Sex, Lies & Serious Money

by Stuart Woods

  “How’s your new client the rich kid doing?” Dino asked.

  “Pretty good, by his own account. He’s actually enjoying himself at Flight Safety, which I always find to be a grind. He even likes the flight simulator, which I detest.”

  “Can you really learn to fly in a simulator?”

  “You can learn to fly the simulator,” Stone said. “It doesn’t handle exactly like an airplane, but the cockpit layout and the avionics are identical, and the view out the windows is cities, fields, and airports, which are pretty realistic. It’s good for testing your judgment and learning to make quick decisions.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “He’s got less than a week to go, and he’s not in the least discouraged. I was tearing my hair out at that point. And when he finishes there, he’s going to start flying his airplane with a mentor pilot aboard. Pat Frank arranged that for him.”

  “How about you? I haven’t seen you with a woman for a while. That’s unlike you.”

  Stone laughed. “Sometimes you’re lucky, sometimes you’re not.”

  —

  LAURENCE HAYWARD FINISHED his last simulator session and went back to the instructor’s office, where he filled out some paperwork.

  “You did well,” the man said. “Better than most owner-pilots. Don’t try to do too much in the new airplane, until you’re feeling confident in it, and don’t start feeling confident too soon. And listen to your mentor pilot.”

  Laurence glanced at his watch. “He should be waiting downstairs for me. Are we about done?”

  “About,” the man said, signing a document and handing it to him. They shook hands, and Laurence went downstairs and found a tall, thin man of at least sixty to be the only person in the waiting room.

  “Laurence Hayward?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “I’m Don McEvoy,” he said. “Pat Frank sent me to mentor you. Sit down for a minute, and let’s talk.”

  Laurence sat down.

  “Where do you envision flying the next couple of weeks?”

  “To Teterboro this afternoon, overnight there, pick up my girlfriend, then to San Francisco tomorrow morning. After that we’ll improvise.”

  “Okay.”

  Laurence’s iPhone went off. “Excuse me. Hello?”

  “Laurence, it’s Mom.” She sounded funny.

  “Mom, are you all right?”

  “Not really. Derek had a heart attack this morning—it was too early your time to call you—and he’s having an emergency triple bypass as we speak. His doctors are very optimistic about the outcome.”

  Laurence knew that bypass surgery was routine these days, but he was immediately worried about his mother. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help? Do you need anything?”

  “I need you,” she said. “Can you fly over tomorrow?”

  “Hold on a moment, please.” He turned to Don. “Change of plans. I’d like to fly to London tomorrow. My stepfather has had a heart attack and surgery.”

  McEvoy shrugged. “We can do that. I’ll set up flight handling with Pat Frank. We’ll just go east instead of west, via Newfoundland.”

  “Mom? I’ll be there tomorrow night. Are you at the London house?”

  “Yes. I’ll have Wanda get your room ready.”

  “Have her get the adjoining room ready, too. I’m bringing a girl—her name is Theresa Crane.”

  “All right. Hold on, here’s the doctor.” She covered the phone and spoke to someone for a couple of minutes, then came back. “Derek came through the surgery just fine. He should be able to go home in three or four days. I’ll take him to the country for his recovery.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll see you late tomorrow night. Don’t wait up, I’ll use my key.” He said goodbye and hung up. “Where will we land?” he asked Don.

  “Did you fly the London City approaches in the sim?”

  “Yes, I took the international course.”

  “We’ll land there, but if you’re staying a few days, I’ll find somewhere else to park the airplane, and I’ll make my own living arrangements.”

  “Good, west of London would be best.”

  “Got it.”

  Laurence called Theresa.

  “Hello, there. What time are you getting in?”

  “Not until tonight sometime. Do you have a passport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring it. We’re flying to London tomorrow. Bye-bye.” He hung up.

  —

  THERESA STARED at the telephone. “Hello?” She hung up. “Well,” she said to herself, “that was abrupt, but exciting.”

  —

  “LET’S GO LOOK at the new airplane,” he said. The two men got into Don’s rental car and drove to the Citation Service Center. The airplane was there, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  “Let’s do a quick walk-around, and we’ll get out of here. I’m already filed for Teterboro.”

  “Okay.” Laurence stowed his bags in the forward luggage compartment and followed Don as he walked around the airplane, checking gauges and the levels of fuel, oxygen, and hydraulic fluid. He showed him how to connect the airplane’s main battery, then they got into the cabin and closed the door. Laurence took the left seat and looked around him. All was familiar from his first flight on the Cessna airplane and from the simulator. He worked his way through the checklist, with Don making helpful comments, then started an engine and cranked up the air-conditioning. Then, with both engines running, he got clearance from the tower and permission to taxi.

  Ten minutes later, they lifted off the runway and headed east, with the setting sun behind them.

  A little after nine PM, Laurence set down the airplane gently on runway 19 at Teterboro, and taxied to Jet Aviation, where his newly rented hangar space awaited them.

