believes her son is not only living at my villa, but is working for me. I find all this odd and I admit it intrigues me. I don�t like people lying to me. I want you to find out what Jones is doing, whether he did break his arm, where he is living and who this girl is. I want it all in depth, Mr. Gritten.�

Gritten looked thoughtfully at her, then nodded.

�Should be no problem, Mrs. Rolfe.�

�I will be interested to know why Jones went to reform school. I also want to know all about Terry Shields. In fact, Mr. Gritten, I want all this in depth.�

Gritten nodded, then smiled.

�You will have it in depth.�

Helga dropped a one-thousand-dollar bill on his desk, then got to her feet.

�And I want it fast, Mr. Gritten.�

�You will have it fast,� Gritten said and escorted her to the elevator.

Mrs. Joyce turned out to be more English than the English. She arrived on a bicycle which seemed to be buckling under her weight. She was a large woman, heavily corseted, around forty years of age, her hair tightly permed, her English complexion reminded Helga of a polished apple.

�Do you like tea, ducks?� she asked as soon as she had introduced herself. �Or are you a coffee fiend?�

�Startled, bewildered,� Helga said she preferred coffee.

�I�m a tea drinker,� Mrs. Joyce beamed. �It�s an English habit. You just sit and rest yourself. I�ll have a cup of coffee for you in a jiffy.�

For God�s sake! Helga thought. What have I found now?

But the coffee was good and Mrs. Joyce�s kind chatter amusing.

�Wonderful place, isn�t it, dear? But you must feel lonely. I miss my man. Us girls get lonely without our men. I read about your good husband. At least, he is alive. My Tom is just a memory to me, but a precious memory. He was a fine man. Would you like me to get lunch? Or would you like a nice bit of fish for supper?�

Helga said she would like dinner. She would be out for lunch.

�What a lovely figure you have, ducks,� Mrs. Joyce said admiringly. �I�ve worked for other ladies. My! They just don�t take care of their figures, but you... honest, ducks, you should be proud!�

Slightly bewildered, Helga warmed to this woman. She felt in need of kindness.

�How nice of you to say that, Mrs. Joyce. You are right... living alone, I get depressed. I suppose when one reaches forty-three and there is no man around, one does get depressed.�

�Forty-three? You�re making yourself a liar, dear. You don�t look a day older than thirty. My hubby used to say a woman is old as her roll in the hay.� She laughed, slapping her work worn hands together. �My Tom was a proper caution. The things he used to say! But he was right. So long as you miss a man, you�re not old.�

Helga suddenly relaxed, and smiling, she said, �Do you ever want a man, Mrs. Joyce?�

The big woman grinned.

�Me? Why, ducks, that�s what life is about, isn�t it? When I get hot, I find a man. Tom would approve. A girl needs a man now and then.�

Helga, suddenly close to tears, turned away.

�Yes... a girl needs a man.�

�There it is, dear.� Mrs. Joyce�s voice sank a tone. �That�s life, isn�t it?� She picked up the coffee tray. �You have a lovely morning. I�ll get on. Tom always said I talk too much,� and she bustled into the kitchen.

A lovely morning?

Helga stared out at the sun-soaked beach. What was she going to do? Swim alone? Go to the Ocean Beach club and listen to the yak of those ghastly women in their dreadful flowered hats and to the raddled, fat men who would stare at her, wondering and speculating?

She remembered Herman, and with an effort she called the hospital. The receptioness told her gently that there was no change.

Mrs. Joyce came from the kitchen.

�Is the poor dear still bad?� she asked.

�Yes.� Helga got to her feet. �I�ll take a swim.�

�You do that, dear. I had to give up swimming after my miscarriage, but sea water is good for you.�

Helga flinched.

When a middle-aged woman gets hot pants for a boy young enough to be her son, cold water helps.

She went upstairs, put on a bikini, then walked across the stretch of sand and into the sea. She floated in the blue, warm water, staring up at the sky, looking at the nodding heads of the palm trees, hearing the murmur of motorboats and the distant roar of the traffic.

A paradise, she thought, if only she had someone with whom to share it.

A girl needs a man.

