Class Act

42

Stone’s mood did not improve during the remainder of the day, though he rallied at dinnertime. He, Tara, and the Bacchettis dined in the library and drank a bottle of claret and much of a bottle of port.

At bedtime, he and Tara went freely at each other. As they fell asleep finally, he felt he had made up most of the lost time of the night before. Tara was only one woman, but she was a considerable one, with robust appetites.

The following morning, after sex, breakfast, showering and dressing, he came across a sealed envelope addressed to him. It was from the local constabulary, and postmarked just after his departure from Britain on his last trip over. Inside was a laminated card with his photograph on it and a cover letter from his friend, Chief Constable Holmes.

Stone opened his briefcase and got out his passport, which was a diplomatic one, as a consequence of his consulting relationship with the director of Central Intelligence. He reckoned the two IDs, together, would keep him out of jail. He got into a suit and necktie and went downstairs to the library, where everybody was curled up with books.

“What are you all dressed up for?” Tara asked.

“I have to run up to London for a few hours.”

She leapt to her feet. “Oh, good, give me a minute while I get into something for the city.” She ran from the room before he could say, “But...”

“What are you doing in London?” Dino asked.

“Oh, not much. I’m going to murder Sal Trafficante, if I can get him to stand still long enough.”

“Right,” Dino said, turning a page. Viv didn’t bat an eye.

Tara returned quickly, and Stone went to the safe behind the picture, where there was a stash of cash, and removed a thick stack of sterling currency. “Here’s your budget for the day,” he said.

A stable hand had brought the Porsche around to the front of the house, and they got in. “Full tank,” he said.

“What will you be doing in London?” Tara asked.

“Taking care of business,” Stone said, turning onto the road to the village, where he would pick up the motorway.

“Isn’t that an Elvis Presley song?” she asked.

“Not today,” Stone replied.

They were halfway to London on the motorway when Stone’s cell phone rang. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barrington, it’s Jeffers here.”

“Good morning.”

“I thought I would let you know, Mr. Trafficante has not had breakfast yet, and seems to be sleeping in this morning.”

“Thank you. Is the Oscar Wilde suite the one facing the river?”

“It is, sir.” Jeffers gave him directions from the front desk.

“Is there a suite next door to it?”

“Yes, sir. There is the Gilbert & Sullivan suite abutting it. I’m told that when the occasion requires, the two suites can be made into one, via a door, when unlocked from both sides.”

“Is it occupied?”

“I believe not. I saw a bellman take away luggage, and the maid is in there now.”

“Please go to the front desk, ask for the manager, and book me into that suite for two nights, using Dame Felicity’s name, if necessary. I assume you have been trained in the art of breaking and entering?”

“We call it access of opportunity,” Jeffers replied.

“I would like you to practice this art by entering the Oscar Wilde suite and unlocking the adjoining door to the Gilbert & Sullivan suite, without disturbing the occupant. Can you manage that?”

“Of course, sir,” Jeffers replied. “It shall be as you wish.”

They both hung up.

Tara was staring at him. “Stone...”

Stone raised a hand. “Stop,” he said. “Don’t ask. You did not hear that conversation and will forget everything you did not hear.”

“Where will I be while forgetting this?”

“Shopping. I’ll drop you at a convenient spot on the way into town, say Harrods...”

“Harvey Nick’s,” she said.

“Harvey Nick’s. And I’ll pick you up on the way out of town. When I am headed that way, I will phone you. You will not phone me, got that?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want my phone ringing while I’m hiding in a closet or in some other place, but I will not turn it off. You will not text me, either, because my phone makes a noise when receiving a text.”

“Gotcha,” she said. “Why...”

“You do not want to know the why of anything. Anything you buy, pay cash, and do not have a receipt issued in your own name. Make up a name, if you need it.”

“I assume I have also not been to London today?”

“An excellent assumption.”

“What was I doing, instead?”

“You remember our picnic lunch down by the airstrip?”

“Of course.”

“That was today, not yesterday. You may say that I kept you fully occupied for that time.”

“By ‘fully occupied,’ you mean...”

“Use your imagination. We may have frightened the horses.”

“I notice that you have booked the suite for two nights. Will we take advantage of that?”

“That remains to be seen. Now that you mention it, what you have in mind might make a good alibi, if we don’t have the linen changed.”

“A lot of fun, too. I’m still all rosy from last night.”

“And the night before, I expect.”

“Well, yes. I don’t often participate in that particular activity, but it certainly makes an interesting change.”

“I will not take that statement amiss.”

“Nor should you,” she said, kissing him on the ear.

“Fasten your seat belt,” Stone said. “We don’t want to start anything we can’t finish in the front seat of a Porsche.”