Dirty Work

3

Stone stood up. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to Carpenter. He walked toward the kitchen and turned into the empty dining room that Elaine used for parties and overflow. “Hello?”

“This is Herbie Fisher. You called?”

“Yeah, I spoke to your uncle Bob a few minutes ago, and he recommended you for a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“It involves a camera.”

“I’m up for photography,” Herbie said. “Tell me more.”

“The job’s tomorrow evening, so clear your schedule. Come to my office tomorrow morning at ten.” Stone gave him the address. “It’s the professional entrance of the house, lower level.”

“What’s it pay?”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.” Stone hung up and went back to his table. Elaine had moved on to somebody else’s.

“Late date?” Carpenter asked.

“Business,” Stone said.

“Ah, business.”

“How long are you in town for?”

“A few days, unless I can think of a reason to stretch my stay.”

Dino stood up. “I’ll leave you two to work on some reasons.”

“Good night, Dino,” she said. “I hope I’ll see you again while I’m here.”

“Count on it,” Dino said, then he left.

“Sweet man,” Carpenter said.

“If you say so. Felicity, huh? I like it.”

“It’s just as well; I’m not going to change it.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“I had a business dinner earlier.”

“Where are you staying?”

“With friends.”

“Where, with friends?”

“In the East Forties.”

“Very near me. Will you come to my house for a nightcap?”

“All right.”

They got into their coats and, outside, Stone started to hail a cab.

“Don’t,” she said. “I have a car, courtesy of my firm.” She nodded toward a black Lincoln idling at the curb.

“All the better,” Stone said, opening the door for her. He gave the driver his address.

“That’s in Turtle Bay,” she said.

“You know Turtle Bay?”

“I can read a map and a guidebook, I know all about it. Does your house open onto the common garden?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Perhaps you’ll show me the garden tomorrow.”

“Certainly,” Stone replied, though he wasn’t quite sure what she meant.

“How does one afford a house of one’s own, what with property prices the way they are in New York these days?”

“Easy. One has a great-aunt who dies and wills him the house. Then one works one’s ass off renovating it.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

“You don’t have to wait, we’re here.” He opened the door, and she slid across the seat. She leaned back into the car. “You can go,” she said to the driver.

Stone liked the sound of that. He led her up the steps, unlocked the front door, and hung their coats in the front hall closet. “I didn’t know you had any friends in New York,” he said.

“Business friends.”

“Oh. And I suppose their front hall closet has a selection of cloaks and daggers.”

“Quite,” she said.

Stone switched on some lights from the master panel in the foyer.

Carpenter walked into the living room. “This is very handsome,” she said. “Did you choose the furniture, or did you have a designer?”

“Most of the furniture came with the house. I had everything reupholstered. I chose the fabrics.”

“Oh? I thought I detected a woman’s touch.”

Stone didn’t want to go there. “My study is through here,” he said, leading the way.

“Beautiful paneling and bookcases,” Carpenter said.

“My father designed and built them.”

“Your father the Communist?”

“Ex-Communist,” Stone replied. “You pulled a few files on me, didn’t you?”

“A few. Mother, a painter. Both parents disowned by their parents, who were textile tycoons in New England. Why?”

“My father, because of his politics; my mother, because she married my father. The only family member who spoke to them was my great-aunt. She bought this house and hired my father to do a lot of the interior. It kept them from starving to death, early in their marriage. What else did you learn about me?”

“Went to New York University, then the law school. Joined the NYPD afterwards, served fourteen years, including eleven as a detective. Retired for medical reasons, ostensibly. A bullet in the knee, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but there were other, more political reasons. The department was never very comfortable with me.”

“You must tell me about it when we have more time,” she said.

“Don’t we have time now?”

“Not really. Where is your bedroom?”

He led her up a flight. “Right here.”

She began unbuttoning her suit coat. “I think we’d better get to bed,” she said. “I have an early meeting tomorrow morning.”

Stone stood, stunned, his mouth open.

She reached over and closed it, then kissed him lightly. “You mustn’t believe everything you hear about proper British girls,” she said, working on his buttons.

“I must remember that,” he said, helping her.

Stone woke with the gray light of dawn coming through the windows overlooking the garden. He could hear the shower running. He got up, found a robe, brushed his hair, and was about to go and find her when she came out of the bathroom, wearing his terrycloth robe, her face shiny with no makeup.

“Good morning,” she said. “You were very good last night.”

“Why, thank you,” he said.

“It’s interesting how you talk during sex,” she said. “Englishmen never do that.”

“No?”

“No, they always seem in such a hurry. You, on the other hand, took your time, and I liked that.”

“You are a very big surprise, Felicity.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she replied. “If I hadn’t been, my carefully composed professional mien would have been compromised.”

He put his arms around her. “I assure you, it was not. As I said, you were a very big surprise.”

She picked up her watch from his dresser top. “I think we may have time to do it again,” she said. “Are you up for that?”

“I’m getting there,” Stone said.