Helene had smiled. "Poor Charles. Don't worry about sex. I promise you, you'll like it."
He hated it. That only seemed to add to Helene's pleasure. She would laugh at him for his weakness, and force him to do disgusting things that made Charles feel degraded and sick. The sex act itself was debasing enough. But Helene was interested in experimenting. Charles never knew what to expect. Once, at the moment he was having an orgasm, she had put crushed ice on his testicles, and another time she had shoved an electric prod up his anus. Charles was terrified of Helene. She made him feel that she was the male and he was the female. He tried to salvage his pride but, alas, he could find no area in which Helene was not superior to him. She had a brilliant mind. She knew as much about the law as he did, and much more about business. She spent hour after hour discussing the company with him. She never tired of it. "Think of all that power, Charles! Roffe and Sons can make or break more than half the countries in the world. / should be running the company. My great-grandfather founded it. It's part of me."
After one of these outbursts Helene would be sexually insatiable, and Charles was forced to satisfy her in ways that did not bear thinking about. He came to despise her. His one dream was to get away from her, to escape. But for that he needed money.
One day, over lunch, a friend of his, Rene Du-champs, told Charles about an opportunity to make a fortune.
"An uncle of mine who owned a large vineyard in Burgundy has just died. The vineyard is going to be put up for sale - ten thousand acres of first-class Appellation d'origine contrôllee. I have the inside track," Rene Duchamps continued, "because it's my family. I don't have enough to swing the deal by myself, but if you came in with me, we could double our money in one year. At least, come and look at it."
Because Charles could not bear to admit to his friend that he was penniless, he went to the rolling red slopes of Burgundy to view the land. He was deeply impressed.
Rene Duchamps said, "We'll each put in two million francs. In a year we'll each have four million."
Four million francs! It would mean freedom, escape. He could go away to some place where Helene could never find him.
"I'll think about it," Charles promised his friend.
And he did. Day and night It was the chance of a lifetime. But how? Charles knew that it would be impossible for him to try to borrow money without Helene immediately learning about it. Everything was in her name, the houses, the paintings, the cars, the jewelry. The jewelry...those beautiful, useless ornaments she kept locked up in the safe in the bedroom. Gradually, the idea was born. If he could get hold of her jewelry, a little at a time, he could replace the pieces with copies and borrow money on the real jewelry. After he had made his killing in the vineyard, he would simply return her jewels. And have enough money to disappear forever.
Charles telephoned Rene Duchamps and said, his heart pounding with excitement, "I've decided to go in with you."
The first part of the plan filled Charles with terror. He had to get into the safe and steal Helene's jewelry.
The anticipation of the terrible thing he was about to do made Charles so nervous that he was barely able to function. He went through each day like an automaton, neither seeing nor hearing what was happening around him. Every time Charles saw Helene he began to sweat. His hands would tremble at odd times. Helene was concerned about him, as she would have been concerned about any pet. She had the doctor examine Charles, but the doctor could find nothing wrong. "He seems a bit tense. A day or two in bed, perhaps."
Helene looked long at Charles, lying in bed, naked, and smiled, "Thank you, doctor."
The moment the doctor left, Helene began getting undressed. "I - I'm not feeling very strong." Charles protested.
"I am," Helene replied.
He had never hated her more.
Charles's opportunity came the following week. Helene was going to Garmisch-Partenkirchen to ski with some friends. She decided to leave Charles in Paris.
"I want you home every night," Helene told him. "I'll telephone you."
Charles watched her speed away, at the wheel of her red Jensen, and the moment she was out of sight he hurried to the wall safe. He had watched her open it often, and he knew most of the combination. It took him an hour to figure out the rest of it. With trembling fingers he pulled the safe open. There, in velvet-lined boxes, sparkling like miniature stars, lay his freedom. He had already located a jeweler, one Pierre Richaud, who was a master at duplicating jewelry. Charles had begun a long, nervous explanation about why he wanted the jewels copied, but Richaud said, matter-of-factly, "Monsieur, I am making copies for everyone. No one with any sense wears real jewelry on the streets these days."
Charles gave him one piece at a time to work on, and when the copy was ready, he substituted it for the real piece. He borrowed money on the real jewelry from the Credit Municipal, the state-owned pawnshop.
The operation took longer than Charles had anticipated. He could only get into the safe when Helene was out of the house, and there were unforeseen delays in copying the pieces. But finally the day came when Charles was able to say to Rene Duchamps, "I'll have all the money for you tomorrow."
He had accomplished it He was half-owner of a great vineyard. And Helene had not the slightest suspicion of what he had done.
Charles had secretly begun to read up on the growing of vines. And why not? Was he not a vintner now? He learned about the different vines: cabernet sauvignon was the principal vine used, but others were planted alongside it: gros cabernet, merlot, malbec, petit verdot. The desk drawers of Charles's office were filled with pamphlets on soil and vine pressing. He learned about fermentation and pruning and grafting. And that the worldwide demand for wine kept growing.