Son of Stone

by Stuart Woods

  “I want you to be nice to him, no matter what he says or does,” Arrington said.

  “I try to be nice to everybody,” Stone said.

  “Tim can sometimes be difficult,” she said. “He’s quick to anger, and sometimes intemperate in his remarks.”

  “So I may have to slug him, if he acts up?”

  “Don’t you dare. Remember, he’s in tight with most of the people who’ll be here, who are my neighbors, and I want you to exercise some forbearance. I don’t want him to be able to say an unkind word about you that anyone would believe. Remember, you only have one opportunity to make a first impression, especially with the local gentry. I want you to be not just charming but gallant.”

  “All right, I’ll wait until we’re alone to slug him. You know, I think I still have my old cop’s blackjack somewhere. I’ll dig it out.”

  “Oh, stop it!”

  “All right, all right, I won’t harm a hair on his architectural head, and I’ll charm the locals right out of their socks.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Does Peter know him?”

  “No, Peter was at school when I was seeing him, so they’ve met only once, briefly. Be careful what you say about Tim when you’re around him.”

  “Is there anybody else to whom I have to show forbearance?”

  “Practically everybody,” she said. “It’s an inbred society down here, and they’re not likely to display any genuine warmth toward a stranger. They’ll be nice, because I’m a local girl, but believe me, they would have been much happier with me if I’d married Tim Rutledge.”

  “Well, I’m not going to give you up just to please them.”

  “You’d better not give me up for any reason!”

  “You, my love, are a keeper,” Stone said with feeling.

  “And so are you,” she said.

  43

  Kelli Keane got to work on time and ran into Prunella Wheaton on the elevator.

  “Come see me,” Wheaton said. “I may have a little something for you.”

  “Certainly,” Kelli replied. She dropped her coat at her desk and walked back to Wheaton’s office, looking forward to her delicious coffee.

  “Come on in,” Wheaton said. “Coffee’s on.”

  Kelli took her usual seat. “You’re looking lovely today,” Kelli said. “As soon as I can afford it I’m going to start asking where you shop for clothes. To know now would just hurt.”

  Wheaton laughed. “The way you’re going, that will happen soon enough, and maybe what I’ve got for you will help.” She handed Kelli a cup of coffee.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I found out where Arrington Calder Barrington is.”

  Kelli sat up straight. “Oh? Spa? Mental hospital?”

  “Neither,” Wheaton said. “She’s in Virginia, where she has been living during the years since Vance’s death. She was born and raised in Albemarle County, and she’s just built a house there. She’s getting it ready for a housewarming next Saturday night.”

  “How on earth did you learn that?” Kelli asked.

  “I had dinner with a friend last night, and he works at Architectural Digest. They’re photographing it on Friday for the magazine, and my friend says it’s going to be really something. It seems that a little over a year ago, Arrington bought Champion Farms, a racehorse breeding establishment in the county. A house had existed on the property since the mid-eighteenth century, but it burned down early in the 1920s. Arrington unearthed the plans for the house in the University of Virginia Library, and an architecture professor there drew plans for a nearly identical new house on virtually the same footprint as the old one, but with all mod cons, of course. It’s going to be the showplace of the county.”

  “Wow, that sounds marvelous. Now, how am I going to get an invitation to that housewarming?”

  “I think that’s reaching a bit, my dear, but there is another way you can get a very good look at it.”

  “Tell me,” Kelli said, eagerly.

  “Well, first of all, you have a lunch date today with a handsome young man—in fact, the person I had dinner with last night. He’s the son of an old friend of mine, and you’re meeting him at twelve-thirty at the Harvard Club. Do you know where that is?”

  “West Forty-fourth, next door to the New York Yacht Club.”

  “That’s right,” Wheaton said. “His name is David Rutledge. Now go do yourself some good.”

  Kelli walked into the Harvard Club and surveyed the scene: to her left was a reception desk, and the door ahead of her, through which she now walked, opened into a large lounge with a fireplace and a lot of comfortable furniture strewn about. She looked around and saw a man coming toward her—tall, very slim, early thirties, dressed in a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, a blue chambray shirt, and a brown knit tie. A thick mop of sandy hair fell across his forehead. He had his hand out.

  “Kelli Keane?”

  “And you’re David Rutledge,” she said, shaking his hand.

  “Shall we go in for lunch?” He led her into the dining room, a gothic glory with an enormously high ceiling and a quiet buzz from the tables. A headwaiter seated them near the fireplace. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

  “Oh, just a glass of Chardonnay,” she said. “I do have to go back to work later.”

  He ordered the wine and a martini for himself, and they clinked glasses. She was showing some cleavage, and he was noticing. “Prunie speaks highly of you,” he said.

  “That’s sweet of her. She says your mother is her old and dear friend.”

  “My grandmother, actually; they were classmates at Stanford. Tell me about you. Where did you spring from?”

