6 Stone Barrington Novels (49 page)

“But there's no furniture.”

“It's on its way; I called from the airplane. The painters will work straight through the night, the furniture comes at eight A.M., and tomorrow evening we'll turn our party into a housewarming.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“It's black tie, right?”

“That's what I put on the invitations.”

“How many acceptances?”

“Fifty couples, give or take.”

“Nice-sized group. Feed them well.”

“I thought Maine lobster, a bourride—that's a garlicky French fish stew—and tenderloin of beef for the carnivores. Lots of other stuff, too.”

“Whatever you say, Callie.” They had reached the yacht, and Shames led the way aboard, followed by Juanito with the two briefcases. He had apparently brought no other luggage. “Let's talk a minute, Stone,” Shames said, beckoning to him to follow.

Stone followed him to the owner's cabin, the first time he had seen it. They walked into a large, gorgeously furnished sitting room. Juanito deposited the two briefcases on a big desk and left.

“What do you think of
Toscana
?” Shames asked.

“She's a dream,” Stone replied. “I've never seen anything like her.”

“Neither has anybody else,” Shames laughed. “She's my favorite thing. If I had to give up everything but one, I'd keep her.”

“I can understand that.”

“I wish we had time for a cruise out to the Bahamas this weekend, but I really do have to be on the Coast by Sunday night. We're having another announcement shindig out there on Monday morning.”

“Just what is this new technology your company is going to make?” Stone asked.

“It consists of a circuitboard that replaces the modem in a computer, plus some extraordinary software we're developing for both e-companies and users that gives every customer what very nearly amounts to a T-1 Internet connection over ordinary telephone lines, twenty-four hours a day, for a monthly fee of less than fifty dollars.”

Stone knew that a T-1 was the fastest Internet connection, and that it required a special phone line to be installed. “That's very impressive,” he said.

“Don't worry. I've already allocated your shares. Bill Eggers will buy them for you the day before the initial public offering.”

“Thank you, Thad. That's very generous.”

“You'll be tempted to sell them the first week, but don't; hang on to them.”

“I'll take your advice.”

Juanito appeared with two frosty gin and tonics. They touched glasses and drank.

“Now,” Shames said, “tell me about Liz.”

“I had lunch with her yesterday,” Stone replied. “She was apologetic about rushing away from Easthampton, but she had to come back here.”

“She lives here?”

“Here and in Houston. She's a widow, not a divorcée.”

“How long?”

“Last year sometime. She seems excited about seeing you again.”

Shames grinned like a schoolboy. “That sounds good.”

“Thad, I have a lot else to tell you about Liz Harding,” Stone said, adopting a serious mien.

“That sounds bad.”

“It's not, necessarily, but there are things that, since you're my client, I have to tell you about her.”

“I'll just shut up and listen,” Shames said.

Stone started at the beginning and told Shames the story of Allison/Liz—all of it, leaving out nothing except his own affair with Allison. When he had finished, he polished off the rest of his drink, sat back and waited for questions. There weren't any.

“That's extraordinary,” Shames said. He got to his feet. “I think I'll have a nap before dinner. Will you excuse me?”

Stone got up. “Of course. Thad, I want to be sure you understand about the husband, Paul Manning.”

“Ex-husband, isn't he?”

“Ex-Paul Manning. She doesn't know what he's calling himself these days.”

“Well, if he's legally dead, she's twice-widowed, isn't she?”

“In a manner of speaking. I'm not sure what the legal ramifications are. I've never run into anything quite like this before.”

“She considers herself single?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Then as far as I'm concerned, she's single, and that's an end to it.”

“It is,” Stone said, “unless Paul Manning turns up. I think you have to consider him a dangerous man.”

“Well, he doesn't sound stupid, so I don't think he's dangerous. He's gotten away with a triple murder and major insurance fraud, so I think he has to count himself lucky, don't you?”

“I suppose.”

“Don't worry about Manning, Stone. He's not going to risk screwing up his life by exposing his own past.”

“I hope you're right,” Stone said.

“You will pick up Liz tomorrow night? I have a lot on my plate, what with all these guests coming.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Shames disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Stone went back to his own cabin. Thad was right, of course. Paul Manning wasn't stupid, and, if Stone could just find him and talk to him, he'd be a rich man from the settlement Allison/Liz wanted to make with him. And then, he thought, sighing, he'd be free of this whole business, Thad Shames would have the girl of his dreams, and everybody could get on with the business of living happily ever after.

 

Sometime after midnight, Stone was wakened from a deep sleep by someone crawling into bed with him. He had been dreaming, and what was happening seemed an extension of his dream.

“Arrington?” he said sleepily.

“Whoa!” Callie said, sitting up and crossing her legs.

Stone shook himself fully awake. “Callie? What's happening?”

“You were about to get made love to,” she said, “but you spoke to the wrong girl.”

“I'm sorry. I was dreaming. I thought you were . . . somebody else at first.”

“Stone, I know very well that Arrington is Vance Calder's wife—rather, widow. The whole world knows. Why would you be dreaming of her crawling into bed with you?”

“I don't remember exactly what I was dreaming,” Stone said, sitting up in bed and dragging a couple of pillows behind him.

“That doesn't answer my question,” she said. “But if it's none of my business, tell me so, and I'll get out of here.”

“No, no,” he said, stroking her hair. “Arrington and I were . . . close, before she married Vance. We don't have a relationship now, at least not a very good one.”

“You're sure about this? I don't want to intrude where I'm not wanted.”

He pulled her head down onto his shoulder, and she stretched out beside him. “You're wanted,” he said.

