Foreign Affairs

by Stuart Woods

  “I shipped all that ahead.”

  “Where’s your apartment?”

  “In the Pantheon district.”

  “Nice.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Hassler Villa Medici.”

  “Very nice.”

  The airplane rolled onto the runway and accelerated. Shortly, the attendant brought them dinner menus.

  “I’m starved,” Hedy said, opening the menu. “How about you?”

  “I had a first course before my secretary called and told me I had to go to Rome.”

  “No luggage?”

  “Not even a briefcase. I was lucky my passport was in my jacket pocket. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Several,” she said. “I’m terrified of flying.”

  “You don’t look terrified.”

  “I guess you’re a calming influence,” she said. “I know bourbon is.”

  Stone ordered two double bourbons.

  3

  The cabin lights came on, and a voice blared over the loudspeakers, first in Italian, then: “Ladies and gentlemen, we will land in Rome in approximately one hour. Breakfast will now be served.”

  Stone realized there was a head on his shoulder. She made a noise and sat up. “Did she say breakfast?”

  “We ordered it last night, don’t you remember?”

  “I remember only bourbon, but I don’t remember how many.”

  “Don’t ask.”

  A flight attendant set omelets before them and they ate hungrily.

  “How do you feel?” Stone asked when their plates had been taken away.

  “Nearly human.”

  —

  They deplaned and walked toward baggage claim. She was pulling a carry-on.

  “Do you have any checked luggage?” Stone asked.

  “No, I sent it with the painting stuff.”

  “Smart. Can I give you a lift into the city?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked through customs without incident, and Stone saw a man holding a sign with his name on it. A couple of minutes later they were in a large Mercedes sedan.

  “You travel well,” she said. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an attorney.”

  “What firm?”

  “Woodman & Weld.”

  “They represent my stepfather,” she said.

  “Who’s your stepfather?”

  “His name is Arthur Steele.”

  “I’m his lawyer. I represent the Steele insurance group.”

  “I believe this is where I say, ‘Small world.’”

  “Not yet—my mother was a painter.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Matilda Stone. Now you can say it.”

  “Small world. I know her stuff from the American Collection at the Metropolitan.”

  “Come over to my house when you get back to New York, and I’ll show you another dozen.”

  “Beats etchings.” She got out her phone and made a call, then hung up. “Shit.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “My apartment rental doesn’t start until the day after tomorrow. They had told me I could probably get in a couple of days early, but nooooo.”

  “I’ll put you up at the Hassler, if you like. I don’t know what kind of accommodations I have yet, but there’s probably a sofa.”

  “For me or for you?”

  “For you.”

  “Well, I guess if you’re my stepfather’s lawyer you can’t do anything terrible to me.”

  “I think that was part of my oath. I can’t do anything terrible to a client’s daughter.”

  “You’re on.”

  —

  An hour later, after fighting Roman rush-hour traffic, they pulled up in front of the Hassler. Stone presented himself at the front desk.

  “Good morning, Mr. Barrington. We got your call last night, and we’ve given you the only suite left in the hotel. Do you have any luggage?”

  “Just the lady’s,” Stone said, indicating his companion. “My luggage won’t be here until tomorrow. Do you think your concierge can find me a pair of boxer shorts, size 36, a pair of black socks, and a white shirt, size 16-35?”

  “Certainly, sir. There’s a shop in the hotel, and if they don’t have your sizes, I’ll send a boy down into the Via Condotti, where there are many shops. Let me show you to your suite.”

  The man led them to an elevator and to the top floor. He used a key in a door and ushered them into an enormous living room.

  “Are you sure this is all you have left?” Stone asked.

  “This is our Presidential Suite San Pietro. It’s inadequate, I know, but I’m afraid it’s the best we can offer. We’re booked up for another ten days.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to make do, I guess.”

  “Look,” Hedy said, “there’s a second bedroom—my virtue is safe!”

  The man handed over a key. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I’d like to have my clothes pressed, my laundry done, and my shoes polished. I have a board meeting at noon.”

  “Certainly. I’ll send up the valet.” He departed, a fifty-dollar bill in his pocket.

  “I’ve got to find a cash machine and get some euros,” Stone said, half to himself. “Excuse me, I have to get out of these clothes.”

  “Already?” Hedy asked. “And I thought my virtue was safe.”

  Stone found a robe in his bathroom and stripped off everything. When he got back to the living room the doorbell was ringing. He gave his clothes to the valet, with instructions to press his suit, shine his shoes, and launder his other things.

  The man accepted the clothes and handed him a shopping bag. “See if these things are satisfactory,” he said.

  Stone inspected the contents. “Perfect.” He sent the man off with another of his fifties.

  Hedy had emerged from her bedroom in her own robe. “You overtip.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Ronald Reagan’s trickledown theory?”

