by Stuart Woods
“I don’t know; I haven’t seen her since the baby.”
“Well, she’s a Beverly Hills wife, now; I’ll assume the worst.”
“That she’s fat?”
“That’s she’s svelte and in top shape. What about her hair and nails?”
“She has hair and nails.”
“How much hair, dummy, and does she lacquer her nails?”
“About as much hair as you, last time I saw her; she kept her nails long, but she seemed to paint them only on special occasions.”
“Then they will be painted tonight,” Dolce said. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” She went out to the car and came back with a train case.
Stone couldn’t imagine where she had stored it in the car.
“There is a small trunk,” she said, reading his mind. “What time are we due there?”
“At seven.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get started,” she said, heading up the stairs.
“It’s only five o’clock,” Stone said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink or something?”
“No time,” she said, disappearing up the stairs.
After a moment, he heard the tub running.
She came halfway back down the stairs. “You can have the bathroom at six-thirty,” she said. “I don’t want to see you up here before then.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“What?”
“Yes, signorina.”
“You’re learning,” she said, vanishing up the stairs.
45
A T 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 worl
d 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.
46
T HEY DINED AT A ROUND, BURLED-WALNUT table in a lovely room with a bay window overlooking the gardens, which were illuminated in the twilight. An unnecessary, but cheerful fire glowed in the fireplace. Stone suddenly had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
“Vance,” he said, “when I was at Centurion during your shooting of a film last year, wasn’t I in this room?”
“You’re very observant, Stone,” Vance replied. “Much of the design of the cottage set was based on photographs of this house. Then, when I saw how they had done the dining room, I bought the furnishings and sent them here. I suppose it’s a bit ‘through the looking glass,’ isn’t it?”
“Just a little disorienting.” Stone was seated on his hostess’s right, between her and the scrumptious Lola. It occurred to him that he had never been at a table with such gorgeous women. Dolce was opposite him, between Vance and Lou, charming them both. Nobody was playing footsie with Stone.
“Stone,” Vance said, “I saw the piece in the Times about the explosion at the art gallery. Tell us about that, will you?”
Stone was immediately uncomfortable; he didn’t want to get into this. “Fortunately, nobody was seriously hurt. The feds are working on the bomb and the van, and Dino is in charge of the local investigation.”
“I understand you saved some lives,” Arrington said.
“I was lucky enough to notice the van before the explosion, so everybody was well away from the windows.”
“Except Stone,” Dolce said. “You should see the cuts on his back.” She shot a glance at Arrington.
“It really was nothing,” Stone said quickly.
“But what’s behind it?” Lou asked.
“The police don’t know, yet.”
“Stone, you’re too modest,” Dolce said. “Someone Stone arrested for murder years ago is out of prison, and bad things are happening to the people who helped put him there—and to the people close to them.” She let that sink in.
Everybody stopped eating.
“Stone’s secretary was murdered, and there has been an attack on my sister, who is now holed up at my father’s house with her child.”
“Alma is dead?” Arrington asked, aghast.
“I’m afraid so,” Stone replied.
“Plus, one of Stone’s neighbors is dead, and the doorman in his friend’s building, and a policeman who was there.”
“Dolce,” Stone said, “this is an unpleasant subject.”
“What are you and Dino doing to catch this man?” Arrington asked.
“Everything we can; he’s been elusive, but his photograph will be in tomorrow’s Times, and we hope that will produce some leads.”
“This man killed a lawyer in New York yesterday,” Dolce said.
“How do you know about that connection?” Stone asked, astonished. “I only heard about it late yesterday afternoon, and the connection with the other murders is not public.”
“I have my sources,” Dolce said.
“Mary Ann again,” Stone said.
Dolce shrugged.
Lola spoke for the first time, in a surprisingly small voice. “Does this mean that we’re all in danger?”
“Certainly not,” Stone said. “If I thought that for a moment, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Vance said.
“Very few people know that I bought a house here,” Stone said, glancing at Dolce. “Although some of them are very talkative.”
Dolce gave him a wry smile.
Dinner resumed, but the conversation was more subdued.
