Class Act

38

Finally, everyone went upstairs. Bob curled up in his bed beside the fireplace.

Tara seemed to like the master suite. “I like the master suite,” she said.

“I’m glad. It likes you, too.”

She came out of her dressing room wearing a black sheath nightgown.

“It likes you better without the nightgown,” he said.

She stopped at the bedside, shucked off the shoulder straps, and let it fall to the floor. “Like this?”

“Like that,” Stone said, pulling her to him and kissing her on the belly, then working his way down.

“Mmmm, I’m glad you like that,” Tara said, doing what she could to help him. “Tell me about Dame Felicity Devonshire,” she said.

Stone stopped what he was doing. “Now?”

“Oh, okay, let’s finish, then you can tell me about her.”

He finished, and she expressed approval and appropriate gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Now Dame Felicity. How old is she? Let’s start with that.”

“No one knows,” Stone said.

“I bet I could find out.”

“You might want to steer away from that inquiry. It’s probably covered by the Official Secrets Act.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s a document that about half the British population has signed, swearing not to reveal any Official Secrets. Violating it could get you sent to prison.”

“Do you know how old she is?”

“Probably, but for reasons just stated I cannot discuss the subject.”

“Is she younger or older than I? Is that an ‘Official Secret’?”

“Maybe not, but I can only guess.”

“Which?”

“It’s probably best to say that she is of an indeterminate age.”

“Ah. Older, then.”

“You said that, not I.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing indeterminate about that.”

“Does she like men?”

“Certainly.”

“Does she like women?”

“Now, there we’re straying into Official Secrets territory again.”

“So she likes women, as well as men?”

“Why do you want to know? Are you aiming at seducing her?”

“I don’t know, yet. Would she object, if I did?”

“Probably not.”

“Would you object if I seduced her?”

“Not if I can watch.”

Tara laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather help?”

“It’s my nature to be helpful,” Stone replied.

“Does she work?”

“Oh, yes, ah... Do you mean does she have a job?”

“I do.”

“She works for the British government, in the Foreign Office.”

“What’s the Foreign Office?”

“It’s like our State Department. It conducts foreign affairs.”

“What does she do in the Foreign Office?”

“She holds an executive position.”

“Why are you trying so hard not to tell me what she does? Is it an Official Secret?”

“It used to be, until a newspaper printed the name of one of her predecessors. After that, there hardly seemed to be a point.”

“Then, if I can read it in a newspaper, you shouldn’t mind telling me.”

“All right, if we were living in a James Bond novel, she would be called ‘M.’ She is the director of MI-6, which is the foreign intelligence service.”

“Like our CIA?”

“Yes.”

“Is there an MI something else?”

“There’s MI-5, which is the domestic intelligence service, sort of like our FBI. “I don’t know if there are other MIs.”

“Dame Felicity sounds more and more interesting,” Tara said.

“She is certainly ‘more and more interesting,’ ” Stone agreed.

“She sounds very smart.”

“She is that, and a specialty of hers is upending persons who fail to perceive that.”

“I like smart, beautiful women,” Tara said.

“That makes two of us.”

She stretched out beside him and fondled his nether region. “I believe, as the saying goes, I owe you one.”

“You’re halfway there,” Stone said, making himself available.

When Stone awoke the curtains had been pulled back, and sunlight was streaming through the windows. Tara was still naked and laying out her riding habit on her side of the bed.

“Good morning,” she said.

“And to you. I take it you would like to go riding this morning.”

“I would.”

“May I persuade you to have some breakfast first?”

“You may. I’d like what is called on hotel menus, a ‘full English breakfast.’ ”

“With or without a kipper?”

“You want to have sex during breakfast?” she asked.

“A kipper is a smoked herring.”

“With breakfast?”

“It’s very popular with breakfast.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try.”

Stone called down and ordered.

Breakfast arrived. Tara tasted her kipper and was pleased.

“I’m glad.”

“I saw something last night.”

“Asleep or awake?”

“I think awake, but I can’t be sure.”

“What did you see?”

“I got out of bed and pulled back that curtain,” she said, pointing at a window.

“What did you see?”

“The lawn was moonlit, and I saw a figure run across it.”

“A figure? A figure of what?”

“A figure of a man. At least, I think it was a man. It was dressed in black, from head to toe.”

“And where did it run from and to?”

“From there,” she said, pointing in the direction of the Beaulieu River, “to there.” She pointed toward the front gate.

“Was he carrying anything?”

“Such as?”

“Such as a weapon. A rifle, perhaps.”

“I can’t be sure, since I’m not sure I was awake.”

“Well, as we ride, we’ll look for evidence of an intruder.”

“Good idea,” she said.

They both got into their riding clothes, and Stone pulled on a shoulder holster, shoved a small 9mm pistol into it, then slipped into a tweed jacket. “Ready?”

“Oh, yes.”