  At the terminal he ran through the shutdown checklist and flipped off the battery switch. Silence greeted them for the first time in nearly four hours.

  “My car is waiting for us,” Laurence said. “I’ll put you up for the night.”

  “What time do you want wheels-up tomorrow?”

  “Nine AM?”

  “Sounds good.”

  —

  AT THE FAIRLEIGH, Laurence found a note from Marge on his pillow: everything was fine—she’d see him in the morning.

  Laurence ordered them some food, and they ran through the flight procedures for their flight to St. John’s and London the following day. He called Theresa; she was out, so he left a message, asking her to be ready for pickup at sixty-thirty AM, then he fell into bed and went immediately to sleep.

  14

  THEY WERE AT TETERBORO by seven-thirty, where they stowed their luggage and went through the emergency gear Don had ordered: three dry suits, GPS locator, handheld aviation radio, food, and water. Laurence had already ordered a life raft as part of the airplane’s original equipment. Don showed them how the suits worked and how to handle an emergency ditching in the North Atlantic. To Laurence’s surprise, Theresa took it in stride.

  At nine AM sharp, Laurence began his takeoff roll, then rotated, got the landing gear and flaps up, and set a course in the flight management system for St. John’s, Newfoundland. They climbed to flight level 410—41,000 feet—and Don checked the range ring on the GPS. “Good tailwinds today,” he said. “We might be able to make London after St. John’s without stopping in Ireland for fuel.”

  —

  THEY REFUELED in St. John’s, then climbed to altitude. Don pointed at the range ring. “Unless that changes, we’re nonstop to London.” He pulled the power back a little, and the range ring moved outward. “Just in case we want to go to Norway,” Don explained. “It doesn’t hurt to have some extra fuel in reserve. I’m going to stretch my legs.” He got out of the cockpit.

  A moment later, Theresa took the ri
ght seat. “I’m still alive,” she said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “We’re in good hands with Don,” Laurence said. “He has a world of experience.”

  “I feel I’m in good hands with you.”

  —

  THEY WOULD BE landing in the dark. Don, back in the right seat, talked Laurence through the setup for the approach. The weather was uncharacteristically clear, and Laurence saw the runway as they turned final.

  “The autopilot knows the way,” Don said. “Stand by for a steeper-than-usual final leg—it’s a characteristic of this particular approach.”

  Laurence devoted himself to slowing the airplane for the steep descent, with flaps, landing gear, and, as necessary, speed brakes. They touched down exactly where he had aimed the airplane and taxied to the ramp, where there was a car waiting.

  “You go ahead,” Don said. “I’ll find a hotel and move the airplane to Oxford tomorrow. I’ve reserved hangar space there.”

  “That’s perfect—half an hour from my folks’ place in the country.”

  “You can always reach me on my cell phone,” Don said. “Let me know when you have a departure time, and I’ll make the arrangements and get the paperwork filed.”

  They shook hands, and Laurence and Theresa got into the hired Jaguar. “Wilton Crescent, Belgravia,” he said to the driver.

  “I know it well, sir.”

  Three-quarters of an hour later, Laurence was letting them into the house. He put their luggage on the elevator and they rode up two stories. “You’ll have your own room,” he said.

  “That’s very considerate,” she said, “but unnecessary.”

  They turned in together and fell quickly asleep. She woke him in the morning, and the ravishing was accomplished.

  —

  LAURENCE’S MOTHER had breakfast waiting for them, and he made the introductions. “Theresa, this is my mother, Dorothy, who likes to be called Dot.” The two women got on well immediately.

  “Derek had a good night and will be walking around today,” she said. “I’ve hired a private nurse to help him in the country. His private insurance pays for part of it.”

  “Don’t worry about the money,” Laurence said. “Dad left me well fixed.” Somehow, he didn’t feel ready to tell them about the lottery. He hadn’t told anyone, so far, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

  “I didn’t know he was all that well off.”

  “He made some very good property investments in Palm Beach.”

  “Good for him, and good for you. I’m relieved that you can help. Derek has always made a lot of money in advertising, but he’s spent most of it in living well. I expect he’ll sell out to his junior partners, and that should see us right. We might have to part with some property, though.”

  “Don’t worry your head about it.”

  “Why don’t you and Theresa drive down to the country today or tomorrow and settle into the cottage? You can take Derek’s car and have some time together.”

  “Tomorrow, perhaps. I want to make sure you’re all right here.”

  —

  LAURENCE TOOK THERESA shopping at Harvey Nichols and bought her some clothes and a new suitcase to hold them, then, the following morning they set out for Berkshire in Derek’s Aston Martin Rapide, a four-door sedan with just room enough for their luggage. After an hour’s drive, Laurence drove through the gates to the property, which was called Westward Ho!, past the handsome main house and to his cottage. Theresa found it completely charming.

  —

  TWO DAYS LATER, his mother arrived, driving her Jaguar XJ with Derek in the passenger seat.

  “You look very good,” Laurence said, giving him a hug.

