Distant Thunder

39

They packed at bedtime, Stone having little to pack. Someone came and got Vanessa’s boxes and bags and put them on the cart for loading on the morrow.

“Well,” Vanessa said, sliding into bed with Stone. “It was a brief visit, but an enjoyable one.”

He turned to greet her. “And never more enjoyable than right here.”

They enjoyed themselves again and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

They were awakened for breakfast at five and boarded the airplane while the luggage was loaded aft. Lance sat up forward, so he could see the pilots.

Stone sat down beside him. “Do you fly, Lance?”

“Do you mean myself? With my hands on the controls?”

“Yes.”

“No. I was trained for it but was too busy to keep up with the training schedule to stay current.” Lance handed him a fresh copy of yesterday’s New York Times. “The crossword is virginal,” he said.

Stone joined Vanessa across the aisle and shared the paper with her.

“I see the Times has stopped printing John’s death notice,” she said.

“Lance probably checked the three-day option on the form, thinking that was enough to get the word into the air.” He thought about that. “Still, there was the attempt on Jack at Islesboro, and that was after the notice ran.”

“I wonder if they’ve found him yet,” she said.

“Who, the Russians?”

“Da.”

“I think Lance would have heard by now.”

“You have a point,” she said, filching the arts section, which contained the crossword, and burying her nose in a fashion piece.

They raced the sun across the Atlantic and called it a tie at Teterboro. The airplane was towed into the Strategic Services hangar, where they and their luggage deplaned. Lance had his own car waiting to take him to the heliport.

Back in the city, Fred dropped Vanessa and her goods at her building, where she gave Stone a grateful, luscious kiss, along with her thanks. “Don’t call until tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll be sleeping until then.”

Fred drove to Turtle Bay and circled the block twice, before pulling into the garage and closing the door behind them. Stone’s phone was buzzing as he sat down in his office.

“Dino for you on one,” Joan said.

“Good afternoon,” Stone said.

“You’re back?”

“Only just at this moment.”

“Dinner at P. J. Clarke’s at seven?”

“Done.”

They both hung up. Joan came into the office. “I hope it wasn’t too much fun,” she said.

“It was too brief to have been too much fun, but it was very pleasant.”

“It’s been quiet here. Various figures seemed to be casing the house the first couple of days. Then, I guess, they figured you had skipped town, so they vanished. Was there a reception committee on the other side of the pond?”

“An accidental one. We went out to dinner and the person we least wanted to see was sitting across the room. We don’t know if he saw us, but we decamped this morning, just in case.”

“I’ve had an offer on my house for twenty-two mil,” she said.

“Tell Margot to throw a net over the bidder before he escapes.”

“You mean I should accept the offer?”

“Immediately and with both hands.”

“I’ll instruct Margot.” She went back to her desk.

Stone read his mail and returned his calls, then Joan came back. “Margot got him up to twenty-three point five mil, mostly furnished,” she said. “And she’s thrown a net over him. We close next week.”

“I think you’d better put that check in the bank. Our safes here are full to overflowing with your cash.”

“Oh, I’ve been slowly toting it to various banks. All that’s left is your money.”

He gave her back the sterling she had sent with him.

“Why, you hardly spent anything.”

“Wait until you see the Amex bill,” he said.