Scandalous Behavior

13

Stone was barely awake at dawn, when Susan crept out of bed and went to the Lilac Room to order her breakfast. He had his eggs alone, then showered, shaved, dressed, and closed his suitcases. He and Susan met Sir Charles and Lady Bourne, as arranged, at the car, and Stan came with them to the airport to drive the car home.

Their flight to Le Bourget was short and uneventful, and they said goodbye there.

“Thank you very much for the offer of your house,” Charles said. “It is very kind of you.”

“Thank you for a very fine property and the opportunity to meet so many of your friends last evening,” Stone said.

Their car arrived, and the driver took their luggage. Stone gave Charles the address of the house, and they said goodbye, knowing that they probably would not meet again.

Then, with the airplane refueled, they took off in clear skies for Horta, in the Azores. Half an hour later they were at flight level 410 — forty-one thousand feet — with a true airspeed of 430 knots and a ground speed of 410. Stone pointed to a dotted circle on the center screen of the panel. “This is the range ring,” he said to Susan. “It shows us how far we can fly and still have forty-five minutes of fuel left. As you can see, Horta is well within our range.”

“Wonderful. Is it possible to make calls on my cell from the airplane?”

“No, but we have a satellite phone.”

“May I make some business calls?”

“Of course. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the right rear seat. A table is built into the wall — pull up and out. The phone is across the aisle, built into the bulkhead. It’s just as if you were calling from another country.”

“I know all about that,” she said, taking off her seat belt.

Five minutes later he looked back and saw her talking on the phone and making notes on a pad resting on the foldout table.

He flew on, checking the range ring every few minutes, happy that his new airplane had the range to fly this route, rather than going north through Iceland, where there was the constant threat of bad weather outside the summer months.

They refueled at Horta, then continued on to St. John’s and, after refueling, to Teterboro, New Jersey, where the airplane was based at Jet Aviation. They were met by U.S. Customs and cleared, then their luggage was taken on a cart to the front door of the FBO, where Stone’s factotum, Fred Flicker, awaited them with the car. Forty minutes later they were at home, then they got a good night’s sleep.

The following morning, Stone gave Susan a tour of the house, pointing out his mother’s paintings, then took her down to his office and introduced her to Joan, who had piled his mail and messages on his desk.

“I’d like to unpack, now,” Susan said, “and you seem to have enough to keep you busy here.”

“Phone down to the kitchen, and Helene will bring you some lunch, then meet me in my study for drinks at six,” he said, “and we’ll have dinner there.” She left, and Stone called Dino.

“You’re still alive?” Dino asked.

“You always ask me that, as if you expect a different outcome.”

“One of these days,” Dino said. “I hope your flight was uneventful.”

“We had a little weather at St. John’s and had to fly the instrument approach, but the rest was severe clear.”

“We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

“We are: seven-thirty at Patroon?”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up and tackled his mail. Additional copies of the closing documents on the house had been sent from the London office, and he instructed Joan: “File these under Windward Hall.” There was a note from Arthur Steele, confirming his wish to pay the reward Stone had offered for the rescue of his stepdaughter, Hedy. “File this under ‘Thank God,’” he told Joan.

Shortly, Joan announced that Bill Eggers was on line one.

“Hello, Bill.”

“Did you have a good flight?”

“An excellent one. Did you like the house?”

“How soon can you get out?”

“As soon as I’ve accepted your offer.”

Bill made him one.

“Done. You can move in tomorrow.”

“We’ve already moved in,” Bill said. “I can’t get the wife to go back to the city.”

“Just pack up my clothes — there aren’t many — and drop them off here when you get back. I’ll get Herb Fisher to close the sale.”

“Nice doing business with you.”

“Tell me that when you get your first heating bill,” Stone replied. He hung up and went back to work.

They met in his study, where Fred had set a table before the fireplace, and he made her a martini and himself a bourbon.

“The house is lovely,” Susan said.

“Tell me what you would do to improve the place.”

“It’s perfect — I can’t think of a thing. Who was your designer?”

“I was, for better or worse. Of course, it didn’t get done overnight. I had years to get it right.”

“That’s always the best way. One of the reasons I’ve succeeded in my work is that I work hard to make it look as though someone has always lived there.”

“Tell me, what did Sir Charles’s renovation of Windward Hall come to?”

“My budget was two million pounds, but he kept adding things, so the final figure will be closer to three million.”

“God, I’m glad I didn’t have to do that.”

“You are a very fortunate buyer, and my guess is that you are, in general, a lucky man.”

“Sometimes I think so, sometimes not.”

“Tell me, who are these people we’re dining with tomorrow evening?”

“Dino Bacchetti and his wife, Vivian. Dino and I were partners when I was on the NYPD. Now he’s the police commissioner, which is the top job there. Viv was a detective who worked for him. She retired from the department to avoid the nepotism problem, and joined Strategic Services, a very large security company, where she has done well and risen in the ranks. She now runs their home office in New York and supervises international.”

“They’re going to think me very dull,” she said.

“Not a bit of it. You’ll be fast friends.”

“I hope so.”