by Stuart Woods
“Any news of his cousin, Salvatore?”
“I asked, and he reminded me that his cousin is out of the country.”
“I was hoping he had come home,” Stone said.
“Oh, well, we’re not in London, are we?”
“I think I’ll look into his exact whereabouts at first opportunity,” Stone said.
“How will you do that?”
“I have a friend who has people who are good at that sort of thing.”
“That sounds like the fabled Dame Felicity.”
“Could be.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
40
Stone practiced his Cary Grant trick of tying his bow tie in a single, smooth motion, then got into his waistcoat, buttoned it, and settled his pocket watch and its gold chain into the pockets, then he got into the naval-length jacket.
Tara was passing his dressing room and stopped. “What sort of uniform are you wearing?” she asked.
“It’s the dress uniform of the Royal Yacht Squadron, which is worn in nautical situations. I’m wearing it tonight because our guest, and Felicity’s date, is the new commodore of the Squadron, Sir Thomas Callaway, whose wife is otherwise occupied this evening.”
“And is this a nautical situation?”
“The Beaulieu River is right over there and there are lots of boats moored upon it.”
“Are you going to invite Dame Felicity up here after dinner?”
“I thought I would leave our after-dinner disposition to you and Dame Felicity, once you’ve each had an opportunity to inspect the other and get to know one another. I will abide by the wishes of the two of you, whatever they may be.”
“So, you’re remaining neutral in the matter?”
“I’m remaining flexible. Do with me as you will.”
“What more could a girl—or two girls—ask?”
“I’m sure you’ll both think of something.”
She turned her back to be zipped, and Stone obliged.
“You’re very good at that,” Tara said.
“I’m better at the unzipping,” Stone replied.
“You will have that opportunity.”
* * *
—
They walked down the stairs and turned into the library, where Dino and Viv awaited, drinks already in hand. A young man poured Stone’s and Tara’s.
“What is that young man called in the household?” Tara asked.
“In the old days, he would have been called a footman, but nowadays we call him a bartender—or a stable hand, which is his day job.
“How was your day?” Stone asked the Bacchettis.
“Spent in bed, reading,” Viv said. “Mostly reading, anyway.” She batted her eyes at Dino.
“We went riding this morning and had a picnic lunch,” Stone said.
The door opened, and Geoffrey, the butler, called out, “Sir Thomas Callaway and Dame Felicity Devonshire.”
Stone introduced everyone who had not already been introduced. Felicity leaned close to kiss Stone on the cheek, and she whispered, “She’s scrumptious.” Stone winked at Tara, who blushed.
Callaway shook Tara’s hand. “It’s Tommy, if you please.”
“I please,” Tara replied, and the two of them began an animated conversation with the Bacchettis.
Stone momentarily had Felicity to himself, and he used the opportunity.
“I wonder if I might impose on your good nature?” he asked her.
“Do you wish someone shot?” she asked, archly.
“Well, that is devoutly to be wished, but too soon to act upon. I’d like to find someone in London.”
“Someone of some consequence, I take it.”
“Yes, an American Mafioso named Salvatore Trafficante. There is a rumor, unconfirmed, that he is staying at the Dorchester. If I know where to find him, I can have him watched.”
“Do you employ a watcher, or do you wish me to provide that service, as well?”
“I would not so impose upon you, but a location would make my life easier—and safer.”
“Stone, don’t tell me someone is after your scalp—not again.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And what, pray, are the circumstances?”
“Boring. A jealous lover.”
“I am shocked, but not surprised.”
“I don’t even know the fellow. We saw her on different occasions, and he assigned more importance to our relationship than was justified. Alas, he employs people who make people go away, and I am very happy, here on planet Earth.”
“Consider it done. And I may, in turn, ask a favor of you, before our evening is over.” Her eyes traveled toward Tara.
“I will leave that matter in your capable hands, and hers,” Stone said. “But I am here to assist in any way I’m asked.”
“You are a dear,” Felicity said, “and I’m sure, so is she.”
“You are an excellent judge of character,” Stone said.
“And of flesh,” Felicity replied. Then they were joined by others and she stepped aside. “Excuse me, phone call.” She walked to a corner of the room and spoke for a moment, then came back.
“Nothing that would require you to leave us, I hope,” Stone said.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I would not allow myself to be torn away from this happy scene.”
* * *
—
In due course, they were called to dinner in the small dining room.
“I’ve seen your Hinckley in the Squadron marina,” Tommy Callaway said to Stone. “Very handsome.”
“Yes, I’ve abandoned the adventure of sail for the comforts of motorboating,” Stone replied.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Also, I was unable to find a woman willing to be both cook and foredeck gorilla.”
“It is a rare one who is highly qualified for both,” the commodore agreed.
