by Stuart Woods
—
They were back at Windward Hall in time for tea in the library, which turned out to be more of a production meeting, as Peter brought Ben and Billy up to date on what he’d seen and planned.
Felicity called again. “It’s all right, Glynnis hasn’t accepted the Calhoun offer yet.”
“Swell.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
“It’s nothing to do with me.”
“So you’re looking forward to having Dr. Don and his tribe as neighbors?”
“You have a point.”
“You’d better get interested.”
“I’ll think about it, I promise.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“The hell it is. You won’t be happy until I’ve written another enormous check.”
“You know me so well.” She hung up.
—
The following day Stone was about to sit down for lunch when Susan Blackburn called. “Are you sitting down?”
“Oh, God.”
“My hotelier prospective client has not the slightest interest in having a country hotel in his portfolio of properties.”
“He sounds like me.”
“All too much. In thinking about this, though, it occurred to me that we both know another hotelier.”
“And who would that be?”
“You.”
“Me, a hotelier?”
“You’re building your third in Rome right now.”
“That’s Marcel. I’m just a kibitzer.”
“Well, kibitz your way into getting Marcel aboard.”
Stone thought about that.
“I take your silence as consideration.”
“Oh, all right, I’ll call him.”
“I’d like to hear the result of that conversation quite soon.”
“I’ll call him now.” Stone said goodbye, then dialed Marcel duBois’s number in Rome.
“Pronto.”
“You sound very Italian.”
“Stone! How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. I’m in England, where I’ve bought a country place.”
“Word has reached me. Is it beautiful?”
“Very. Have you ever thought of having a country Arrington?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve looked in France, but I haven’t found the right place.”
“I believe I may have found the right place in England, and right next door to me.” He told Marcel about Curtis House.
“That sounds very interesting.”
“There’s a landing field on my property. Why don’t you hop over here tomorrow and see the place?”
“Tomorrow? I can do that.”
“And stay the night with me—longer, if you can.”
“One night, perhaps.”
Stone gave him the landing particulars. “I’ll see you tomorrow, around ten AM, then.”
“I look forward.”
27
Stone called Susan. “All right, I’ve taken your suggestion: Marcel is coming tomorrow, which means you have to come down tonight so we can give him a tour of the Curtis estate early in the day.”
“I can do that,” Susan said.
He hung up and called Felicity, explained things to her, and asked her to tell Glynnis to expect callers in the morning. He hung up feeling the first twinges of excitement about Curtis House.
—
Marcel and Lady Curtis got on immediately and well. She showed them the house, top to bottom, while Susan took photographs with a digital camera, and there followed another lunch in the conservatory. After coffee, Marcel begged to have a moment alone with Stone. “You say she has an offer for twenty-two million pounds?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll offer her twenty-two million five?”
“Good.”
“To include the furnishings?”
“We can ask. If she doesn’t go for that, we can have Susan go through the house and designate pieces for us to make an offer on.”
“Agreed.”
They went back into the conservatory. “Lady Curtis,” Marcel said, “I am pleased to offer you twenty-two million, five hundred thousand pounds for your house and its contents.”
Lady Curtis didn’t bat an eye. “I will accept your offer, but excluding the art in the drawing room, the library, and the master suite.”
Marcel glanced at Stone and got a tiny nod. “Done.” He stood up and took her hand. “I will have a contract and a check for ten percent of the purchase price in your hands tomorrow morning, and we will close as quickly as our respective lawyers will allow us.”
“Oh, good,” she said.
Marcel gave her hand a kiss, and they were gone.
“I don’t believe it,” Susan said when they were in the car. “Do you always do business so quickly?”
“Delay and doubt are always partners,” Marcel replied. “And you will be our designer for the Curtis Arrington?”
“I will be delighted. I have enough photos to begin work tomorrow.”
“I have a thought,” Stone said. He told her about Peter’s desire to work in England until his film was done. “We have a dozen unoccupied staff bedrooms at Windward Hall,” he said. “The staff, over the years, has moved either into the cottages or into Beaulieu. Why don’t you make your first design job converting those rooms into work space for Peter’s crowd and for you? The two of you can collaborate.”
“And I will turn the servants’ rooms at Curtis House into hotel rooms,” Marcel said. “If we include the cottages, we’ll have forty-odd guest rooms to sell.”
“I’m going to have to start hiring those people your firm recommended, Stone,” Susan said. “And I’m going to make an offer on the building in Wandsworth for our shops. I’ve had a word with my bankers already.”
“You know,” Stone said, “a month ago none of this was real. Now we’re going to be giving work to a couple of hundred talented people for the rest of the year, at least, and early next year there will be a record on film of what we did.”
“It’s breathtaking,” Susan said.