If only Herman would die! As she floated in the warm sea his death seemed to be the only solution. Once free of him, with sixty million dollars, she would be able to make a new life for herself with some virile, attentive man to take care of her.

A new life!

But she had an instinctive feeling that Herman wouldn�t die for years. He would slowly recover. He would regain his speech. He would tell Winborn to cut her out of his will.

Utterly depressed, she swam back to the beach. Half an hour later, leaving Mrs. Joyce busy with the vacuum cleaner, she drove in the Mini to the Ocean Beach club. The secretary, beaming, was there to welcome her. She told him she was in the mood for a game of tennis. Could the pro give her a game? She was an expert player and the pro, overweight, playing for years with the fat and the elderly, didn�t realize what had hit him when Helga, her mood vicious, gave him the game of his life. She finally beat him 9�7, 6�1, 6�0.

�You are a splendid player, Mrs. Rolfe,� he gasped, toweling himself. �The best game I�ve had since I played Riggs.�

Men!

She smiled at him.

�I was in the mood.�

Leaving him to chew on his defeat, she got in the Mini and drove to a small sea-food restaurant. She picked at a tough lobster in a white wine sauce. While she sat alone in the shade of the palm trees watching the young, the middle-aged and the old on the beach, she thought of Dick.

If he hadn�t broken his arm, she thought, he just might have come and just might have lain beside her on the king�s size bed.

All this stupid talk about Voodoo! This was something she just wouldn�t accept! How could a man like Gritten talk such nonsense!

Her mind shifted to Terry Shields. What was she doing? Then she thought of Jackson. Impatiently, she signalled to the waiter for her cheque.

The time now was 14.20. She had the whole afternoon, the evening and the night to face alone. A girl needs a man. How true! And yet, how dangerous! Again she thought of Herman with his twisted mouth forming the word whore. Patience, she told herself. You could be lucky. He could die. Then the magic key would be hers!

Getting into the Mini, she drove back to the villa.

Mrs. Joyce was preparing to leave.

�There you are, ducks,� she said. �Did you have a lovely morning?�

�Yes, thank you.� Helga forced a smile. �And you?�

�Yes... I like cleaning. It�s my life, ducks. Tom always said I was a two-legged vacuum cleaner.� She laughed. �Men! They don�t even think of dust.� She closed one eye. �We know what they think of, don�t we, Mrs. Rolfe?�

I know what I�think of, too, Helga thought.

�Yes. You�re right.�

�The boy came and fixed your bedroom shutter, dear,� Mrs. Joyce said. �I�ll be in again at seven. I�ll bring you a nice slice of fish or is there anything else you fancy?�

�No, fish will be fine.�

Helga watched the big woman ride away on her bicycle, then she walked into the living room. She looked around. The emptiness of this luxurious room and its silence weighed down on her. She went upstairs and took a shower, then going to the closet, she reached for her white pyjama suit. Taking it off the hanger, she paused to stare at it.

The pocket on the jacket, bearing her initials, had been neatly cut away.

For a long moment she stood staring at the jacket, puzzled. Then for no reason she could explain, she felt a creepy sensation run over her. She dropped the jacket as if it had become some horrible insect. She looked around the room, her heart racing. What did this mean? Who had done this? Mrs. Joyce? Unthinkable!

The boy came and fixed your bedroom shutter.

She crossed the room and examined the two wooden shutters. They were locked into place. She hadn�t bothered to use them the previous night. She unlocked them and swung them to and fro. They worked perfectly. Re-locking them, she turned and looked around the bedroom. Her eyes went to the white jacket lying on the floor. She hesitated, then picked it up. She examined the neatly cut stitches. Someone had used a razor blade to remove the pocket. But why? With a little grimace she took the jacket into the bathroom and dropped it into the laundry basket.

She looked at her watch. God! How time crawled! It was 14.50. She went to the closet and examined all her clothes. None had been tampered with. She was aware how fast her heart was beating and she was angry with herself. There must be some reason for whoever it had been to cut off the pocket. This workman who had come to fix the shutter? She had read of perverted men who stole women�s pants from laundry lines. Was this workman like that? She was sure Mrs. Joyce wouldn�t have done it.

