Worst Fears Realized

45

AT SIX-THIRTY, STONE WENT UPSTAIRS and walked into the bedroom. The bath was empty, and Dolce was, apparently, in her dressing room. Stone shaved, showered, and dried his hair, and when he came out, Dolce had left the room. He dressed in cream trousers, a brown-plaid shirt, a light tweed jacket, and tan alligator loafers, then went downstairs.

Dolce was standing in front of the living room’s curved windows, her hands behind her back. She was wearing a simple, black-silk dress, moderately high heels, and a slender diamond necklace. A red cashmere sweater was thrown casually over her shoulders, matching her nail polish; her jet-black hair fell softly against the sweater. “Good evening,” she said.

Stone was stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, he thought he had never seen such a beautiful woman. Her makeup was slight, almost nonexistent, and her eyes seemed even larger than usual. “Good evening, signorina,” he said. “You are very beautiful.”

“And you are very observant,” she replied.

“Would you like a drink before we go?”

“It’s seven o’clock; let’s have one at our hosts’. People dine earlier in the country.”

He gave her his arm, installed her in the Mercedes, and drove away.

“It’s very beautiful here,” she said, as they turned past the spired white church on the Green.

“Yes, it is.”

“How did you happen to buy a house here?”

“I came up for a weekend at the Mayflower Inn, which we’re just passing now – it’s up the hill, out of view – and it seemed like a good idea.”

“Was it yours or Miss Buckminster’s?”

“I believe Sarah first mentioned it, but the thought had crossed my mind before. Nobody I know, except Dino, spends the weekend in the city anymore.”

“Quite right.”

They drove down a winding road slowly, taking in the trees and flowers. Following Vance’s directions, they eventually came to an unmarked driveway with a closed gate. Stone reached out the window and rang the bell.

“Yes?” a voice said.

“My name is Barrington.”

The gates swung open, and Stone proceeded up the winding drive, which was beautifully planted on both sides. They rounded a bend and, beyond a green lawn, sat a gray, shingled house with white trim and shutters. Stone parked near the front door, and they walked up the steps, across a broad porch featuring rocking chairs, and rang the bell. A man in a white jacket answered the door and led them into a living room furnished with big sofas and lovely antiques. Vance Calder stood before the fireplace, a drink in his hand, wearing a blue blazer, white trousers, and a silk shirt, with an ascot tied at the neck. Stone was about to offer his hand, when Vance, ignoring him, walked toward his date.

“Dolce!” he cried, taking her in his arms and hugging her. “What a delicious surprise! I had no idea you and Stone knew each other.”

“We didn’t until recently,” Dolce replied. “How are you, Vance?”

“Just wonderful! And how’s Eduardo?”

“In good form.”

Finally, Vance turned to Stone and shook his hand. “Stone, how good to see you; it’s been too long.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Vance,” he managed to say through his surprise. “I had no idea you and Dolce knew each other.”

Dolce spoke up. “Oh, Vance was my date at my sweet sixteen party,” she said. “And the best dancer there.”

“I’ve known her father for a very long time,” Vance said. “We’ve done some business over the years. Arrington is putting the baby to bed; she’ll be down in a moment. Can we get you a drink?”

The butler took their orders and came back with the drinks.

At that moment, Arrington appeared on the stairs, carrying the baby. Somehow, Stone had not expected the infant, and he was a bit thrown by the sight of mother and child. Arrington came slowly down the stairs; she was wearing a white-silk dress, and with her blond hair, she was the visual antithesis of Dolce. She handed the baby to Vance and embraced Stone more warmly than he had anticipated.

He caught a glimpse of Dolce’s face as they hugged; the eyes were daggers. “How are you, Arrington?” he whispered in her ear.

“I’m all right,” she whispered back, then they broke their embrace.

“Arrington,” Vance said, “I’d like you to meet Dolce Bianchi; she is the daughter of my old friend Eduardo Bianchi; you’ve heard me mention him.”

“Of course,” Arrington said coolly, taking Dolce’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Dolce; it’s always good to see Vance’s old friends.”

“Thank you, it’s good to be here,” Dolce replied.

The two were looking each other up and down. Stone noticed that Arrington’s nails were, indeed, lacquered, and she was wearing a discreet necklace of diamonds and rubies.

“And this is Peter,” Arrington said.

Stone now met the baby who might have been his son. The boy was a quiet, grave infant, who was the image of Vance. If Stone had had any doubts about the blood tests, he no longer did. Dolce made the right noises at the baby, then a young nanny materialized and took the boy away.

The butler brought Arrington a martini on a silver tray. “Why don’t we go out onto the terrace,” she said. “It’s such a lovely evening.”

“Yes, it is,” Dolce agreed.

Vance led the way to a patio filled with cushioned white furniture, and they took seats. The evening was pleasantly cool, and the crickets kept them company. “Betty asked me to give you her most affectionate regards,” he said to Stone.

Betty was Vance’s secretary, with whom Stone had had a brief liaison in LA the year before. Stone saw Dolce shoot a glance his way at the mention of a woman’s name. “Please give her mine,” Stone said.

“She’s holding down the fort at the office, of course. Oh, you remember Lou Regenstein, the chairman of Centurion Studios?”

“Of course I do.”

“He’ll be with us for dinner.” Vance glanced at his watch. “I’ve sent a car to Oxford Airport for them; they should be here any moment. It’s only a few miles away, and it has a runway long enough for the Centurion G-IV.”

“It’ll be nice to see Lou,” Stone said.

They chatted idly for a while, then Lou Regenstein arrived in the company of a lovely redhead, thirty years his junior.

“Dolce!” Lou cried, hugging her. “What a surprise!”

Nobody was more surprised than Stone; the world was getting smaller by the minute. He and Lou shook hands, and Stone was presented to the redhead, whose name was Lola.

“Would you like to freshen up?” Arrington asked.

“No, we changed for dinner on the airplane,” Lou replied.

Stone remembered from his one ride on the airplane that the Gulfstream had a shower. He was relieved that another couple would be with them for dinner; it eased the strain, a little. As they chatted, he cast an occasional surreptitious glance at Arrington. Dolce had been right; she was slim and taut. He strained to catch the sound of her voice when she was speaking to someone else.

Lou sat next to Stone. “I’m astonished that you and Dolce know each other.”

“Yes,” Vance said. “How did you meet?”

“My former partner, Dino Bacchetti, on the police force, is married to Dolce’s sister, Mary Ann.”

“And how is Mary Ann?” Both Vance and Lou asked simultaneously.

“She’s very well,” Dolce said.

As the conversation continued, Lou leaned over to Stone. “After Oney Ippolito went to jail last year, Eduardo bought his Centurion stock. It was a great relief to me to have someone of his caliber as an investor; it lends stability.”

Incest, Stone thought. All these people are in bed together. It occurred to him that his thought was something more than a metaphor.

Then they were called in to dinner.