Wild Card

10

At dinner on Sunday night, Craig Calvert stood and raised his glass. “To Stone Barrington,” he said, “and all of you.” They drank. “Stone, you’ve been a marvelous host. Vanessa, Mick, and I thank you for all you’ve done. A car is coming for us tomorrow morning at five AM, since we have to be at Pinewood at seven. Our parting gift to you is not to wake you.” He sat down, and they enjoyed a good dinner.

The following morning just after five, Stone woke to the sound of car doors slamming and an engine starting. A moment later, all was silence again. But now he was awake and sleep did not seem to want to return. He looked at the sleeping woman next to him, one arm thrown out in his direction, and decided it was too early to suggest sex. Instead, he got up, showered, dressed in riding clothes, then called down to the stables for a horse.

Fifteen minutes later he was galloping through a cloud of ground mist, turned a beautiful color by the rising sun. He reviewed the past few weeks in his mind and decided it was time to get back to reality.

They had breakfast in the kitchen. “Well,” Stone said, “all the glamour has left the house. We may as well go home.”

“I need to get back anyway,” Viv said, “and so does Dino, even if he won’t admit it.”

“And I have corrections to make to my manuscript,” Jamie said.

“Then it’s unanimous. Breakfast at eight tomorrow, wheels up at nine. Given the time difference and the fuel stop and light headwinds, we should be at Teterboro by mid-afternoon, just in time to avoid rush hour going into the city.”

Back at Turtle Bay, Stone had Fred take his and Jamie’s bags upstairs, then he went to his office to see Joan and check his mail and messages. Bob Cantor was waiting for him. They shook hands and sat down.

“How’s it going, Bob?” Stone asked.

“Not as well as I would have liked. The Thomases trashed my house and workshop, so I took you up on your invitation to stay upstairs, and I’ve been driving a rented car. I had begun to think things were cooling off, so I hatched a plan to find out for sure. I followed the receptionist I used to pass on my copy machine visits to P.J. Clarke’s, and made her acquaintance, suitably disguised. We had dinner, and I slipped a throwaway phone in her handbag, along with some cash, by way of an apology for casting suspicion on her, and we talked later.

“I gave her my throwaway number, and yesterday she called and wanted to meet for dinner at Clarke’s. I parked my rent-a-car at the corner of Fifty-fourth and Third, half an hour early, and waited for her to show up. I watched three men take up stations within half a block of P. J.’s. Then, when she showed up, she got out of a black SUV with heavily tinted windows and went inside.

“I phoned her and asked how she had traveled uptown. She said she had taken the subway. I canceled dinner and hung up. Suddenly, I had three guys closing in on me. I started the car, drove it a couple of blocks, then got a cab, so I’m still in one piece.”

“Apparently, your generosity was inadequate,” Stone said.

“That, or they started putting pressure on her again. They had already done that after the fire. I guess she was more fragile than I thought, and she caved.”

“Good moves covering yourself,” Stone said. “I wouldn’t go back for the car. Call the rental company and report it stolen. It’ll find its way home. I take it you used another name.”

“Sure. I’m disappointed about the girl, though. She was nice. Under other circumstances, who knows?”

“They’ll do that, but don’t stop trying. They’re worth it.”

“Can you put up with me for a few more days?”

“As long as you like.”

“I’ll be invisible.” Bob left, and Stone went back to his mail.

Stone had a sandwich at his desk, and around five, Jamie walked in with a fat manuscript under her arm. “I finished it,” she said. “The corrections were almost entirely technical.”

“Lucky you.”

“I’ll get Joan to messenger it to Scott, if that’s all right.”

“Sure.”

She went into Joan’s office, but she was back a minute later, and they went up to his study for a drink.

“What happens now?” Stone asked.

“Scott and Jeremy will read it, then it will go through rigorous fact-checking. When that’s done, it will go to my publisher, and I’ll get a nice check.”

“What are your plans while you’re waiting?”

“Whatever you’d like them to be,” she replied.

“I’m happiest when you’re around.”

“I’ll stop by my place tomorrow and check out the mail, though all I ever get is bills and trash.”

“Why don’t you get someone to do that for you?” Stone asked.

“Do you think there’s still a problem?”

“They’re still looking for Bob Cantor. They could be looking for you, too.”

“I’ll get my secretary to pick it up and bring it here.”

“No, have her take it to your office and go through it. She can messenger over here what you need to see. Or if you want to go to the office, Fred will drive you there and bring you back.”

“I think I’ll do that,” she said. “I was hoping this would be over.”

“So was I, but I don’t think it is. Have you got a pub date for your book?”

“They’re going to rush it, so four weeks after they get the final manuscript.”

“Good. You can work on your autobiography, and when the book comes out, it will be over. That’s my best guess, anyway. They’ll have nothing to gain once the book is in print.”

“Jeremy thinks the Thomases will try for an injunction to stop publication.”

“They won’t get it. In Britain, they probably would because they have stricter libel laws there. Anyway, their attempt to stop publication would be good publicity for the book.”

“We’ll play it for all it’s worth.”

“How are you feeling? Any jet lag?”

“Just a little tired.”

“The trick, flying west, is to stay up as long as you can, then get a good night’s sleep.”

“Then you’ll have to think of something to keep me awake,” she said.

“I’ll think about nothing else, until bedtime,” he replied.