She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

She would talk to Mrs. Joyce this evening. She felt an odd atmosphere in the villa � a strange feeling � that bothered her. She felt she couldn�t stay here for the rest of the afternoon. She must get out... do something, but what?

She put on a yellow linen dress, selected shoes and a handbag, then went down to the living room. She walked out on to the terrace and looked at her own private beach: a quarter of a mile of lonely, deserted sand and sea and she turned away.

She couldn�t stay here on her own. The Ocean Beach club? Very soon it would be time for tea. She thought of those old freaks eyeing the cake trolley. Goddamn it! she thought to herself, even they are better than this loneliness.

She locked up, then getting into the Mini, she drove to the club. For the next two hours, she sat listening to the local gossip, watched old fat fingers pointing to cakes as the waiter served, drank two cups of tea, aware the men were preening themselves as they gathered around her. She was asked to make up a fourth at bridge and, as she still had time to kill, she accepted. Her partner, a retired General, was delighted to have her on his side. The other two: a thin, sour faced old lady and her husband who was plump and boisterous, played well, but Helga, as with everything she took up, was in the professional class. Her devastating memory and her ruthless bids completely pulverized her opponents who she later learned were regarded as the club�s best players.

She quickly became bored with this feeble opposition and at the end of the second game she excused herself saying she had an urgent appointment. The General who had scarcely contributed to the score was wreathed with smiles while the other two immediately began a fierce postmortem.

Helga returned to the villa at 18.50. She was mixing herself a vodka-martini when she heard Mrs. Joyce arrive.

As the big woman bustled into the kitchen, carrying a shopping bag, Helga said, �Join me in a drink, Mrs. Joyce.�

�Not for me, ducks. If I smell a cork, I get tiddly. My Tom never touched a drop.� She put the shopping basket down. �I�ve got you a lovely fillet of kingfish. I miss the English fish, like turbot, but this is really nice. Have it grilled, dear, with peas and rice. You�ll enjoy it.�

�It sounds wonderful. I wish I could cook. May I watch you, Mrs. Joyce?�

�I�m sure you do many things, dear. Cooking isn�t difficult. So many women make a commotion about it. I say, if you like eating, cooking is a pleasure.�

Resting her hips against the kitchen table, Helga lit a cigarette. She watched Mrs. Joyce prepare the fish.

�About my bedroom shutter, Mrs. Joyce. Who was this workman?�

Having washed the fish fillet, Mrs. Joyce wiped her hands.

�Who was he, dear?� She looked sharply at Helga. �He told me you had asked him to come.�

�It must have been the estate agent, Mr. Mason. I didn�t know the shutter was out of order.�

�The boy said it needed oiling.� Mrs. Joyce put a saucepan of water on to boil. �He was a nicely mannered boy. I felt sorry for him with his arm in plaster.�

Helga slopped her drink. Somehow she kept her face expressionless.

Dick!

�Did you leave him alone at all, Mrs. Joyce?�

The big woman stared at Helga.

�Did he steal something?�

�No, but did you leave him alone in my bedroom?�

�He came at the wrong moment, dear. I was cleaning the bath. I left him alone for no more than a couple of minutes. Is there something wrong?�

�I found some of my clothes disturbed.�

�Your clothes? A boy like that wouldn�t touch your clothes.�

�No. Well, it doesn�t matter.�

�There is something wrong, isn�t there?� Mrs. Joyce looked distressed. �If he took anything, I�d tell the police, dear. The police here are ever so helpful.�

�He didn�t take anything.� Helga looked at her watch. �It�s all right. I�ll catch the news.�

�News!� Mrs. Joyce snorted. �You can do without the news, ducks. You turn on the telly and all you get is misery.�

Helga walked into the living room.

So Dick had been here. Dick had taken the pocket of her pyjama suit. Why?

She remembered what Gritten had said: I can assure you that Jones is just as dangerous as Mala Mu was. The police suspect that Jones learned a lot from Mala Mu and he is now practising witchcraft.

Utter rubbish, she told herself, and yet, there was this creepy atmosphere in the villa.

She forced herself to listen to the news: hijacking, two murders, industrial strife and five hostages held to ransom. How right Mrs. Joyce was: all you get is misery.

