Stealth

17

Stone woke the following morning with the sound of the shower running in the background, and he joined Rose there. They spent a quarter of an hour soaping and scrubbing and whatever else they could think of, then they toweled each other dry, and Stone ordered breakfast and the papers, then he got into a robe to prepare for the arrival of room service.

Rose, on the other hand, came out of the bathroom entirely naked, toweling her hair. The doorbell rang, and she jumped under the covers.

When the waiters had departed they sat down at the table, Rose still naked.

“Be careful not to spill any hot coffee,” Stone said.

She tied a napkin around her neck. “There. All safe.”

“What time are you due at work?” he asked.

“Nine.”

“Did you drive?”

“No, I took a cab. I imagine the doorman can get me another.”

“I imagine so, too,” Stone said. He tried and failed to ask her further questions.

Shortly before nine, now fully dressed, Rose grabbed her coat and her duffel and kissed him goodbye. “When are you coming back?”

“When are you coming down?” Stone asked.

“Next week perhaps. I’ll call you.”

“Do that.” He kissed her and she left.

Two minutes later, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Felicity.”

“Good morning, did your people get anything?”

“They got a great deal,” she said, “but not much of value. You didn’t ask the right questions.”

“You didn’t give me a script,” he replied, “and I didn’t want to appear to be grilling her. I did the best I could.”

“Yes, well, we’re all aware how well you did,” she said.

“You’re smirking,” Stone replied. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean the video was extraordinarily good. We had half a dozen angles, too.”

“Video? What video?”

“Oh, there are cameras everywhere. Would you like to know what you had for breakfast, or what wine you drank last night?”

“You didn’t tell me that, Felicity. You said there was only audio.”

“I said no such thing. I said the suite was wired. We even got good footage of your time in the shower this morning.”

Stone checked his memory against that statement. “Shit,” he said. “I won’t do that again without some agreed ground rules.”

“Oh, come on, my dear. You came off beautifully — so to speak.”

“Now what?”

“Now you are free to wander London as you will. And there won’t be a bill from the Connaught — our treat.”

“What’s your next move with Rose?”

“Well, we’re following her taxi as we speak, and we’ll check out the Ennismore Mews address. Would you like to have lunch a little later?”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be in your neighborhood. Shall we do it at the Connaught? One o’clock?”

“Fine.” He hung up

Stone got dressed and left the hotel. He stopped into his tailor’s, Huntsman & Sons, and had a fitting of some things he had ordered earlier, then he stopped by Turnbull & Asser and chose some neckties and a couple of nightshirts. He arrived back at the Connaught and found Felicity waiting for him in the restaurant.

“What did you do with yourself this morning?” she asked, as he sat down and tucked his shopping bag under the table.

“Tailor, shirtmaker. My goal is to have a complete enough wardrobe here that I don’t have to travel with luggage, except a briefcase.”

“An admirable goal,” she said. They ordered. “Would you like to hear what our surveillance produced?” Felicity asked.

“Yes, please.”

“She went to the Ennismore Mews address, changed clothes, then went shopping. While she was gone, her mail was read by MI-6. Just some catalogs and a couple of utility bills.”

“In what name?” Stone asked.

“Margot Balfour,” Felicity said.

“Nice name.”

“The deed for the mews house is in that name, too, so she owns it.”

“Has it occurred to you that she may be renting from Ms. Balfour?”

“Don’t be annoying, Stone, and don’t underrate us.”

“So, you know that her name is Margot Balfour?”

“We do. She is a real person, as opposed to Dr. Rose McGill. And people named Balfour own a farm in the county of Rutland, and the name appears on the medical register.”

“Where else did she go besides home?”

“Harvey Nicks, Harrods, a couple of shops in Beauchamp Place.”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, without violating the Official Secrets Act,” Stone said. “Can a woman employed by MI-6 afford to shop at those establishments?”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she replied. “If she has a private income.”

“And are the Balfours of Rutland County well enough off to endow her thus?”

“They are important landowners in that county and have been for two hundred years.”

“So, Daddy and Mummy don’t feed the chickens and milk the cows?”

“Her father is the cousin of a local duke and is a member of White’s and the Garrick Club. Her mother is a bulwark of half a dozen Rutland charities. She has a sister who seems to be edging toward an aristocratic marriage.”

“My goodness,” Stone said. “Ms. Balfour seems to be too good for MI-6, doesn’t she?”

“No one is too good for MI-6,” Felicity replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and see if that institution is still where it was this morning.”

“Lunch is on me,” Stone said.

“Of course it is,” she said, opening her handbag and fishing out a computer thumb drive. “Here is the recording of your escapades of last night,” she said. “It’s the only one.”

With that, Felicity flounced out to her waiting car.