Insatiable Appetites

59

Stone closed his briefcase and took a few deep breaths. He was perspiring lightly, and he dabbed at his face with a tissue from the holder on his desk. Joan came into his office.

“This came for you by messenger,” she said, handing him a small wrapped package. “No return address.”

Stone accepted the package, waited for her to leave, then unwrapped it, exposing a plastic box. He examined the contents, then closed it and put it into his briefcase.

Joan buzzed him. “Fred is outside with the car and Mary Ann Bianchi,” she said. She peered into his face. “You don’t look so good. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Stone said. “Gotta run.” He left through the office’s outside door and got into the waiting Bentley.

“Good day,” Mary Ann said. He thought she didn’t look so good, either.

“And good day to you. Fred? You know where we’re going?”

“I do, sir,” Fred replied, and the car moved out smoothly.

“Why do you and I have to do this, Stone?” Mary Ann asked.

“Because there isn’t anybody else.”

“I suppose you’re right. I just hate doing it.”

“If we do it properly, we’ll only have to do it once.”

“Well, that’s comforting. Why do I have to go all the way there?”

“Because you’re the only person who can do what you have to do.”

“You’re right, I guess. I don’t know why I need to be told that, but I do.”

“It’s going to be all right, Mary Ann.”

“It’ll never be all right,” she said.

“In a week, it’ll be better. In a month, it’ll be better still. In six months, it’ll be like it never happened, I promise you.”

“Promises, promises,” she muttered.

As they approached the house, Stone said, “Fred, I want you to remain in the car, and I don’t want you to get out, no matter what happens. When I leave the house, I’ll open the car door myself. Don’t get out.”

“I understand, sir,” Fred replied.

The day had begun sunny, but now dark clouds were massing to the north, and Stone could see lightning in them. They were due for a nor’easter, according to the forecast.

They pulled into the drive, and Stone said, “Please open the trunk, Fred.” He got out and retrieved two umbrellas, then pressed the button that closed the trunk. “Ready?” he said to Mary Ann.

“No,” she said, “but I’ll put on the best face I can muster.”

Pietro met them at the door, put their umbrellas in a stand next to the front door, and escorted them to the library. “Lunch will be in here,” he said, indicating the table, already set. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Scotch,” Mary Ann said. “Rocks. Make it a double.”

Stone looked at her, alarmed. “A glass of sherry,” he said. “A chilled fino.” Eduardo had always kept that. Pietro left the room.

Stone looked at his watch; Dino’s men would be on the move by now. “Go easy on the booze, will you?” Stone said to Mary Ann. “I may need your help before this is done.”

“Don’t count on it,” she said. “I can feel myself coming undone.”

“Well, suck it up! We’re in this now, and there’s no help for it.”

“What about Pietro?”

“That will be taken care of.”

Pietro returned with two glasses on a silver tray. “Miss Bianchi will be down shortly,” he said, then left again.

Mary Ann sank into an armchair and tugged at her scotch; Stone stood at the fireplace, warming his ass. Rain began to beat against the windows.

“A perfect day for it,” Mary Ann said.

“A perfect day, if this were a bad movie.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” she said. “I want it to end.”

The main door opened, and Dolce swept into the room, wearing a tan cashmere dress and a necklace of emeralds. “Hello, hello,” she said, and turned to Pietro, who had silently entered the room again. “I’ll have a glass of champagne,” she said, “and you can put the bottle on the table.” She turned back to her guests. “And how is everyone today?”

Stone had never seen her bubbly before, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. “I’m just fine,” Stone said.

“Me, too,” Mary Ann replied, managing a weak smile.

“Sweetie,” Dolce said to her sister, “you don’t look all that well. Are you ailing?”

“No, I just didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m tired.”

“Guilty conscience?” Dolce asked, then laughed. She tossed off the champagne. “Let’s sit down. Soup is on its way.”

They all took seats at the table, and Stone put his briefcase next to his chair. Lobster bisque was served, laced with sherry; a good dish for a rainy day.

“Business now or later?” Stone asked.

“Oh, let’s finish lunch first, Stone,” Dolce said, “then we can hear what you have to say.”

“As you wish. How’s the painting going, Dolce?”

“Surprisingly well,” she replied. “I’m working faster than I usually do.”

They finished the soup, and Pietro reset the table, this time with large steak knives. Stone didn’t like the look of them.

Next he brought plates containing slabs of prime rib, a heavier lunch than Stone thought he could handle, but he tried. The knives were razor sharp, and they sliced through the thick meat as though it were warm butter. Pietro brought a decanter and poured a stout red that couldn’t be seen through. Everyone busied himself with eating; no one spoke until Mary Ann put down her knife. “I can’t eat any more,” she said.

Stone put down his knife, too, even though half his beef remained. “That was delicious,” he said.

“I’ll have Pietro wrap it up, so you can take it home,” Dolce said. “I notice your driver is still in the car. Can we give him some lunch in the kitchen?”

“He brought a sandwich,” Stone lied. “There’s a radio program he likes to listen to at this time of day.”

“What program?”

“One of those British game shows on Public Radio. Fred’s a Brit.”

“Oh, yes, he is, isn’t he?”

Pietro took their plates, then came back and asked if anyone would like dessert. “It’s zuppa inglese,” he said.

Stone shook his head. “Just coffee, please.”

Mary Ann asked for the same.

When coffee had come, Dolce put down her cup and said, “Now to business. What do you have for us, Stone?”

Stone set his briefcase on the table, opened it, and took out the new codicil that Eduardo had left. He left the case unlatched. “I have some news,” he said, “and I hope you won’t think it unpleasant. Mary Ann, Dolce, you have a sister.”

“What?” Mary Ann spat, sitting up straight.

“I know who you mean,” Dolce said. “It’s that little girl who used to come to lunch with her mother. What was her name?” She thought for a moment. “Carla!”

“That is correct,” Stone said, amazed that she had figured it out so quickly.

“What are you two talking about?” Mary Ann demanded.

“Many years ago, after your mother died, Eduardo had an affair for some years with a woman named Anna de Carlo Fontana. Together, they made a child, Carla.”

“You’re out of your mind!” Mary Ann said.

“No, he isn’t,” Dolce said. “I think I figured it out at the time, but I didn’t say anything. I kept waiting for Papa to say something, but he never did.”

Stone was surprised; for some reason, he had expected Dolce to refuse to accept the news, but it was Mary Ann who was resisting it. He held up the paper in his hand. “This is written in Eduardo’s own hand and properly witnessed.” He read it aloud to them. “So you see, Carla will have the same inheritance as you two and Ben.”

“You mean we have to give part of our inheritance to this girl?” Mary Ann asked, horrified.

“No, Eduardo’s will explicitly said that all bequests would be made after taxes were paid, and that the residue would go to the foundation. This just means that the foundation will get a smaller residue, but it will still have more than sufficient funds to operate as Eduardo wished.”

“Well, then,” Dolce said, “all is well, isn’t it?”

“Do we have to meet her?” Mary Ann asked.

“Only if you wish to.”

“Is she some penniless waif who will now be rich?”

“No, she is the New York Times’s bureau chief in Washington — a very substantial person.”

“I think it’s funny,” Dolce said.

Then there was a loud crash from the kitchen, and men were shouting.

Dolce reflexively picked up her steak knife, stood, and faced the door.

“Dolce, it’s all right,” Stone said.

“Shut up!” Dolce commanded, holding the knife in a defensive manner.

Oh, shit, Stone thought, it’s now or never.