Mrs. Joyce came in and began to set the table.

�Just ready, ducks,� she said. �Sit you down.�

Still thinking of Dick, Helga moved to the table and sat down. She was surprised and pleased to see a half-bottle of Chablis waiting.

Mrs. Joyce served the meal.

�I thought you�d like a glass of wine, dear,� she said. �You pour it. I�m not good at that kind of thing.�

�You are very thoughtful, Mrs. Joyce.�

�I know a lady of quality when I see one, dear. Now go ahead and tuck in.�

�This looks delicious.�

�I�m sure you will like it. Now tomorrow, I thought you might like to try the conch chowder. Being a fisherman�s wife, I specialize in sea food and without making myself a liar, my conch chowder is the best on the island.�

�I would love that.� Helga found the kingfish excellent. Seeing Mrs. Joyce was prepared to gossip, she said, �I spent the afternoon at the Ocean Beach club.�

�You did? Well, I never! That surprises me, dear. That club is only fit for old fuddy-duddies... not for a girl like you.�

Helga warmed to this woman.

�While I am waiting for Mr. Rolfe to recover, I have to do something.�

�You�re right. Waiting is always bad. What a pity there isn�t some nice man to take you around. Nassau is full of interest.�

�At the club, we got talking. Do you believe in Voodoo?�

Helga looked sharply at Mrs. Joyce who abruptly lost her happy expression.

�Voodoo? You�ve been talking about that evil thing?�

�There were a couple of old people who seem to think it exists. What do you think?�

�Mrs. Rolfe.� The big woman was suddenly serious. �I am, I hope, a good Christian. I don�t believe in meddling with what the black people do. You ask if Voodoo exists. It does. A lot of nasty things go on in the native quarter. My Tim told me to have nothing to do with it and he knew.�

�Nasty things? What kind of things, Mrs. Joyce?�

�Magic... some of the black people make magic.�

Helga ate for a moment, then asked, �Magic? What sort of magic?�

�Mrs. Rolfe, there are things best not talked about. You eat up your dinner and don�t let it get cold.�

�But it interests me. Please tell me.�

Mrs. Joyce hesitated, then leaning her bulk against the kitchen doorway, she said, �Well, dear, these black people can do things. I don�t listen to the tales that go on here, but I do know there was a little boy living next door to me. His father was a fisherman like my Tom. One day a black man came and asked him for money. The fisherman hit him and threw him out. A day later, the little boy fell ill and went into a coma. The doctors could do nothing for him. Then finally the fisherman went to see this black man and gave him all his savings and the little boy recovered the next day. I saw all this with my own eyes. There are so many other tales. There was a dog who barked and barked and a neighbour just couldn�t stand it. He went to the black man and paid him money. The next day the dog stopped barking and never barked again. I could go on and on, Mrs. Rolfe, but you finish your supper. I�ll wash up.�

Mrs. Joyce went into the kitchen.

Helga finished the fish, drank some of the wine, then lit a cigarette. She was frowning, her mind busy.

This is ridiculous, she told herself. Witchcraft! Magic! No, she would not accept this old wives tale. Mrs. Joyce was as bad as Gritten. They had lived too long in the sun.

Mrs. Joyce reappeared and began clearing the table.

�Did you like it, dear? I�ve got coffee ready. Would you like it on the terrace?�

�That would be nice. The fish was wonderful.�

Helga went out on to the terrace and sat down. After a few minutes, Mrs. Joyce brought the coffee tray.

�There�s a lovely Western on the telly, dear. Nothing like a good Western,� she said as she poured the coffee. �If you�ll be all right, I�ll get off.�

�Yes, of course. Then I�ll see you tomorrow, and thank you for everything.�

�I�ll be in at eight. Have a nice evening, dear.�

�And you too.�

It was only when Helga watched Mrs. Joyce ride away that she realized how lonely and empty this villa was. Impatiently, she got up and turned on the submerged lights in the pool. She wasn�t in the mood to watch television. Sitting down again, she drank the coffee. She was now beginning to wish she had remained at the Diamond Beach hotel. At least there would be people in the lounge to watch. If it hadn�t been for Dick she would have Hinkle to keep her company.

