An Ace Up My Sleeve (2 page)

"You never know." Her mind went quickly back into the past. There had been other people she had helped but they were now dim shadows. Because of her husband's position and his wealth no one had ever thought she might need help.

The steak and another pile of chips arrived. "Excuse me, ma'am ... this sure looks good."

She lit a cigarette, her mind still in the past. Help? What is meant by help? she thought. It was easy to give money if you have money. No, that wasn't help ... anyway, not to her. To share something ... to blot out this awful loneliness ... that was the kind of help she wanted and yet how few could or would give her that?

She came out of the past to watch him finish the steak. He laid down his fork and sat back. "The best meal in years! I appreciate it, ma'am!"

The waiter came over and she ordered an apfel strudel with cream and coffees, then when he took the empty plate away, she said, "What are you doing in Bonn ?"

"That's a good question." Larry laughed. "I wish I knew. I guess I'm just passing through." He leaned forward, his big hands clasped, his heavy shoulders hunched. "I'm being educated. My old man told me to come to Europe and take a look around. He wanted me to see Europe before I settled down. So I've been getting around. I started in Copenhagen, came to Hamburg and now I'm here. My old man gave me some money, but I've lost it, so now I guess I'll have to find a job." He shrugged, still smiling. "I'll find something ... I haven't really looked yet. My old man doesn't want me back for another six months. He reckoned I'd run out of money. He told me it would be good for me if I did, so I could make a living while in Europe. My old man is very keen I should look after myself." He paused, smiling at Helga. "He's a real square, but I'm fond of him."

The apple strudel arrived and again there was silence while Larry ate. Then while they were sipping their coffees, she said, "What do you plan to do?" He lifted his shoulders.

"I'll look around. Someone must want something done, ma'am." "But you can't even speak the language."

He laughed and she envied his confidence.

"I can always make myself understood." He waved his hands. "When you have hands, you don't need a language."

She glanced at her watch. She had an appointment with her husband's attorney in half an hour.

"Do you want to come to Switzerland?" she asked, aware her heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

"Switzerland?" He looked questioningly at her. "I don't mind where I go."

"Can you drive a car?"

"Oh, sure."

She opened her lizard skin handbag and took from it three one hundred DM bills.

"I am staying at the Konigshof hotel. I am leaving for Switzerland tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. I could use a spare driver. Do you want to come?"

Without hesitation he nodded.

"I sure would, ma'am."

She slid the folded bills under her coffee saucer, then stood up and reached for her coat.

"Then I'll expect you." She struggled into the coat while he sat there, looking up at her, his expression bewildered. "Settle the check." She smiled, aware her smile was too anxious. "Goodbye for now, Larry."

As he struggled to his feet, nearly overturning the table, she left the restaurant and walked out into the now heavily falling snow. For the first time in months, she felt young again.

She came out of a pill–induced sleep with a start of alarm, sure she had overslept. Turning on the bedside lamp, she looked anxiously at her travelling clock to find it was 06.50. She relaxed back on her pillow. Before going to bed she had packed two suitcases and had them taken down to the car. She now would have time to dress leisurely, she thought, and time to linger over a cup of coffee before leaving at 08.00.

She had gone over in her mind during the evening, while she had been eating her lonely dinner and while waiting for the pills to send her to sleep, this meeting with Larry Stevens.

When she thought of what she had done, she experienced a feeling of shame. She had acted like so many middle aged American women when they were abroad. Those awful women, trying to find late romance, who bore barmen, ogle hall porters and look feverishly for a lone man who would fill in the lonely hours before a car or a coach took them on yet another deadly sight–seeing tour.

But why be ashamed? she had reasoned with herself. Of course she had been stupid, but she had done nothing to make herself feel ashamed. In fact, she told herself without much conviction, she had done a kindly act by feeding this boy and giving him money. With what she had given him, he could continue his journey until the money ran out and until he met yet another kind, lonely, stupid American woman ... he wouldn't have far to look, she thought bitterly.
I could use a spare driver. Do you want to come?