She ran a hand down his belly until it stopped at his penis. She held it in her hand. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It's alive!”

“Alive and well,” he replied.

She rolled on top of him, sat up and guided him inside her. She bent down and put her lips close to his ear. “You'd better be telling the truth about Arrington Calder,” she whispered, “or this will never happen again.”

S
TONE WAS AWAKENED BY CONFLICTING SMELLS—ONE chemical, one culinary. He sat up in bed in time to see Callie enter his cabin, bearing a covered tray, kicking the door shut behind her.

“Smells good,” he said. “But what's the other odor?”

“Paint,” she replied. “The painters finished their work last night, and all the windows in the house are open. The decorators and moving people are in there now, working like beavers.” She set the tray on the bed between them and whipped off the cover. “Voilà!” she said. “Brie omelettes!”

Stone picked up a plate and dug in. “Fantastic!” He sipped some orange juice.

“We've got the yacht to ourselves this morning,” she said. “Thad has already made a lot of phone calls and had a business breakfast aboard and has taken a party into town for some shopping.”

“I can't believe he's putting that house together in a day,” Stone said.

“Oh, he's had the designers shopping for a year. They've planned out every room, right down to the pictures on the walls.”

“It took me a year to get my house to that state.”

“You must not have been newly superrich,” she said.

“Good guess.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“Plans? Me? I never have plans. I just sit back and let you and Thad do it for me. I don't think I've made a decision of any kind since I met the two of you. What do you have planned for me today?”

“Absolutely nothing. I plan to get some sun, do some reading and rest up for tonight.”

“Oh, that's right. You're going to be pretty busy, aren't you?”

“Not if the caterers don't want to get fired. They're turning up at five, and I'll show them the kitchens and where to set up. After that, they'd better not bother me because I'll be partying.”

“Well, I think your plan for the day sounds good. I'll join you, if that's all right.”

“It's all right,” she said. “By the way, do you need to rent a dinner jacket? I know a place.”

“Nope. I brought one, just in case.”

“Always prepared, aren't you?” She finished off her omelette, took his plate, poured him a large mug of coffee and stood up. “I'll get this stuff back to the galley, and I'll see you on the afterdeck later.”

“Okay.” Stone watched her go, then he got up, showered, put on a swimsuit, grabbed a terry robe from the closet and walked back to the fantail. Callie was already stretched out on a chaise, wearing only her bikini bottom, reading.

“Hi, want something good to read?”

“Sure.”

She tossed him a book. “I just finished it. It's great.”

Stone looked at the book:
Tumult
by Frederick James. “Oh, yes, I read some pages yesterday. Starts well.”

“Ends well, too. Enjoy.”

Stone read through the morning, broke for sandwiches and closed the book at five.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Thad liked it, too. He had me send the author an invitation to the party tonight, but we never heard from him. I guess his publisher didn't forward it.” She looked at her watch. “I've got to get over to the house and brief the caterers,” she said. “I'll see you at the party.”

“Think I'll have a nap,” Stone said. He went back to his cabin and slept for half an hour, then he shaved, showered and dressed in Vance Calder's ecru raw silk dinner jacket, a silk evening shirt and a black tie. He walked back to the house and through the central hallway, dodging frantic caterers and decorators, got into his borrowed Mercedes E430 convertible and drove into town. Shortly, he pulled up in front of Liz Harding's house. He walked across the driveway, his evening shoes crunching on the pea gravel. The doorbell was set in an intercom box. He pressed it and it made a noise like a telephone ringing.

“Hello?”

“It's Stone.”

“Oh, Stone. The door's unlocked; let yourself in, and I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She clicked off, and Stone opened the door and walked into the house. It was quite beautiful, Queen Anne in style, not terribly large, but made of good materials—marble floors, walnut paneling, beautiful moldings. He found the living room and continued to explore, ending up in a handsome little library with many leather-bound volumes. A small bar had been set up on a butler's tray, and he poured himself some chilled mineral water, then he wandered around the room. A collection of silver-framed photographs rested on the mantel, and Stone inspected them. They were all of Liz Harding with a handsome, silver-haired man, clearly Winston Harding, taken in various cities and on various beaches.

“He was handsome, wasn't he?” she said.

Stone turned and found her standing in the doorway, wearing a white silk dress and a gorgeous diamond necklace, with matching earrings. Her hair was blond again.

“Yes, he was, and you are very beautiful,” Stone said.

She came and gave him a little hug, careful not to muss her makeup. “And so are you,” she said. “That's the most beautiful dinner jacket I've ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Stone replied. He decided to stop telling people that the clothes were Vance Calder's, and to start taking credit himself.

“Would you like a drink before we go?” she asked.

“I think we're already fashionably late,” he replied. “Why don't we just go to the party?”

She took his arm, and he led her out to the car.

“Drive slowly,” she said. “The hair.”

“I like it blond.”

“So do I. It's my natural color.”

“I remember.”

“Stone!” she said, laughing and blushing.

“That wasn't what I meant, but I remember that, too.”

“You're awful.”

“I know.”

“Still, we had some good times, didn't we? You were getting over a girl, as I recall.”

“And you were helping.”

“I did what I could,” she said.

Stone drove slowly through the town and finally turned into the driveway of Thad Shames's house. Or tried to; there were half a dozen cars ahead of him. Music wafted through the open windows. Finally, he gave the keys to a valet and extracted Liz from the car. He was beginning to think of her as Liz by now. They walked through the open doors of the house and into the living room. A big band was playing Rodgers & Hart at the other end, and people were dancing.