  “Just a little tired,” Derek replied. “One more good night’s sleep, and I’ll be fit.”

  “Don’t rush it.”

  They dined at home, on a dinner prepared by a local cook who served them most weekends at the country house. Derek excused himself before dessert, and Laurence helped him to his bed.

  “It’s good to see you, kiddo,” Derek said, as Laurence tucked him in.

  “You too.”

  “All this happened a little before I was ready for it, you know.”

  “I guess it’s always that way.”

  “The boys at the shop are taking care of things. I’ll make an appearance as soon as I feel up to it, to calm the clients, but I think I’m going to pack it in as soon as we can work out a price and a smooth transition. I hear they’re already looking for financing.”

  “You can spend more time out here, then.”

  Derek shook his head. “I won’t be able to afford it without a big salary coming in, so I think it will have to go. We might be able to manage the London house, but if not, then we’ll sell that, too, and take a flat.”

  “Derek, don’t trouble yourself about all that, just rest and get well. I can help you.”

  “You, help me?”

  “Dad left me well fixed. Trust me, I can help.”

  “And I thought you’d be playing piano in some dive for the rest of your life, while teaching pubescent schoolboys in the daytime.”

  “Maybe not.” He kissed him on the forehead and went back downstairs.

  “Was he talking about selling everything?” his mother asked.

  “Yes, but don’t worry, you won’t be moving house.”

  “We won’t? That’s not what Derek was saying.”

  “Please trust me, Mom. Derek and I will sort it all out together.”

  “If you say so, darling.”

  “I do say so, and it will be so.”

  They had a cognac together, then everyone went to bed.

  Laurence and Theresa walked back to the cottage in the moonlight. “They’re such nice people,” she said.

  “They are, and I’m glad to have them as my family.”

  “I envy you that,” she said. “My family has always been such a mess.”

  “Butch, too?”

  “Especially Butch. I worry about him.”

  “You’ll have to tell me all about it when I’m sober,” he said.

  15

  MARGE MASON let herself into apartment 15 and went directly to her new office. She had spent the day before arranging the room and making file tabs and ordering office supplies. As she sat down the morning light struck the little check-writing machine on her desk. It wasn’t where she had left it, and the angle of the light revealed a fingerprint on the metal surface. She held her own fingers near it and compared: it was larger than any of her prints.

  She remembered something she had once seen on television; she found a roll of cellophane tape in her desk drawer, applied a length of it to the print on the check writer, then peeled it off, taking the print with it. She took an index card from the drawer and applied the tape to it, then noted the date, time, and circumstances on the card and signed it. Her phone rang.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hayward’s office.”

  “Good morning, Marge, it’s Laurence.”

  “Are you up? I didn’t hear you when I came in.”

  “I’m up, and I’m in England.”

  “England? I thought you were coming back to New York from Wichita.”

  “I did, but my stepfather has had a heart attack and surgery, so I came to be with my mother.” He gave her the telephone number. “Best to reach me on my cell, though.”

  “Of course. How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know—a week or ten days, I suppose. I have some business to take care of here. Everything all right there?”

  “I think so, but when I came in this morning I noticed that my office wasn’t quite the way I left it.”

  “It’s the hotel maids,” he said. “They come in every day, and they move things around.”

  “Ah, I should have thought o
f that. Is there anything I can do for you here?”

  “I don’t think so. You can pay the bills as they come in. E-mail me anything you’re uncertain about for approval.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’ll let you know when I have a return date. Oh, I hired the driver from the chauffeur service I’ve been using. His name is Oliver Mann. Please put him on the payroll at seventy-five thousand a year, with effect from yesterday.”

  “Will do.”

  He gave her Oliver’s phone number. “You can call him for his Social Security number and address, et cetera. If you need to run any errands, Oliver will drive you. He’ll be at the apartment every day to help you, should you need him.”

  “Grand.”

  “I have to go now. Call me, if you have any questions.”

  “I will. Goodbye.” They both hung up.

  —

  BUTCH WAS HAVING an idle moment in the shoe department when his cell rang.

  “It’s me,” Curly said.

  “What’s up?”

  “My ex-lawyer friend is here, and I need some information for the incorporation papers. What do you want to call it?”

  “How about Internet Arts?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Rent a post office box in that name, and have some stationery printed. I’ve already arranged for a website, internetarts-dot-com, but there’s nothing on it yet. Put that on the stationery, and have some cards printed for both of us. Change the pounds we took to dollars and use that for expenses. Oh, and put this motto on the stationery—‘Fine art at your fingertips.’”

  “How much should I have printed?”

  “Not much, we have only one client—customer. Gotta run.” He hung up.

  —

  LAURENCE SAT DOWN for lunch on the terrace with his stepfather; his mother and Theresa had gone to the village to shop for dinner.

  “I’ve accepted an offer from my partners for the agency,” Derek said.

  “Was it what you wanted?”

  “Nearly. I also spoke with a friend in real estate who’s familiar with our properties. He says I should ask eight million and take seven for this place.”