She stared at the moonlit beach. The silence, except for the gentle murmur of the sea, was oppressive. Could she spend the next three hours like this, staring at the empty sea, before going to bed? It was so lonely. She felt completely cut off. She could, of course, drive to the club and play more bridge, but that would be even worse than sitting here on her own.

While at the club that afternoon she had bought three paperbacks. She decided to settle here and read. She went into the living room and looked at the books she had bought. Deciding on a historical novel (even greater than Gone With the Wind) she started back to the terrace, then paused.

She had a sudden instinctive feeling that she was being watched. She stood motionless in the middle of the big room, listening. Only the sound of the sea came to her. Then the thud of a falling coconut.

Again she experienced the creepy feeling she had already experienced when she had found the pocket of her pyjama suit had been removed. She had always prided herself on her strong nerves, but it came to her with an unpleasant impact that if an intruder arrived, apart from the telephone, she was completely unprotected.

But who would come here? she thought, irritated with her sudden uneasiness. She was imagining things!

Bracing herself, aware her heart was beating too quickly, she walked out on to the terrace. The soft light from the swimming pool seemed to her now to produce an eerie effect. Even the moon now seemed to cast a sinister light.

She paused still conscious that she was not alone, that someone was watching her.

But who?

Some black man? He could sneak up on her. Her screams would be lost in this lonely place.

Forcing steel into her voice, she called out, �Is someone here?�

There was a long pause while she stood there, now frightened, then she heard a rustle from a big clump of shrubs close by and her heart skipped a beat.

�Who is it?�

�It�s all right, Mrs. Rolfe... it�s only me.�

Out of the darkness, into the dim light, the figure of a man appeared.

Helga caught her breath sharply.

�It�s me... Harry Jackson.�

She stared for a long moment at the shadowy figure, then her alarm turned to fury.

�How dare you come here! You will leave at once or I will call the police!�

Jackson moved further into the light. She saw he was carrying a small cardboard box and he was wearing his best suit.

�I�m sorry, Mrs. Rolfe.� His voice was husky. �I need your help and you need my help. I didn�t mean to startle you.�

�You heard what I said! Leave at once or I�ll call the police!�

He moved to the terrace table and put down the cardboard box.

�Please look at this, Mrs. Rolfe.�

He took off the lid and pushed the open box towards her.

Her heart hammering, Helga stared down at the small wooden doll lying in the box: a male doll with a balding head, miniature dark glasses, dressed in white silk pyjamas.

The likeness to Herman was so shocking, she only just suppressed a scream.

Embedded in the doll�s head was a long, glittering needle.

Slowly, Helga drifted into consciousness. The first thing she became aware of was a curious weightlessness of her body. It was as if she was lying on a cloud. She was also aware of having no feeling in her limbs. She wondered if this was death. If it was, she thought, she would have no complaint. To float like this forever in a painless vacuum would be wonderful.

Then she became aware of distant voices: men�s voices, hushed but continuous. Then one of the men cleared his throat noisily. She frowned. Did the dead clear their throats? She opened her eyes.

She saw that she was in the luxurious bedroom of the rented villa and she was lying in the king�s size bed. She saw too that the sun was trying hard to penetrate the blinds, making white lines across the bed. She also saw the familiar figure of Nurse Fairely who was sitting by the window, peering out between the slots of the blind, and seeing her, Helga closed her eyes.

Then in spite of the feeling of weightlessness (she was probably under heavy sedation, she told herself), her mind became active. She remembered screaming for the police and seeing Jackson rushing at her. She remembered seeing his fist flying towards her and seeing a flash of white, searing light.

Lying in the comfortable bed, completely relaxed, she now realized her mistake in calling the police. How much better it would have been to have given Jackson all the money in the villa and to have got rid of him. Now, because she had panicked, here was a complete and utter mess. Had Jackson been caught? The telephone operator would have immediately alerted the police, but it would have taken at least ten minutes � probably longer � for a patrol car to have arrived. Had Jackson, who must have heard her scream for the police, got away in time?

