Class Act

by Stuart Woods

“Just happy to see you,” Stone said, working on keeping the smile in place.

  “How nice,” she said doubtfully.

  “Really,” Stone said. “Really glad to see you.”

  “Stone was telling me he’s going to take a vacation,” Dino said.

  Stone glared at him. “Is that your advice, Dino?”

  “In the circumstances, why not?”

  “What circumstances?” Tara asked.

  “Stone is feeling a little crowded in New York.”

  “Dino,” Stone said. “Please stop talking.”

  Dino raised his hands in surrender.

  “Where are you thinking of going, Stone?”

  “Do you think you could take a week off from your work?” Stone asked. “Maybe two?”

  “Well, my preseason shows ended today, and my supervisors have got the new patterns in hand, so there’s not really much for me to do for a while but complain. And I’m sure my people could do without that.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning,” Stone said. “Bring your passport, casual outdoor clothes, a sweater, some walking shoes, and a dress or three for the evenings.”

  “How serious are the evenings?”

  “From casual to black tie. You never know.”

  “And I’m not supposed to ask where we’re going?”

  “Right.”

  “How about Viv and me?” Dino asked. “Can we come?”

  “Sure, glad to have you.”

  “Stone,” Tara said, “you mentioned you have an airplane. Is it big enough for four people and their luggage?”

  “Yes,” Stone replied. “And a dog. I’m inviting Bob.”

  “How many bags may I bring?” Tara asked.

  “About one camel load.”

  “Better make it two camel loads,” Dino said. “Viv will bring that much.”

  “There’s room for that?” Tara asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dino said.

  “Are we flying east or west?”

  “Don’t ask,” Stone said.

  “When will I know?”

  “When we get there. You can bring a compass, if you’d like an early warning.”

  A waiter brought a menu.

  “Osso bucco,” Stone said.

  “Me, too,” Tara echoed.

  “Chicken paillard,” Dino said.

  “And a bottle of the Pine Ridge cabernet,” Stone said, handing back the meus. The waiter fled.

  “Do you ride?” Stone asked.

  “Yes,” Tara said. “Shall I bring a saddle?”

  “Just your habit and boots. I think we can find you a helmet.”

  “How about a crop?”

  “All right, but to be used only on the horse.”

  “Will I have time to read?”

  “Yes, but we have books at our disposal, if you don’t want to carry a book bag.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A raincoat. We can supply you with gum boots and an umbrella, should you need them.”

  “So it rains where we’re going.”

  “It rains almost everywhere,” Stone said. “We are not visiting a desert region. And stop trying to figure out where we’re going. It’s more fun this way.”

  “Sounds like Ireland.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Stone held up a hand. “I shall have no further comment on geography,” he said.

  Dinner came, and Tara asked no further questions.

  At one point, when she opened her mouth to ask something, Stone raised a finger. “Ah, ah.”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll shut up,” she said, pouting.

  “You don’t have to shut up; just don’t ask travel questions. You already know more than you need to know.”

  “Well, this is going to be interesting,” Tara said.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t get too interesting,” Dino replied.

  35

  Stone called his pilot, Faith. “Wheels up tomorrow at nine am, for Windward Hall. We’ll need a copilot and a stewardess.”

  “Consider it done,” Faith said, then hung up.

  “Windward Hall? Is that where we’re going?” Tara asked.

  Stone put a finger to his lips, and she retreated.

  “Sounds like the Bahamas to me,” Tara said to Dino.

  Dino put a finger to his lips.

  “When are you going to tell Viv about this?” she asked Dino.

  “I already have,” he said, hitting send on a text.

  Tara’s shoulders sagged. “I give up,” she said.

  “Good,” Stone said. “You’ll enjoy the experience more that way.”

  “Have you told Bob?”

  “I’ll explain it to him when I get home.”

  * * *

  —

  Stone picked up Tara at the appointed hour the following morning, and a half hour later, they were at Teterboro. Fred pulled the car into the Strategic Services hangar alongside the airplane, a Gulfstream 500, and linemen unloaded and stowed the luggage.

  “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get to my bags if I’ve forgotten a hairbrush or something,” Tara said.

  “Of course you will,” Stone replied. “The baggage compartment is accessible from the rear cabin.” He escorted her aboard the airplane, showed her the layout, seated her, and turned her over to the stewardess, while he went forward. “Excuse me,” he said to Tara, “I have to go fly the airplane.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that part,” Tara called after him.

  “Stone likes to take off and land the airplane. Keeps his pilot’s skills sharp,” the stewardess said. She left Tara with coffee and pastries, then went to deal with Dino and Viv.

  From the right seat, Faith read off the preflight checklist, while Stone set the switches and repeated the commands to her. He called the tower for permission to taxi and received clearance to runway one. He ran through the final checklist, then requested takeoff.