  “Yes, I’ve just never seen it in operation. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some sleep in a real bed.”

  “Of course. Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?”

  “I can refuse you nothing,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  “We’ll see,” Stone called after her.

  The doorbell rang again, and an envelope was slid under the door. Stone opened it to find the agenda for his board meeting. There was only one item: “Consideration of a potential site for a new Arrington Hotel in Rome.” It was the first he’d heard of it.

  He went to his own bedroom and left a wakeup call for eleven AM. He had two hours to sleep, and he wasted no time becoming unconscious.

  4

  Stone swam up out of a sound sleep and wondered where he was and what that unfamiliar sound meant. He followed it to a telephone. “Yes?” he croaked.

  “Your eleven o’clock call, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Thank you.” He hung up and stared at the ceiling until his eyes were fully focused, then he got up and went into the large bathroom. Several toiletry items had been laid out, and he managed a shave followed by a shower that fully woke him. He went back to his room and changed into his new underwear, socks, and shirt, tied his tie, and slipped into his freshly pressed clothes. Quite presentable, he thought, gazing into the mirror.

  He went into the living room and saw it as if for the first time: beautiful paneling, exquisite fabrics, and a large painting over the sofa. He walked out onto his terrace and got the full effect of the Roman sunshine and spring air, then he went and sat at his desk, forgetting for a moment that his briefcase and laptop were en route. He took his iPhone off the hotel’s charger and checked his e-mail. One from Dino.
>
  I hope the service was as good in Rome as it was in New York.

  Not nearly as good, Stone replied, and I thank you again.

  The others could wait.

  Hedy’s bedroom door was ajar; he peeked inside, and saw only a large lump in the bed. He closed it and left the suite, putting the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob.

  He walked down the hall, found the meeting room, and walked in. Half a dozen men and two women were seated around the conference table. The man at the head of the table, his friend Marcel duBois, rose to greet him.

  “Ah, Stone, I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice.”

  “You have no idea,” Stone said, embracing him.

  “Please have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair next to his, “and we will start.”

  Stone sat down.

  “Our purpose for being here,” Marcel said, “is to discuss and inspect a potential site for an Arrington Hotel in Rome.” He stood and flipped back a page on an easel to reveal a map of Rome. “This,” he said, pointing to a red dot, “is the Hassler Villa Medici. This,” he said, pointing to a blue dot a short distance away, “is our site. Just the other side of the church next door, on the edge of the Borghese Gardens.”

  There was a murmur of approval from the group.

  “Marcel,” a woman said, “how on earth did you manage such a site?”

  “Approval had been given to another hotel group to build there, but there were difficulties that could not be resolved. We have the opportunity to buy a hundred-year lease on the land, and there is already planning approval, in principle, for a hotel of two hundred rooms and eight stories.”

  “What difficulties?” someone asked. “Why would any self-respecting group let go of such a property?”

  “You will recall that, until recently, we were in a terrible recession, and Europe has not recovered nearly so quickly as the United States. At a time when others are retrenching, the Arrington Group has the resources to invest.”

  Stone knew that the resources mentioned were Marcel’s, inherited from his father and greatly increased by the son, and his own, inherited from his late wife, Arrington Calder Barrington, and her late husband, the film star Vance Calder, and swollen by a burgeoning stock market.

  Marcel mentioned the price.

  “Move to buy it,” Stone said reflexively.

  “Second,” someone called out.

  “Yea,” everyone else shouted.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Marcel said, “you have made my job easy. Shall we adjourn to the site and inspect it?”

  —

  Ten minutes and a short walk later they were surveying the view over Rome from the hilltop of the Borghese Gardens.

  “You will have to imagine, ladies and gentlemen,” Marcel said, “the view from our rooftop restaurant, which will be as good as that of the Hassler.”

  Everyone turned and looked at the half-built skeleton of the abandoned project.

  “Our architects tell me that we can utilize all of the previous structure, with some judicious additions.”

  “Marcel, this is brilliant,” someone said.

  “Thank you so much. Now shall we adjourn to the Hassler for some lunch?”

  The group returned to the hotel, where a convivial luncheon ran on until mid-afternoon.

  As the party broke up, Stone pulled Marcel aside. “You mentioned that the previous group had ‘difficulties.’ What were they?”

  “Financial, mostly,” Marcel said, avoiding Stone’s eye.

  “And what are you not telling me?”

  “I can tell you that those difficulties have been resolved as a result of our purchase. Now all that remains is for each of us to deposit a very large sum of cash in the Arrington account, and we’re off.” He handed Stone a letter that was a formal request for Stone’s investment.

  Stone looked at his watch. “It’s early in New York. Is today soon enough?”

  Marcel squeezed his arm. “I knew I could rely on your support, my good friend.”