If they caught him, the whole sordid story would come out. She recalled the gruesome commotion when Herman had had his stroke. The newspapermen like jackals, the T.V. cameras, the photographers! She could imagine the headlines: Mrs. Herman Rolfe Attached in a Lonely Villa! If Jackson were caught, he would tell how he had been hired by Herman to watch her because Herman no longer trusted her. (Imagine the sensation that would cause!) He would also tell about Herman�s letter to Winborn (more and great sensation!) and then how she had been trying to force Dick to go to Paradise City (sensational hints of seduction). The police would pick up Dick and he would talk. He might even say she was trying to get him into her bed!

A mess! You play your cards, you take some tricks, it looks like a winning hand, then along comes the Joker.

She wondered what the time was. How long had she been unconscious? From the feel of the sun on the bed, she thought it could be early afternoon.

She opened her eyes and through her long lashes, she regarded Nurse Fairely who was now looking at a glossy magazine, her fat face in repose. Her peaceful expression revealed inner contentment. Watching her, Helga felt a pang of envy. This woman was engaged in good and satisfying work. She probably never had any nagging problems and certainly no compulsive sex urge.

Then Helga saw the door open and Dr. Levi came in. Nurse Fairely got heavily to her feet.

�How is she?� Dr. Levi whispered.

�Still sleeping, doctor.�

�Hello,� Helga said and was irritated her voice came as a whisper. �So you have come to look after me.�

Levi came silently to the bed.

�Don�t talk, Mrs. Rolfe.� His deferential voice annoyed her. �Everything is all right. You are under sedation. Just sleep. There is nothing to worry about.�

Perhaps there were some spineless women who would welcome this smooth, bedside manner, but it infuriated Helga. What did he imagine she was? One of those self-pitying, soft-centred, must-have-a-tranquillizer women without guts?

�I will talk as much as I like,� she snapped and was delighted that her voice had come back and with it its steel. �I�m not dying, am I?�

Startled Levi said, �Of course not, but you have concussion and a very badly bruised jaw, Mrs. Rolfe. It is better for you to try to relax and sleep.�

�What happened to that man... the man who attacked me?� she demanded. She had to know. �Did the police get him?�

�Now please don�t worry.�

�Did they get him?� Her voice became shrill.

�Not yet, Mrs. Rolfe. Now do please calm yourself. You need rest.�

She drew in a breath of relief. Had Jackson had time to find her bag and take the money? She hoped so for it would mean he was off the island by now. She wanted him well out of the reach of the police.

�Yes.� She closed her eyes.

�I�ll see you this evening, Mrs. Rolfe. The police are most anxious to question you, but I have told them you are not to be disturbed.�

Helga flinched. She hadn�t thought that the police would ask probing questions.

�I don�t want to see them just yet.�

�Certainly not. You have a nice, little sleep.�

She restrained herself from snapping at him. He was treating her like a moron!

She heard him whispering to Nurse Fairely, then the door closed. Lying still, Helga�s mind became busy. What was she to tell the police? Suppose Jackson had got away? Could she lie herself out of this mess? She could tell the police it was some coloured man who had attacked her. She thought about this. As the police hadn�t caught Jackson as he had left the villa, surely it meant they hadn�t seen him. If she could keep Jackson out of this, then the whole sordid story could be swept under the rug.

She would have to be careful. A coloured man! This could be the solution! They would want a description. Her mind worked busily: tall, thin, middle-aged with a coloured handkerchief around his head, a dirty white shirt, dark trousers, bare feet. That description would match hundreds of the natives she had seen in the market and on the beach.

The more she thought about this, the safer it seemed. No one had seen Jackson arrive. It wasn�t likely he would have told anyone he was coming to get money from her. The weakness was if the police had seen Jackson run off. She decided to play it off the cuff. She was confident she could dominate a police officer.

�Here is a nice cup of tea, Mrs. Rolfe,� Nurse Fairely said, breaking into her thoughts. �I�m sure you must feel like a comforting drink.�

�I think I do.� She opened her eyes and managed a smile.

�And here is something to help you to sleep.�

Obediently she swallowed the small capsule, then with the nurse�s help, she drank some of the tea.

Some minutes later, she drifted into a sleep that was empty of dreams, of fear, and of the coming problems she knew she would have to face.