The news of the acquisition of Curtis House was met with glee by Peter and his entourage, and a celebratory dinner was instantly arranged.
Stone called Felicity. “It’s done,” he said.
“I know, I’ve already talked to Glynnis.”
“You see how you manipulate me?”
“Manipulate is a vulgar word. I simply offer you irresistible opportunities.”
“Come to dinner tonight?”
“Oh, how I wish I could, but the Muddle East occupies me nonstop.”
—
The cook at Windward Hall, on six hours’ notice, shopped, cooked, and served dinner for nine people as if it were an everyday matter, and Stone plundered his new cellars for wines that would please Marcel. Everyone went to bed happy, especially Stone, who was relieved to have Susan back in his bed, if only for a night. Perhaps he could persuade her to make it two, or even longer.
—
The following morning, Susan, Peter, and Ben toured the empty servants’ quarters below, and Susan drew up specifications for the electrician to beef up the wiring and Wi-Fi arrangements for the rooms and made a list of desks and chairs to order from London.
—
And in a London hotel Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun took the news of the loss of Curtis House with ill grace, firing his estate agents.
28
The following morning Stone sat down with Marcel, at the latter’s request. “We must make a decision, you and I,” Marcel said, “about the ownership of Curtis Hall.”
“How do you mean?” Stone asked.
“I suggest to you that we might enjoy owning the Curtis property, just the two of us. After all, we are the major investors in
the Arrington Group of hotels. We could make it a pet project.”
“That is an attractive idea,” Stone said, “but I suggest that we form a corporation to own Curtis House, and that you and I own thirty percent each of the shares, and that the remaining forty percent be owned by the Arrington Group, then add a provision that, if the group decides to sell or close the house, you and I will have an opportunity to buy it at a fixed price. That will give us the full support services of the Group, while retaining control of the hotel, but it will also reduce our cash input, something that would make me more comfortable.”
“I like your suggestion,” Marcel replied. “It achieves all our goals with less money.”
“I’ll call Woodman & Weld in London and have them write the sales agreement.”
“And I will call our bankers and have them produce a bank check for the deposit on the property. You and I should now arrange to move fifteen million pounds each into the Arrington Group’s account, to cover the purchase and the renovation.”
“Agreed,” Stone said, and they each made the necessary phone calls to instruct their bankers. Later in the day the contract was faxed for Stone’s approval, and a messenger arrived with the bank check. Stone and Marcel went to Curtis House for drinks, first signing the sales contract with Lady Curtis and handing over the check for the deposit. They finished a little drunk but all very happy.
The electrician began work on the rewiring of the new offices at Windward Hall, following plans specced by Susan overnight, and the following day a team of four painters arrived and began their work. The day after they finished, basic office furniture and computers arrived and were installed, and Peter and Ben’s office manager arrived from Los Angeles to set up the computers and their software, then living in a Windward Hall guest room.
It was two days after the contract signing that the first black SUV, a Mercedes, was seen near the front gates of Windward Hall. Stone called Deputy Chief Inspector Holmes and related the events of the past couple of weeks.
Holmes listened, then spoke: “Has this vehicle trespassed on the property of either Windward Hall or Curtis House?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Stone replied.
“Do you have evidence that the occupants of the vehicle possess firearms or have the intention of harming anyone on either estate?”
“No.”
“Then I have no cause that would support an arrest. I will, however, cause police cars to drive past the properties twice a day on their regular rounds, and, perhaps, speak to the occupants of the vehicle in a polite fashion, just to let them know we are aware of their presence.”
“I think that is a sensible way to proceed,” Stone said, “and I thank you for your assistance.”
By the beginning of the following week, Peter, Ben, and their staff of one were in their new offices, and Stone took possession of a small room there, and Susan Blackburn, who was now operating her business from Windward Hall, possessed three rooms. Suitcases of her clothes arrived and were unpacked in the woman’s dressing room in the master suite.
Stone had established communications from the house with Woodman & Weld and his major clients. Those phoning the New York office could be connected directly from the firm’s switchboard to either Stone’s new office or his cell phone, avoiding transatlantic call charges for the callers.
Viv Bacchetti, who had been living quietly, reading a lot, but joining the others for lunch and dinner each day, announced that Strategic Services would require her presence in New York in another week, and that Dino had found a European Union conference on terrorism in Southampton that would require his presence in England for a few days. As part of her work, she conducted a security survey of Curtis House and made recommendations for the installation of equipment and the assignment of personnel to guard the place during the renovation. A Strategic Services aircraft dropped Dino off on the Windward airfield, jet-lagged and a little crabby. The gang received him in the library for cocktails on his first day, and his mood improved exponentially with each Scotch.