“Also, for some reason, they don’t like being shouted at,” Stone said, “which is a big part of working the foredeck.”
“That way lies disaster,” Tommy agreed.
Stone looked down the table and took note of the animated conversation between Tara and Felicity, both of them talking right past Dino, who was trying not to look bored.
* * *
—
After dinner, they adjourned to the library for brandy. Bob left his place by the fire and graciously greeted each of the guests, presenting himself for a petting or a back scratch. He finally settled under Felicity’s hand, as if the proper place for it was on his head.
Somehow they had gathered before the fire with the ladies at one end and the gentlemen at the other.
“You looked bored during dinner,” Stone said to Dino.
“With the conversation, yes,” Dino replied, “but the cleavage was electrifying.”
41
The Bacchettis excused themselves and went upstairs to bed. Shortly after that, Tommy Callaway left, too, explaining that he and Felicity had arrived in their own boats. This left Stone alone with Tara and Felicity.
“Shall we?” Tara said to Felicity.
“Oh, yes,” Felicity replied. “And, Stone, you can come, too.”
Stone’s cell phone chose that moment to ring. A check of the caller ID revealed it to be the managing partner of Woodman & Weld. “I have to take this call,” he said to the women. “I’ll join you as soon as I can get rid of him.”
The women seemed happy to start without him.
“Hello, Bill,” Stone said.
“What time is it there? Am I calling too late?”
“It’s eleven o’clock. What is it?”
“I’ve got Steele on a conference call, so I’m switching you in.”
He did so, before Stone could stop him.
“Stone?”
“Arthur,” he replied. Arthur Steele’s insurance companies were Stone’s largest and most boring account. He settled in for nearly an hour of hemming and hawing, then was finally released.
Weary, but looking forward to what was to come, Stone trudged up the stairs and turned the knob on the door of the master suite. It was locked. Never mind, he thought, I have a master key. He did, but it was not in his pocket; he realized he must have left it on his dresser. He rapped lightly on the door, waited, then rapped as hard as he felt he could without disturbing the Bacchettis. He put an ear to the thick, oaken door: nothing.
He tried, first, Tara’s cell phone, then Felicity’s. Both went straight to voicemail. “Unlock the door,” he responded to both of them.
He rested his forehead against the door and resisted the temptation to fall asleep standing up. Finally, with no other recourse, he wandered down the hallway and entered the nearest vacant guest room. He shed his Squadron mess kit, crawled into the bed, and was asleep almost instantly.
* * *
—
He awoke in a sunlit room, an hour later than he usually did, and found himself alone. He thought about it, then gathered his clothing and marched down the hall to the master suite and hammered on the door, not caring whom he woke.
After a minute or so, the door was opened by a sleepy Tara, who was naked. “What are you doing out there?” she asked. “We waited for you as long as we could.”
Stone walked into the room. “You locked me out,” Stone said.
“But you have a master key. You told me.”
“You’re right. I left it in my dressing room, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, baby,” she said, kissing him. “And we had such a good time. We both wished you were here. I don’t know how to order breakfast. Will you do it, please? I’d like another kipper with my eggs.”
Stone called down for breakfast, then got into a shower and a clean nightshirt, so as not to frighten the maid. Breakfast arrived in due course.
“Would you like a blow-by-blow description of last night?”
“Spare me,” Stone said.
“Well, suffice it to say, everything went swimmingly. I’ve never had such fun in bed.”
“Thank you. That tops off my morning.”
“I mean with another woman. It would have been even better with you here.” She squeezed his member. “This would have made all the difference!”
“Thank you, I take that very kindly.”
“What happened to you?”
“I got stuck on a meaningless conference call with Bill Eggers and my biggest client, Arthur Steele. I couldn’t have made much sense, because all I could think of was you two, upstairs.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, snuggling up to him. “Now, how can I make it up to you?”
Stone was about to tell her when breakfast arrived.
* * *
—
After the breakfast dishes were taken away, Stone made a move toward another foray, but his cell rang. He glanced at it. Felicity.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, my dear. What happened to you last night?”
“I got stuck on a boring conference call for an hour.”
“Well, it wasn’t boring upstairs,” she said, “and we would have enjoyed having you there, so to speak.”
“I’m sure I would have enjoyed it, too.”
“About your request regarding the resting place of your Mr. Trafficante. He is ensconced in the Oscar Wilde suite at the Savoy and will be there for the remainder of the week. I had two men with nothing to do, so I’ve posted them there. They will follow him wherever he goes and report directly to you.”
“I’m sorry to have put you to that trouble, Felicity.”
“No trouble at all, my dear. It keeps them on their toes. Otherwise, they’d probably just nod off in the break room.”
Stone thanked her again and hung up. “Salvatore is not at the Dorchester, but at the Savoy, in the Oscar Wilde suite, I daresay their most expensive accommodation.”
