Hot Pursuit

29

Over breakfast the following morning, Stone tried to make sense of Kevin Keyes’s actions. “There are too many coincidences,” Stone said.

“I’ll grant you, there are coincidences, but they seem to be easily explained,” Pat said.

“Then how come every time we land, Paul Reeves’s airplane is just ahead of us?”

“That’s because we flew the same route. Lots of owner-pilots want to do a transatlantic, and his Mustang wouldn’t be equipped to do it any way but the Blue Spruce route.”

“And why would Reeves choose Keyes to fly with him?”

“Paul knew Kevin through me. I think Kevin did a delivery of his previous airplane — a King Air 190. So Kevin would be a logical choice as a backup pilot. Would you have done the flight alone without me or someone like me along?”

“Good point. Then they end up in the same restaurant with us.”

“It seemed to be a very popular restaurant,” she said. “And I don’t think Reeves or Kevin saw us. We wouldn’t have seen them if Reeves hadn’t been so drunk.”

“Would you mind if we left London early?” Stone asked.

“It’s not my first trip to London. When would you like to leave?”

“After breakfast?”

“Hang on, Dino’s coming this morning and you promised him a room. Let’s give it a couple of days. We can make a point of going to places Kevin wouldn’t know about.”

“You’re right.”

“Where are we going when we go?”

“To the country. Let me have a chat with the concierge about some reservations.”

“Okay, I’m in your hands. I’d like to do some shopping today, if you don’t need the car.”

“That’s all right, I thought I’d visit my tailor and shirtmaker, but I can take cabs for that.”

Pat left with Tony and the car, and Stone shaved, showered, and dressed, just in time for Dino and Viv to walk in.

“Hey, buddy,” Dino said, slapping him on the shoulder.

“How was the flight?”

“Not bad. I actually got some sleep, but I think I need some more.” He looked around. “This is some place,” he said.

“A client of Pat’s arranged for Jaguar to put us up. They own the hotel.”

Viv gave him a hug. “You don’t look jet-lagged. How do you do that?”

“I guess our overnight in Iceland helped.” Stone showed them to their room and directed the bellman there when he arrived.

They disappeared into their room, and Stone didn’t want to disturb them, so he left a note. He took a taxi to Mount Street, in Mayfair, to Hayward, his old tailor. Doug Hayward had passed on some years ago, and the shop had been bought by another, larger tailor. When he walked in, he didn’t recognize the place. Doug’s cozy shop had been gutted and replaced with a shopfitter’s dream — lots of chrome and white walls. Les, Doug’s old cutter, was still there, and Audie, who had run the front desk. She didn’t seem to have a desk anymore.

He met the new head cutter and looked at some fabrics. He chose a couple of lightweight cashmeres for jackets and was measured, explaining that he’d have his next fitting when they made their regular visit to New York in the spring.

He went to his shirtmaker, Turnbull & Asser, in Jermyn Street and had a look around. They had a shop in New York now, but he liked to visit the old place. He was looking at ties when Paul Reeves, the Mustang owner, walked in, looking hungover.

Stone picked out some ties and pocket squares, and when he had finished, Reeves was gone, to his relief. He went next door to the bespoke department to order some shirts. As he walked in he heard an American accent.

“Barrington? Isn’t your name Barrington?”

He turned to find Paul Reeves sitting at a table, poring over shirtings. “Yes. Have we met?”

“Not exactly. I was at Flight Safety at the same time as you, but I was in the Mustang class, and you were in the MC2 group.” He offered his hand, and Stone shook it. “I’m Paul Reeves.”

“I’m Stone. What brings you to London?”

“Business, ostensibly,” Reeves replied. “But I really just wanted to fly my airplane over here.”

“Same with me,” Stone said. He thought it better not to mention Pat.

“You’re in the MC2?”

“Right.”

A salesman walked up to the table. “Good morning, Mr. Barrington. May I help you?”

“Yes, thanks.” He turned to Reeves. “Have a good flight home.” He joined the salesman on the other side of the room, and Reeves left after a few minutes, giving him a wave.

“You know Mr. Reeves?” the salesman asked.

“Not until just now.”

“He was asking about you earlier.”

“Really? What did he want to know?”

“He said he thought he saw you in the shop next door, and that the two of you had been in flight school at the same time.”

“Yes, he mentioned that. We were in different classes, and I didn’t meet him at the time.”

“Ah.”

Stone picked some fabrics and ordered his shirts, for delivery at their New York shop. He went back to the shop next door to retrieve his purchases, and as he arrived there it began to rain, so he added an umbrella to his purchases. He managed to get a taxi in Jermyn Street and went back to the hotel.

Dino and Viv were up and looking refreshed and were ordering lunch. Stone picked something from the room-service menu. “How are you spending your afternoon?”

“I was going shopping,” Viv said, “but it’s pouring out there.”

“It certainly is. It’s a shame you missed Pat — she’s got our car and driver.”

As if on cue, Pat bustled in and greeted everyone. Their butler arrived with her packages.

“I saw Paul Reeves this morning,” Stone said.

“Where on earth did you see him?”

“At my shirtmaker’s. Turns out we were at Flight Safety at the same time, he for his Mustang, so he knew me.”

“Did you meet him there?”

“No, I have no memory of him.”

“Very odd,” she said.

“Just another coincidence,” Stone replied. “They’re piling up, aren’t they?”