  “Cleared for takeoff,” the woman in the tower said. Stone steered the aircraft onto the runway, using the tiller, then pushed the throttles all the way forward. The airplane began to roll. A moment later, he had enough airspeed for steerage with the rudder and used his feet to keep them on the center line, while Faith called out his speeds, “Seventy knots, one hundred knots,” then, “Rotate!”

  Stone pulled steadily back on the yoke, and the airplane lifted off. A moment later he retracted the landing gear and flaps, then he switched on the autopilot, and that instrument flew the airplane through the departure procedure, turning northeast, along the north shore of Long Island. At that point, Stone gave the airplane back to Faith, her copilot joined her, and he returned to his seat with his guests.

  “Okay, we’re off!” Tara said. “Now can I know where we’re going?”

  “You won’t know until we arrive,” Stone said.

  Tara looked out the window and saw the eastern tip of Long Island pass. “We’re out over the ocean!” she said.

  “Right where we’re supposed to be,” Stone replied. “This might be a good time to brief you on the location of your life jacket and our life raft.”

  “Why do we need those?” she asked.

  “Just in case we get our feet wet.”

  Tara pretended to faint.

  Bob, who had boarded last, came to greet everybody.

  “See, Bob’s not worried,” Stone said.

  “He’s a dog,” Tara pointed out.

  “And a very smart one,” Stone replied.

  Bob settled into his travel bed across the aisle, and in a minute was sound asleep. “See?” Stone said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “How long is our flight?” Tara asked.

  “We’ll have lunch aboard and we’ll be on the ground in time for dinner.�
��

  “Sounds like Ireland,” she said, consulting a small compass she had brought along.

  “Does it?” Stone picked up the Times, found the crossword and gave the rest to Tara. “Here,” he said, “improve your mind. There’s a piece about Ireland in the business section.”

  Tara flipped through the paper until she found it. “It’s about butter production,” she said.

  “I’ll bet there’s a lot you don’t know about butter production,” Stone replied.

  * * *

  —

  After the Times, lunch was served: a lobster salad and a chilled bottle of Far Niente chardonnay. After that, people tended to drift off, Tara with her head on Stone’s shoulder.

  * * *

  —

  Eventually, lights appeared along the southwest coast of England. Shortly after that, the airplane gave a jerk, waking Tara.

  “What was that?”

  “The landing gear coming down.”

  “Is it supposed to do that?”

  “It’s mandatory before landing. Do this.” He pinched his nose and blew, clearing his ears.

  “Who’s landing the airplane?”

  “That tiny blonde you saw when we boarded.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Approaching the runway at Windward Hall.”

  “What’s Windward Hall?”

  “A very nice house.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Dead ahead.” They touched down, rolled out, and stopped. The engines died, and the stewardess opened the cabin door. A Range Rover and a golf cart with a truck bed awaited them at the bottom of the airstairs.

  They got into the Range Rover, and Bob hopped on the golf cart, next to the driver. The caravan moved off, toward the well-lighted main house in the distance.

  “Is that a movie set?” Tara asked, pointing at the house.

  “No, it is a country house in the county of Hampshire, in the south of England.”

  “Whose is it?”

  “Mine.”

  “Oh. I guess we’re there then.”

  “We are there. Are you disappointed?”

  “To the contrary, I’m very impressed. And hungry.”

  “Dinner will be served as soon as you’ve unpacked and freshened up.”

  “You don’t seem to have any luggage, except your briefcase.”

  “I have a wardrobe here. It’s not necessary to bring things from New York.” He led her upstairs to the master suite, and showed her to her dressing room and bath. “I’ll see you in the library as soon as you’re done,” he said. “Bottom of the stairs, then right.”

  Ten minutes later she joined the others as Stone was tending bar. “Scotch?” he asked.

  “Laphroaig, if you have it.”

  “We have.” He poured the drink and handed it to her. She took a seat and looked around the paneled room, stocked with leather-bound volumes. “Have you read all these books?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  They sat down before the fire and sipped.

  “Now that the mystery of our destination is solved, here’s another: Why are we here?”

  “To keep Stone from being murdered in the street,” Dino replied. He raised his glass. “I give you Stone, not dead.”

  They all drank.

  36

  They had a tomato and basil bisque, followed by a pork roast, with vegetables from the garden, followed by an apple tart, then Stilton and port.

  “All right,” Tara said. “I’ve contained my curiosity long beyond the ability of most adults: Why is someone trying to murder you, Stone?”

  “Jealous lover,” he said.

  “A woman?”

  “Male jealous lover.”

  “Who is the woman involved?”

  “Caravaggio, the night before last. Now, is your curiosity satisfied?”

