Scandalous Behavior

4

Susan showed him a swatch of antiqued leather. “I thought this for the sofa that was in the room.”

“I like it,” Stone said.

“The late Lady Bourne had turned this into a nest of Victorian frilliness, which made my skin crawl. I think, in view of the gender of the new owner, something a little more masculine would be better.”

“I agree.” Stone was standing next to a window, and something outside caught his eye. He squinted and saw a man in some sort of tattered cowl crossing the lawn, carrying a heavy staff. “Who do you suppose that is?” he asked Susan.

“Oh, that’s just Wilfred, the hermit. He lives in a little hut in the woods that Charles built for him.”

“A hermit?”

“A lot of the big estates had them in the past. It’s supposed to be good luck to have a hermit living on the property. He doesn’t bother anyone, and no one bothers him. I think he stops at the kitchen for food on a regular basis, though. Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

“If you say so,” Stone said. “I’ll look for him on the list of furnishings being conveyed.”

“Speaking of furnishings, Charles has a rather nice art collection that I assume will come with the house. It’s mostly middling stuff, chosen because Charles liked them, not for investment purposes. He does have a middling Constable, though — one of his many renderings of Salisbury Cathedral, and he has a very nice Turner. I’ve sent the best things out for cleaning and, in some cases, minor restoration. A lot of cigars have been smoked in this house over the decades, and smoke doesn’t do much for pictures.”

“Good.” Stone looked at his watch. “It’s time for me to make some calls to New York,” he said. “Will you excuse me for a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

Stone went into the dressing room, took out his iPhone, checked for a signal, and called the managing partner of Woodman & Weld, Bill Eggers.

“Are you back?” Eggers asked.

“Not yet. It’ll be another week or so.”

“Having fun?”

“Italy wasn’t much fun. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

“Where are you now?”

“In Hampshire, in England. God help me, Bill, I’ve bought another house.”

“Good God.”

“I’m going to balance things out, though, by selling you my house in Washington, Connecticut.”

“I didn’t even know you had a house in Washington, Connecticut, but I like the village very much. So does my wife.”

“Run up there and have a look at it this weekend. Stay for a couple of nights. You’ll love it. Joan will send over the keys and the security code.”

“What the hell, all right. What do you want for it?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be cheap, for Washington, Connecticut. I’ll hold off listing it until I hear from you. In the meantime, will you call the London office and have them give me a bright young real estate lawyer to close this sale? Tell him to call me on my cell. I’m going up there in a day or two, and I’ll want to see him.”

“I’ll take care of that now.”

“See you next week sometime.” He hung up and called his broker, Ed.

“Good morning, Stone.”

“Good afternoon. I’m in England, and I’m buying a house, so I have to move some money to my London account at Coutts & Company.”

“How much do I have to shake loose?”

“Ten and a half million pounds, not dollars.”

“Good, the pound is down against the dollar right now.”

“I’ll leave it to you which stocks to unload. Try not to make me any capital gains, though.”

“All right, Stone, I’ll get right on it. I’ll want a written confirmation for this big a transfer, though.”

“Will a handwritten note do?”

“That will be fine.”

“Hang on a minute.” He covered the phone and yelled, “Susan?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a working fax machine in the house?”

“Yes, down in the property manager’s office.”

“Okay, Ed, you’ll have it in a few minutes. Start selling.”

“Will do.”

They both hung up, and Stone called Joan.

“Are you still in Rome?”

“No, now I’m in England for a week or so.”

Joan sighed. “I suppose you’re buying another house.”

“How did you guess?”

“Oh, God, you don’t mean it!”

“I’m afraid so. Don’t worry, I’m going to sell the Washington, Connecticut, place to Bill Eggers.”

“Has he agreed to buy it?”

“Not yet, but wait until he sees it.”

“When are you coming home?”

“A week or so, don’t rush me. Oh, will you go up to my dressing room and overnight me a couple of tweed jackets and my riding clothes and boots? I’m wearing borrowed clothes, and they stink of tobacco. Send them to the Connaught, in London. Mark the package ‘Hold for arrival.’”

“Anything else?”

“Include another evening shirt and a couple of turtleneck sweaters, please.”

“Right.”

“See you next week, maybe late next week.”

“Bye-bye.”

He rejoined Susan. “Where will I find the fax machine?”

“I’ll take you down and introduce you to Major Bugg.”

“He’s the property manager?”

“Oh, yes, very much so. He’s ex — Royal Marines.”

Stone took the elevator down to the lower level of the house with her. “This is newly installed,” she said.

“Good idea.”

Major Bugg didn’t snap to attention, but he did rise from his desk. He seemed in his mid-fifties, cropped gray hair, military mustache, three-piece tweed suit, gold watch chain. Susan introduced them.

“How do you do, Mr. Barrington?”

“Very well, thank you. I expect you and I should sit down and have a talk about the place later on, but right now I need to send a fax. May I have a sheet of the house letterhead, please?”

Bugg handed him a sheet, and he scrawled instructions to his broker, looked up the fax number on his iPhone, and Bugg sent it for him. He took care to retrieve the original note after it went through. “There,” he said, “that’s enough business for one day.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Susan said, handing him a card. “My numbers in London.”

Stone gave her his own card. “How about tomorrow evening?”

“That would be fine.”

“I’m staying at the Connaught. May we meet in the bar there at, say, seven o’clock?”

“Yes, that would be convenient.” She came with him to the front door, where Stan awaited with the cart.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you in London.”

“I, too,” she said.