“You certainly lead an interesting existence, Stone,” Lou said. “I’m beginning to think that your mixing in our little contretemps of last year was only a minor episode in your life.”
“Lou,” Arrington said, “you might keep in mind that the mess we drew Stone into was our doing, and not his, and that we all owe him a great deal.”
“Of course, of course,” Lou said, backpedaling rapidly. “And I, for one, am very grateful to him.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you express it,” Arrington said.
Lola spoke up again. “What mess?”
“I’ll tell you later, my dear,” Lou said quickly.
There was a long silence.
“Tell us about your new house, Stone,” Arrington said.
Stone was grateful for the change in subject. “It was once the gatehouse for the property next door, a place called The Rocks.”
“Oh, I know that house,” Vance said. “Carolyn Klemm showed it to me when I was house-hunting here.”
“And what is your gatehouse like?” Arrington asked.
“Two bedrooms, two baths, a powder room, living room, dining area, and kitchen. It’s shingled, like the main house, and has a turret in front.”
“It sounds charming,” Arrington said. “I’d love to see it.”
“Wait until I get it properly put together, then you and Vance must come to dinner.”
“We’d love to,” Vance said. “Do you know who bought The Rocks?”
“No, I haven’t met them yet.”
“You will, if Carolyn Klemm has anything to say about it. Carolyn is the social engine around here; she puts people together in amazing ways.”
“She’s been kind enough to ask me to dinner,” Stone said.
“Then you’re on your way; soon you’ll know everybody.”
There was another long silence.
“You’ve done a beautiful job with this place, Arrington,” Stone said, finally.
“Oh, this is my first visit to the house,” Arrington replied.
Stone winced.
Arrington jumped in to save him. “Vance has the most amazing taste and judgment about furnishings and antiques. When I walked into the house I felt as if I’d arrived home.”
“Vance,” Lou said, “how did a vicar’s son from the south of England come by such a gift for design?”
Vance shrugged. “By watching my elders and betters, I suppose. My mother was always good at making the vicarages we lived in very homey, and that wasn’t always easy. We lived in everything from a run-down thatched cottage to a large, but very seedy Georgian house. I learned a lot by going to the movies, too; the movies were my second home and my university.”
Stone listened gratefully as Vance spun out the story of his childhood in England, happy to have the attention of the group off him.
Finally, the party broke up. Lou and Lola said good night and disappeared upstairs, Dolce went to the powder room, and Vance went to dismiss the cook and butler for the n
ight. Stone found himself alone with Arrington on the front porch.
“It was a lovely evening,” he said.
“I’m so glad you could come”, she replied. “Stone…”
“Yes?”
She seemed to he struggling to speak.
“Are you happy, Arrington?”
She nodded. “In my way. I want you to know that I would have been happier if…”
“Shall we go?” Dolce said, coming out the front door. “This country air is making me sleepy.”
Vance joined them, and they made their good-byes. Arrington held Stone for a moment longer than she should have, but her husband didn’t seem to notice. Dolce, however, did.
On the way home, she said, “Well, that was nice, wasn’t it? You got to see your inamorata again. Was it fun?”
“Dolce,” Stone said, “you and I have known each other for only a few days, and it may surprise you to learn that I had a life before we met. I still have a life, and your place in it is tentative. You embarrassed me tonight, and you frightened my friends. There was absolutely no need to go into my current problems.”
“I’m sorry, Stone,” Dolce said sheepishly. “I apologize; it won’t happen again.”
That night they slept without touching each other. Stone’s mind was elsewhere.
47
S TONE WAS HAVING AN EROTIC DREAM; then he opened his eyes and found that he was not dreaming. Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows, and, lifting his head from the pillow, he found himself looking at the top of Dolce’s head. His head fell back, and he emitted a small noise, taking her attention from her work.
She climbed on top of him, taking him inside her, and bent over to kiss him. The sunlight disappeared behind her falling hair, and he gave himself to the moment, which turned out to be longer than a moment. They had christened the house.
Stone lay on his back, sweating, breathing hard, while Dolce went into the bathroom and came back with a warm face cloth and tended to him.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “I think I’m ruined for the day; I’ll never get out of bed.”