  “Details, please.”

  “I’ve no wish to speak ill of her, and the details would not be complimentary of her judgment, so I will avoid those. Are you curious about nothing else?”

  “All right, how did you come to own this house?”

  “A friend of mine who lives across the Beaulieu River”—he pronounced it Bewley—“found me on the continent and insisted I come and see it. She didn’t tell me at the time that ‘it’ was an estate, just said it would be a nice surprise. It was.”

  “Then?”

  “She gave me the tour. Then she introduced me to the owner, who had been ill and was not getting better, over dinner at the Royal Yacht Squadron, in Cowes, across the Solent. There, I wrote him a check for the property.”

  “What is the ‘Solent’?”

  “The body of water that separates mainland England from the Isle of Wight.”

  “Who was this friend?”

  “Her name is Dame Felicity Devonshire. You will meet her at dinner here tomorrow evening.”

  “What is the ‘Royal Yacht Squadron’?”

  “It is the oldest yacht club in England, second oldest in the world after the Royal Cork Yacht Club in Ireland. It is housed in a seaside castle built by Henry the Eighth, to protect England from the French.”

  “Will we dine there while we’re in England?”

  “If I survive long enough.”

  They moved to the sofa and chairs before the fireplace for brandy. Stone’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and saw the word Private. “Excuse me,” he said, “I have to take this.” He walked into the hallway and pressed the button. “Hello?”

  “Stone?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Hilda.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice.”

  “I’m calling from a rather small powder room.”

  “I won’t inquire further about that.”

  “I have good news: you’re off the hook.”

  “How so?”

  “Sal has left town.”

  “Good. When is he coming back?”

  “It sounded as though he had quite a lot to do elsewhere.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Out of the country. That’s why you don’t have to worry.”

  “Where is he as we speak?”

  “In London.”

  Swell, Stone thought. “Why London?”

  “He said he had business to take care of there.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I have guests, so I have to go now.”

  “Sure. I just wanted you to be able to relax.”

  “I’m grateful to you, Hilda. Bye-bye.”

  He returned to the library.

  Dino’s eyebrows went up. “You don’t look so hot,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve just learned that I have nothing to worry about,” Stone said. “Sal has left New York.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “The bad news is, he’s gone to London.”

  Everybody was silent for a moment.

  “How far is London?” Tara asked, finally.

  “About eighty miles—an hour-and-a-half drive.”

  “Oh. Does he know you are . . . wherever we are?”

  “The nearest village is Beaulieu. I have no reason to believe he knows I’m here.”

  “Well, then, he might as well be anywhere,” Tara said. “So might you be.”

  “I prefer three thousand miles from him to eighty,” Stone said, “given the choice.”

  “It’s rather ironic that we’ve come all the way here to get away from this man, and he turns out to be eighty miles away.”

  “I got the irony, thanks,” Stone said.

  “What will you do?”

  “Stay put, and not tell anybody where I am. That’s what you should do, too.”

  “I haven’t told anyb
ody,” Tara said. “Except my production manager, Tony. He has to be able to get in touch with me, if there are production problems.”

  Dino took a notebook and pen from his pocket. “I’ll make a list,” he said. “What’s Tony’s last name?”

  “Trafficante,” Tara replied, spelling it for him.

  “I know how to spell it,” Dino said, looking at Stone. “You know, sometimes I think you’re the luckiest guy in the world, but then sometimes . . . not so much.”

  “When did you speak to him?” Stone asked.

  “Right after we arrived. I didn’t know where we were going until then, remember?”

  “Did you swear him to secrecy?”

  “I didn’t know our whereabouts were a secret, except from me.”

  “Tell me about Tony Trafficante,” Dino said. “Where’s he from?”

  “Born and raised in Brooklyn.”

  “Do you know if he has any relatives in . . . unusual occupations?”

  “What sort of unusual occupations?”

  “Bookmaking, loan-sharking, prostitution, like that.”

  “You mean, like, criminal occupations?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, there were rumors about his family when we were kids.”

  “What sort of rumors?”

  “Like, unusual occupations.”

  “Tara,” Stone said. “What, exactly, did you tell Tony about where we were?”

  “I told him I was in a beautiful country house named Windward Hall, in the county of Hampshire, in the south of England. In short, exactly what you told me.”

  “Oh,” Stone said.

  37

  Everyone was very quiet, even Tara, until she finally got it.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Think hard, Tara,” Stone said. “Has Tony ever mentioned anyone in his family called Sal?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She thought some more. “Does ‘Salvatore’ count?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dino said, making another note in his notebook.

  “It counts,” Stone said. “How are they related?”

  Tara thought about it. “I don’t know. The name was mentioned only once in my hearing.”

  “In what context?”