That had been a mistake, but she didn't have to worry, she assured herself. He had her money ... why should he want to come to Switzerland with a woman old enough to be his mother?

She began to think of him as he had sat opposite her in that squalid restaurant, eating, looking up at her from time to time, and of his warm, friendly grin. She wondered what it would be like to have him in this bed with her, and her body grew hot, moist and yielding at the thought. Angry with herself, she got out of bed and walked to the window. Pulling back the drapes, she looked down at the Rhine. The ferry steamer, packed with workers, was crossing from the far bank, its lights reflecting; in the leaden, cold looking river. Snow was falling, and had capped the church spires and the roofs of the distant factories.

It would be a dreary drive, she thought, along the monotonous autobahn to Basle. Then she would have to face the traffic of Zurich, the climb to the Bernadino tunnel and the long, difficult descent to Bellinzona. She grimaced and went to the bathroom.

Forty minutes later, the waiter brought her a pot of coffee. She was now dressed. Her mink coat lay across the chair, ready to put on. As the waiter entered, carrying the tray, she was adjusting her hat in the mirror, her eyes examining her make–up.

At three minutes to 08.00, she stubbed out her cigarette, put on her coat, gave herself one more quick glance in the mirror, then taking her handbag, she left the room.

She looked quickly around the lobby as she left the elevator. There was just a chance this tall, exciting boy might be there, waiting for her, but only a group of German business men and three pages met her eyes.

She paid her account and crossed to the Hall Porter to tip him.

"You should drive carefully, madame," he said, palming the tip and becoming suddenly fatherly. "The roads will be dangerous."

She was in no mood for advice and she turned away to where the luggage porter was waiting.

"The luggage is in the boot, madame," he said. His English was even worse than the Hall Porter's. "The tank is full. The car is fully serviced."

She tipped him and went out into the cold to the black Mercedes she had bought in Hamburg.

The porter and two pages went with her like bodyguards. She paused to look down the drive of the hotel. Snow was falling steadily: there was mist. She could see people hurrying along the sidewalk and beyond them the early morning traffic, but there was no sign of Larry Stevens.

She slid under the driving wheel. The porter closed the door with an elaborate bow and she shifted the gear lever to Drive. As the car began to move she glanced at her diamond studded wristwatch. The time was now 08.10.

The porter had run the car engine for some minutes so now the heater was operating. She turned on the wipers and edged the car down the drive feeling alone in spite of the security and luxury of the car, and feeling uneasy about facing the nine hundred kilometres of difficult road ahead of her.

She had guessed right, she thought bitterly. The boy had only wanted a free meal and her money. By now he was once more on his way, thinking she was just one more middle–aged sucker... which, of course, she was.

She had to stop at the junction as a stream of cars, edged by. Then she heard a soft tapping sound on the car window and she quickly turned her head, her heart–beat racing.

He was there, snow piled on the peak of his baseball cap, his face blue with the cold, his wide, friendly smile warming her. Suddenly she was years younger and suddenly stupidly happy. She waved to him to go around the car to the passenger's seat. He nodded, ran in front of the dipped headlights, paused to shake the snow from his cap, his leather jacket and his shoes. Then he opened the off side door, letting in a blast of cold air, and slid in beside her. "Morning, ma'am." His voice sounded as happy as she felt. "Makes you think of Christmas, doesn't it?"

Yes, she thought. Christmas! He is really my Christmas present!

"Have you been waiting long? Why didn't you come to the hotel? You must be frozen." She was pleased her voice was controlled.

"Not long, ma'am. I didn't think I should go to the hotel. That kind of hotel is snooty." He laughed. "This is a fine car ... is it yours?"

"Yes." She slowed and stopped as the traffic lights turned to red. "Where is
your luggage, Larry?"
"I lost that with my money."

"You mean you've nothing except what you've got on?"

He laughed.

"That's it. I sure walked into that one. Ron warned me. He said it could
happen but I didn't believe him. There was this girl ... I thought she was okay,
but I got rolled," and he laughed again.
"You mean she stole your things?"