“Ah.”
He set down the phone and made another move on Tara. The phone rang again. Caller ID read: Private.
“Yes?”
“Is that Mr. Barrington?”
“It is.”
“My name is Jeffers. Dame Felicity directed my partner and me to keep you apprised of the movements of Mr. Trafficante.”
“Thank you, she mentioned that.”
“Mr. Trafficante, after a five-minute taxi ride, is occupied at his tailor’s, in Savile Row.”
“Thank you. If you could just note his movements and ring me this afternoon, I’d be grateful.”
“Of course, sir. Good day to you.”
Stone hung up, rolled over and reached for Tara, but her part of the bed was empty. He heard the shower turn on in her bathroom. He sighed deeply.
* * *
—
Later, in the afternoon, he had another call from Jeffers.
“Sir,” he said, “your Mr. Trafficante returned to the Savoy after his tailor’s visit and lunch at Cecconi’s, and has been ensconced for more than an hour with two young ladies, whom, I suspect, do most of their work in the evenings, if you take my meaning.”
“I do, and thank you,” Stone said, hanging up. At least somebody has a sex life, he reflected.
42
Stone’s mood did not improve during the remainder of the day, though he rallied at dinnertime. He, Tara, and the Bacchettis dined in the library and drank a bottle of claret and much of a bottle of port.
At bedtime, he and Tara went freely at each other. As they fell asleep finally, he felt he had made up most of the lost time of the night before. Tara was only one woman, but she was a considerable one, with robust appetites.
* * *
—
The following morning, after sex, breakfast, showering and dressing, he came across a sealed envelope addressed to him. It was from the local constabulary, and postmarked just after his departure from Britain on his last trip over. Inside was a laminated card with his photograph on it and a cover letter from his friend, Chief Constable Holmes.
Dear Stone,
Enclosed please find your long-awaited licence to bear firearms. It is effective in England, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and all British possessions and members of the Commonwealth for five years.
Kindly recall that it is a licence to carry, not to kill, and you are not, therefore, James Bond. It will, however, prevent your being arrested by any law enforcement official in the aforementioned places for going about armed.
With kind regards
Stone opened his briefcase and got out his passport, which was a diplomatic one, as a consequence of his consulting relationship with the director of Central Intelligence. He reckoned the two IDs, together, would keep him out of jail. He got into a suit and necktie and went downstairs to the library, where everybody was curled up with books.
“What are you all dressed up for?” Tara asked.
“I have to run up to London for a few hours.”
She leapt to her feet. “Oh, good, give me a minute while I get into something for the city.” She ran from the room before he could say, “But . . .”
“What are you doing in London?” Dino asked.
“Oh, not much. I’m going to murder Sal Trafficante, if I can get him to stand still long enough.”
“Right,” Dino said, turning a page. Viv didn’t bat an eye.
Tara returned quickly, and Stone went to the safe behind the picture, where there was a stash of cash, and removed a thick stack of sterling currency. “Here’s your budget for the day,” he said.
A stable hand had brought the Porsche around to the front of the house, and they got in. “Full tank,” he said.
&
nbsp; “What will you be doing in London?” Tara asked.
“Taking care of business,” Stone said, turning onto the road to the village, where he would pick up the motorway.
“Isn’t that an Elvis Presley song?” she asked.
“Not today,” Stone replied.
They were halfway to London on the motorway when Stone’s cell phone rang. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barrington, it’s Jeffers here.”
“Good morning.”
“I thought I would let you know, Mr. Trafficante has not had breakfast yet, and seems to be sleeping in this morning.”
“Thank you. Is the Oscar Wilde suite the one facing the river?”
“It is, sir.” Jeffers gave him directions from the front desk.
“Is there a suite next door to it?”
“Yes, sir. There is the Gilbert & Sullivan suite abutting it. I’m told that when the occasion requires, the two suites can be made into one, via a door, when unlocked from both sides.”
“Is it occupied?”
“I believe not. I saw a bellman take away luggage, and the maid is in there now.”
“Please go to the front desk, ask for the manager, and book me into that suite for two nights, using Dame Felicity’s name, if necessary. I assume you have been trained in the art of breaking and entering?”
“We call it access of opportunity,” Jeffers replied.
“I would like you to practice this art by entering the Oscar Wilde suite and unlocking the adjoining door to the Gilbert & Sullivan suite, without disturbing the occupant. Can you manage that?”
“Of course, sir,” Jeffers replied. “It shall be as you wish.”
They both hung up.
Tara was staring at him. “Stone . . .”
Stone raised a hand. “Stop,” he said. “Don’t ask. You did not hear that conversation and will forget everything you did not hear.”
“Where will I be while forgetting this?”