Scandalous Behavior

25

Stone, knowing he had gone too far, e-mailed Susan:

He got an e-mail back, saying:

Stone had breakfast in bed, as usual, and read the Sunday papers. He was going to have to find out how to get the New York Times delivered in England, even if it was a day late.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. “Come in!”

Peter came into the room. “Ben had a thought last night that might play into your decision about whether to buy Curtis House.”

Stone almost yelled, but caught himself. “Yes?”

“If I use the big house in my film, Ben thinks we can charge a substantial part of the renovations to my budget, without raising the studio’s hackles.”

“That’s certainly an attractive idea,” Stone said, “but, speaking as a board member, I think you should be frank with Centurion about what you’re doing and get specific approvals in advance of building that into your budget. It might also help to have Susan prepare a room-by-room budget. You certainly won’t be using the whole house. Also, you shouldn’t plunge ahead on your script until you know who is going to own the house. I don’t think Dr. Don would be open to your using it.”

“Good point, Dad. Are you getting out of bed today?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Why don’t you and I take a ride after lunch?”

“Horse or Porsche?”

“I was thinking horse. Nobody else seems much interested. Hattie has discovered your Steinway, and she wants to work on some ideas she has for the score of the film, and I think Ben plans to spend the afternoon screwing his girl.”

“You’re on, kiddo.”

They rode across the meadow in front of the house and into the woods, along a well-beaten trail. It was cool under the trees, and they slowed to a walk to better enjoy the air.

“Dad, what’s that?” Peter asked. He was pointing at a small structure.

“That,” Stone said, “is the hermitage, where the hermit lived.”

“Hermit?”

Stone turned his horse and rode slowly toward the little house, while he told Peter about the killing of Sir Richard Curtis and the confession and suicide of the hermit, Wilfred Burns. He gave him all the background on the service in the Royal Marines of Burns, Curtis, and Sir Charles Bourne.

“That’s fascinating,” Peter said as he dismounted and tied his reins to a bush. “I think I can use that story.”

Stone tied his horse, and they tried the door to the house. It was unlocked, and they walked in. Stone had expected a hovel, and he was surprised to see how well the space was used and how neat the place was. It was, essentially, one room; there was a kitchenette in a corner, a woodstove, a small desk, and a single comfortable chair. There were built-in bookcases holding volumes that seemed mostly about military history. There was a tiny cupboard that held some military uniforms and a Squadron mess kit, along with some rougher clothing, and a sleeping loft had been built at one end, with a small bathroom underneath.

“This is what I call simple living,” Peter said. “I don’t think I could ever get along with so few possessions.”

“Nor I,” Stone said, “but I admire him for doing it. I think it must be part of his penance for the behavior that ruined his career.”

“What did the police think was the brigadier’s motive for killing Richard Curtis?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know, and the police inspector never mentioned one. His suicide seemed to bring the investigation to a screeching halt, and when I last spoke to Inspector Holmes, I thought I detected a note of relief in his voice.”

“Are you going to seek out a new hermit for the place?”

“No, I think I’ll wait and see if one comes to me.”

They had a look around the exterior and found a shed containing a couple of chain saws and some hand tools.

“He earned his keep here as a woodcutter,” Stone explained to Peter.

They went back to their horses and mounted up, then rode on. As they passed within sight of the airfield, a twin-engine Piper Navajo came in and touched down, and Sir Charles and the new Lady Bourne got out, as Stan arrived with the Land Rover.

Stone rode over to meet them and introduced Peter. “I hope the honeymoon went well,” he said. Charles, he thought, looked a little tired and perhaps a bit thinner, but then, the groom was supposed to be worn out after the honeymoon.

“We had a wonderful time, Stone,” Elizabeth said, “and Marie was very kind to us, as well. We can’t thank you enough.”

They got into the Land Rover and drove toward Charles’s cottage, and the airplane started up, took off, and headed south, toward France.

Stone and Peter rode on, passing the cemetery and the Norman church beyond. They had a good view of Curtis Hall from there.

“Why don’t we jump that wall and ride around the Curtis estate?” Peter asked.

“I think it would be more neighborly to ask permission first,” Stone said, and as they watched, Lady Curtis came out the front door with four people who, somehow, looked American. She waved at Stone and Peter, and they waved back, then she beckoned to them and waved her arm in a sweep, as if to say, “Come ride on my property.”

They jumped the horses over the wall and walked on, as the group got into a limousine and drove away, passing a few yards ahead of their path.

“They looked American,” Peter said.

“I thought so, too,” Stone replied, “and the tall one looked like pictures I’ve seen of Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun.”

“Oh, shit,” Peter said.