  —

  Stone returned to his suite, faxed the letter to Joan with an approval to transfer the money, then found Hedy camped on the living room sofa, drinking coffee. “I’m glad to see you awake,” he said, joining her and pouring himself some coffee.

  “Awake is too strong a word, but the coffee is helping,” she replied. “How did your board meeting go?”

  “Swimmingly. We approved the purchase of a property quite near here for the construction of a new Arrington.”

  “I’ve visited the Arrington in L.A., but not the one in Paris. Will the new Rome Arrington meet their standards?”

  “We have a Frenchman in charge who has impeccable taste and unlimited resources. He will devote himself to that task, and all I will have to do is enjoy it when it’s done.” He looked at his watch. “Can you be ready for dinner at seven-thirty?”

  “Probably. Will an LBD do?”

  “A Little Black Dress will be fine.”

  —

  She reappeared in the living room wearing a quite spectacular LBD and very beautiful jewelry. He escorted her down the hall to the restaurant, which was on the same floor. Shortly they were seated at a table with a view, in the distance, of St. Peter’s Basilica. A moon hung over the city, and the drinks were good. They had just finished their first course when Hedy pointed past him. “What’s that?” she asked.

  He turned and followed her finger. Just past the church a bright light was burning. “Something appears to be on fire,” Stone said.

  5

  After an excellent dinner, Stone signed the bill and stood up. “Do you mind if we take a short walk?” he asked Hedy.

  “Not at all.”

  They took the elevator downstairs and walked past the church, where they found the smoking ruin of the half-built hotel that Stone, with Marcel, had just bought. A single fire truck was spraying water on the smoking ruin, and Marcel was standing alone, disconsolately watching.

  Stone approached and introduced Marcel and Hedy. “What happened?” he asked.

  “It burned down.”

  “Do we know why?”

  Marcel shook his head. “There’s a bright side, though.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “We can rebuild immediately. All we have to do is to occupy the same footprint. The architects will like that, since they won’t be stuck with the previous floor plans.”

  “Whose insurance is going to cover this?”

  “The previous owner’s. We’re not due to close until the day after tomorrow. They should clear the lot, as well. If you’ll excuse me, I want to go and speak to the architects in New York. We have the construction company lined up, but I want to see if we can start them with the plans we have.” Marcel shook hands and got into his car, and Stone and Hedy started back to the Hassler.

  “Why only one fire truck?” she asked.

  “I don’t know—that would have been a three-alarm fire in New York.”

  —

  When they were back in the suite, Hedy turned her back. “Will you unzip me, please?”

  “It’s one of the things I do best,” Stone replied, unzipping the dress and kissing her on the shoulder.

  “Do I have to sleep in the guest room tonight?”

  “You will be most welcome in the master suite.”

  “I’ll be with you shortly.”

  Stone filled out the breakfast card, hung it on the doorknob, and was already in bed when Hedy slipped in beside him and cuddled close. She was tall and slim, and they fit well together.

  “Sorry about your virtue,” Stone said, turning toward her.

  “That’s all right, I can always get it back later,” she said.

  —

  The following morning they were awakened by the doorbell. Sto
ne got into a robe and let room service wheel the tray into the bedroom. He signed the check and sent the waiter on his way. “May I serve you?” he asked Hedy.

  “What a good idea,” she said, rearranging the pillows. “What are we having?”

  “Eggs Benedict.”

  “Good choice.”

  “When is your apartment available?”

  “I spoke to the agent. I can get in tomorrow.”

  “Do you have to?”

  “Not necessarily. What did you have in mind?”

  “The weather forecast is good. Why don’t we rent a car and drive down to Positano, on the Amalfi Coast, for a couple of days? Have you ever been there?”

  “No, what’s it like?”

  “It’s better if you experience it, instead of my attempting to describe it. Do you have enough clothes?”

  “What will I need?”

  “Only a bikini.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think I can dine in a bikini, but I should be able to get by on what I have in my carry-on. What about you?”

  “My luggage should be delivered this morning. We can head south after lunch.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They made love again after breakfast, then Stone’s luggage arrived, and he unpacked, then packed again for Positano.

  The phone rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s Marcel. Good morning.”

  “And to you, as well. How did you do with the architects?”

  “We’re in good shape there. They’re doing a quick review of the lower floors, and we’ll be ready to start in a week. The construction company is on hold.”

  “I thought I would rent a car and go down to Positano for a couple of days. Can you proceed without me?”

  “Of course, and I’ll lend you a car—no need to rent. When would you like it?”

  “One o’clock?”

  “The Hassler doorman will have it for you.”

  They said goodbye and hung up. Stone called the concierge and asked him to book them into Le Sirenuse, in Positano, then he arranged to cash a check for three thousand euros at the front desk. Stone put a thousand into his pocket and the rest into his briefcase, along with his passport, international driving license and checkbook, laptop, and a spare wristwatch.