Viv gave Dino a tour of the house, and he was much impressed. “I am surprised,” he said to Stone, “how much at home here you seem already. The place seems to suit you.”
“Suit me it does,” Stone said.
“I understand Dr. Don is in the country. Have you had him to tea yet?”
“Not yet, nor for the foreseeable future. He does have one of his black SUVs stationed near our main gate, though, so he hasn’t forgotten about us.”
“Peter, Ben,” Dino said, “tell us how Hell’s Bells is doing in the States.”
“We took in seventy million dollars in sales the first week,” Ben replied, “and half again the second week, with eight hundred more screens showing the film. That figure held for the third week, so we have a major hit on our hands. We have a proper London premiere next week at a Leicester Square movie palace. Our stars are coming, and Centurion Studios has taken suites at the Savoy to house them and for interview purposes. We have a premiere in Paris the following weekend.”
“I hope you’ll stay in the Paris house when you’re there,” Stone said. “Maybe you’ll think of a story that can be shot in Paris.”
“What a good idea,” Peter said.
Elsie came into the library and bent close to Stone’s ear. “There’s a phone call for you, Mr. Barrington,” she said, “from a person called”—she referred to a note in her hand—“Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun.”
29
Stone took the call in a far corner of the library. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barrington, this is Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun. I think you know who I am.”
“Oh, yes, I know who you are.”
“I thought that, since we have similar interests, perhaps we should meet and have a chat.”
“Similar interests? You and I?”
“We are both interested in Curtis House and in your son and his partner.”
“Mr. Calhoun—” Stone said.
“That’s Dr. Calhoun.”
“Oh, yes, you hold a Ph.D. from that South Carolina diploma mill, don’t you?”
“Mr. Barrington—”
“Mr. Calhoun, you have no legitimate interest in either of the subjects you just mentioned, particularly the latter one, and I would advise you, most seriously, to back away from both.”
“Or suffer the consequences? Do I detect a threat in your words?”
“I make it a point not to make threats, except in a legal context.”
“Then let’s get legal: I am contemplating suing your son and his partner for libel.”
“In Britain?”
“Possibly.”
“Then I suggest you ask your attorneys to advise you on the perils of proving libel here. It is more difficult than, perhaps, you have read in the newspapers, and it is very expensive. It’s even more difficult in the United States.”
“I have the resources to press such a suit to its conclusion,” Calhoun said.
“And my son has not only his resources, but mine to back him up, plus those of a major Hollywood film studio. Such an ill-considered action would have the eventual effect of reducing your financial status to a smoking ruin.”
“I’m told I have grounds, in either country.”
“Then you are poorly advised. Have you even seen the film?”
“I have.”
“And you still believe the nonsense you have been told?”
“It is not nonsense.”
“I should tell you that the film has been reviewed by the best legal counsel in both countries, and they did not find it necessary to make a single cut in order to defend it. But if you wish to squander the fortune you have sucked from the pockets of your credulous followers, then do what you must.”
“Now, now, Mr. Barrington, don’t you think that in a friendly chat we could iron out our differences?”
&
nbsp; “On what basis?”
“For a start, I am willing to pay you a million pounds more than you have agreed to pay for Curtis House. How does that sound? A quick million-pound profit in less than a week?”
“I would not consider it a good return on investment to have you and your followers for neighbors.”
“Must we descend into telephone insults?”
“Certainly, I would prefer to insult you to your face, but since I have no intention of meeting you, the phone will have to do.”
“I warn you, Mr. Barrington, I am keeping abreast of your movements and actions.”
“And how did that work out for you in the states of Connecticut and New York? I should tell you that the law in this country with regard to firearms is much stricter than in the States, and I should also tell you that you have already attracted the attention of local law enforcement, and that private security arrangements for my property are in place. Now, since we have nothing further to discuss, I bid you good day.” Stone hung up.
Peter got up and walked over to where Stone sat. “Is everything all right, Dad?”
“Did you overhear my end of the conversation?”
“Well, toward the end you were sort of shouting.”
“I apologize, but I was speaking to Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun.”
“Ah, I see.”
“He’s threatening a libel suit, but don’t be concerned. You should, however, call the studio and have them call your British distributors and warn them. If he proceeds, Calhoun will ask for an injunction to stop distribution, pending disposition of his suit, and if they aren’t ready, he might get it, at least temporarily. British businesspeople get very skittish at the mention of libel, because the laws are so different here. I should think that a little proactive PR defense would be a good idea. You should give a couple of interviews and address the problem head-on. Say that your legal advisers have told you there are no grounds for such a suit.”
“They have already done so, and they didn’t ask for a single cut.”
“I thought as much.” Stone picked up the phone. “Excuse me for a moment, I have another call to make.” Peter went back to his seat, and Stone called Felicity Devonshire.