When she awoke, she was conscious that her head was aching and her mouth sore, but she no longer felt dopey nor weightless. The sedation was over, she told herself with relief. From now on, her mind must be razor sharp. She looked around, then lifted her head from the pillow, wincing a little.

Nurse Fairely came to her.

�How do you feel, Mrs. Rolfe?�

�My head aches.� She touched the side of her face. It felt swollen and tender. �What time is it?�

�Just after eight. You slept beautifully all night.�

She stared at the nurse.

�Is it another day? Have you been up all night?�

Nurse Fairely smiled.

�Oh no, we have a night nurse. Do you fancy some breakfast? A lightly boiled egg? Tea?�

�Tea, I think. Nothing to eat. My mouth�s as sore as hell.�

�That�s not to be wondered at.� Nurse Fairely moved to the door. �I�ll get you tea and I�ll give you something for your headache.�

�No more pills,� Helga said firmly.

Nurse Fairely left the room and Helga made the effort to sit up. For a moment her head swam, then apart from the dull ache, she suddenly felt fine.

Then the door opened and Hinkle, carrying a tea tray, came in.

�Hinkle!� Helga exclaimed, delighted. �Why, bless you! When did you arrive?�

�Yesterday afternoon, madame. As soon as I heard the distressing news.�

�Thank you, Hinkle. I only wish now I hadn�t sent you away.�

�It was most unfortunate, madame.�

She looked sharply at him as he poured the tea. He looked more like a grieving father than a bishop this morning. Her heart warmed to him. I really believe he cares about me, she thought. He must be the only person in the world who does.

�Prop me up, Hinkle,� she said. �I�m dying for a cup of tea.�

�I trust madame, you are not suffering too badly,� he said as he gently arranged her pillows, then handed her the tea.

�It�s all right.� She sipped the tea, then went on, �Tell me, what�s going on? I suppose the press have arrived?�

�Indeed yes, madame. They are outside waiting for a statement. Mr. Winborn will be arriving this afternoon.�

�Winborn?� She frowned. �What does he want for God�s sake?�

�Dr. Levi thought he should be here to handle the press.�

She asked the vitally important question.

�Have they found the man who attacked me?�

�Apparently not, madame. The Inspector is anxious to see you. He wants a description of the man. Dr. Levi has told him he must wait.�

Helga felt a surge of triumph run through her.

�Didn�t the police see him?�

�No, madame. They arrived too late.�

So once again the cards were falling her way! There would now no longer be a mess!

�I�ll see the Inspector sometime this morning, Hinkle.�

�Yes, madame.�

Helga again looked sharply at him. She was surprised that he hadn�t asked questions. How it happened? Who was the man? Then she saw there was a distressed, shocked expression on Hinkle�s face, so distressed that she put down the cup of tea.

�Is there something wrong, Hinkle?�

He hesitated, then nodded.

�I am afraid so, madame. Dr. Levi suggested that I should break the news to you.�

An icy chill began to crawl up Helga�s spine.

�News? What news?�

�It�s Mr. Rolfe, madame. I very much regret to tell you he died the night before last. Apparently, madame, he came out of the coma for a few brief moments, then his heart gave out.�

Into Helga�s mind came the scene of Jackson withdrawing the needle and then slowly pushing it into the doll�s chest. She was now so cold she began to shiver.

�I can�t believe it,� she said hoarsely. �What time the night before last?�

�It would be about the time you were attacked, madame. This will be a terrible shock to you as it is to me. I know how both of us, madame, will miss him.�

Helga stared at the kind, distressed face and she put her hands to her eyes.

�But you should think, madame, that it is really a happy release. He suffered so much and he was so very brave.�

Then as she began to weep, Hinkle went silently from the room, stopping Nurse Fairely from entering.

�Madame would like a few moments to herself, nurse,� he said in a whisper. �She has been so good, so worthy and so loyal to him. It is a most grievous loss to her.�

Listening to his words, Helga shuddered.

So good, so worthy, so loyal!

She again saw Herman�s contorted face and his slack mouth forming the word whore.

Burying her face in the pillow, she began to sob her heart out.