"Her boy friend did." He shrugged. "Ron warned me but I still fell for the act." He grinned at her. "Oh, ma'am before I forget: did you know you left three hundred marks to pay for that meal? I've got the change right here." He took from his hip pocket a roll of bills. "I meant you to keep that."

"Oh, no!" His voice sharpened, and glancing at him, she saw he looked genuinely shocked. "I accept free rides, but I don't accept money from anyone."

She thought quickly.

"Then will you please keep it and pay for the gas when we need it?" He looked at her from under the peak of his cap. "Yeah ... sure."

They were now approaching the entrance to the autobahn. The car's headlights showed her the road was flecked with snow and she thought there was a chance of black ice. As she joined the stream of traffic, she saw cars were moving with caution.

"We could be late getting to Basle," she said. 

"Are you in a hurry, ma'am?"

"No."

"Nor me ... I'm never in a hurry," and he laughed.

No, she was now no longer in a hurry having him by her side. She had planned to get to the Adlon hotel in Basle by 14.00, but now she didn't care. Thinking about it, she realized it could be embarrassing to take Larry – with no luggage – to the Adlon. It would be better to find a much more modest hotel where there would be no questioning eyebrows. "Where did you sleep last night?" she asked.

"I found a room. You'll excuse me, ma'am, but I had to use some of your money. I'll let you have it back."

Another girl? She felt a stab of jealousy.

"Don't worry about that. I have plenty of money." She hesitated, then went on, "Money is useful, but it doesn't always bring happiness."

He shifted, pushing up the peak of his cap, then pulling it down.

"My old man was always saying things like that." She realized at once that she had said the wrong thing. "People with plenty of money are always griping about happiness." His voice had become surly.

"Yes ... that's right." She was anxious to go along with his views. "When you have it, you don't always appreciate it."

Again he shifted.

"People say that. Ron says too few people have too much money and too many have too little."

Was that supposed to be wisdom? she thought, but she said, "You keep mentioning Ron ... tell me about him."

"He's my buddy." He turned to look at her and she was dismayed to see the elated expression on his face. Once, out of sheer boredom, she had gone to a Billy Graham meeting and she had been surrounded by simple people looking just the way this boy was looking now.

Again she felt a stab of jealousy, knowing he would never look like this if ever he talked about her to his friends.

"Tell me about him."

He stared through the windshield for a long moment, then he said, "I guess he's special. He's the smartest cookie I've ever known." He shook his head in wonderment. "You ask him anything ... anything ... and he comes up with the answer. You have a problem and he fixes it. He's really smart."

"He sounds wonderful." She was careful to make her voice m sound enthusiastic. "Where did you meet him?"

"Oh, I ran into him." The way his voice dropped warned her this was none of her business.

"Why isn't he travelling with you?"

He laughed, slapping his big hand on his thigh.

"Right now, ma'am, he's in jail."

"In jail!" Her voice shot up a note. "But why?"

He looked at her, peering at her from under the peak of his cap.

"Don't think he's done anything wrong, ma'am. Sure, I know when you hear a guy is in jail you think he must be bad, but Ron's not like that. He's a protester. He staged this protest march in Hamburg so they put him in jail." With her hands resting lightly on the driving wheel, her eyes on the road ahead, Helga asked, "What was he protesting about?" There was a long pause and she glanced at him. "What was he protesting about?" she repeated.

"I'm not too sure, ma'am." He pulled at the peak of his cap. There was an awful lot of talk. All I know is he had good reason to protest."

"What makes you think that?"

He shifted uneasily.

"He told me so." What a baby! she thought and she warmed to him.

"If he's as smart as you say he is, Larry, why is he in jail?"

"He is smart!" He nodded emphatically. "He explained that to me. He told me if people don't know about you, you're nothing. He said publicity was the big thing. By getting tossed into jail, he got his photo in the papers. Right now, people are talking about him in Hamburg ... that's smart!"