  “I sprang from West Chester, Pennsylvania, and I worked on the paper in Philadelphia right out of Bennington, then I came here last year. How about you?”

  “Charlottesville, Virginia, Herald Academy in Jamestown, UVA School of Architecture, then an MBA at Harvard. I went to work at Architecture Magazine right out of school, then moved to Architectural Digest six years ago. I was promoted to executive art director right before Christmas.”

  “Congratulations! That sounds like a wonderful job.”

  They chatted on through lunch, played who-do-you-know (nobody), then over a second drink warmed to each other.

  She waited for him to bring it up, and he didn’t, so finally she said, “Prunie tells me you’ve got an interesting shoot next weekend.”

  “Yes, we do.” He told her about the history of the house. “The architect is a cousin of mine, Tim Rutledge. He teaches at UVA.”

  She pretended not to know about it. “It sounds beautiful,” she said. “I just love that sort of thing. You don’t need an assistant for the trip, do you?” she asked, trying to sound facetious.

  “Oh, something might be arranged, if you play your cards right,” he said, leering a little.

  She leaned forward to give him a better view of her cleavage, an act, she had discovered, that tended to concentrate the minds of men. “I’m a pretty good card player,” she said. “And I’ll pay my own airfare. You can deal with the hotel arrangements.”

  “You’re serious, then?”

  “I am.”

  His eyebrows went up. “We’re staying at a small country inn near the house, and I think they’re pretty booked up.”

  “I don’t mind sharing,” she said, “as long as I’m not in the stable.”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. You can bunk with me, if that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Why don’t we have dinner before we go down there?” he asked.

  “I’d love to.”

  “Tomorrow night? Eight o’clock at Park Avenue Winter?”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Shall I pick you up?”

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “You can see me home afterward.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said.

  “So will I.”
<
br />   44

  Stone and his party took the big round table at the rear for their party of seven: Dino, Ben, Peter, Hattie, Hattie’s parents—Sean and Margaret Patrick—and Stone. He seated himself between the parents. The chat was immediately warm and friendly, and it was clear to Stone that he and Arrington would get along as well with Sean and Margaret as Peter and Hattie were getting along.

  They covered all the usual ground: Sean had emigrated from Ireland as a twenty-one-year-old graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, and had gone to work for a stockbroker. He was in business for himself at thirty and was, judging from the size of his hedge fund, very wealthy. Margaret was an Irish-American music student when they met, and it was she who had taught Hattie all her early piano.

  “You must be very proud of Hattie’s gifts,” Stone said to her.

  “Oh, yes!” Margaret replied. “I’m sorry she doesn’t want to pursue a concert career, because that way I could follow her around and listen to her play all the time.”

  “I’ve heard some of the music she’s composed for Peter’s film, and I was very impressed with it.”

  “I understand your mother was a very fine painter,” she said.

  “Yes, she was,” Stone replied, “and my father was an artist, too, but he expressed himself in wood. I hope you’ll come to my house soon and see some of his work.”

  “We’d love to.”

  “My wife, Arrington, is in Virginia at the moment, moving into a house she has just built. She asked me to invite the three of you to her housewarming next Saturday night. We’ll fly down on Friday afternoon in my airplane and return on Sunday afternoon or Monday morning, if you can take that much time.”

  “What a delightful invitation!” Margaret said. She leaned forward and explained it to Sean.

  “Sounds great!” Sean said.

  “We’ll meet at Teterboro Airport, at Jet Aviation, at two p.m.,” Stone said, “and there’ll be room for everyone to stay in the house. The party on Saturday night is black tie, and the rest of the time is very casual. There are horses to ride, or tennis if you like.”

  “We’ll all look forward to it,” she said.

  “We’ll look forward to having you,” Stone replied, winking at Peter, who had hung on their every word. Peter beamed, and so did Hattie.

  Dino leaned across the table. “Ben’s getting time off from school so he can come down, too. We’re flying down with Mike Freeman and Bill Eggers.”

  “Perfect,” Stone called back. “I was getting short of seats in the Mustang. We’ve got one more, if Ben wants to ride with Peter and Hattie.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Just be at my house at one o’clock,” Stone said to the boy, “and don’t forget your tuxedo.”

  The evening turned out to be a smashing success, and Stone felt that he and Arrington had made their first new friends.

  On Monday afternoon Stone took Peter to the Ralph Lauren store on Madison and got him a tuxedo. It surprised him that the boy had moved up a size and from regular to long, and that the new size fit him perfectly. Stone found a tweed hacking jacket for himself in another department, and then they went downtown to a riding equipment store, where Stone bought riding boots, socks, and the tight-fitting pants that Arrington had requested. All their new gear would be delivered in time for their departure.

  Kelli Keane woke early at David Rutledge’s loft downtown and crept out of bed so as not to wake him. She had been there since Saturday night. She tiptoed to the beautiful bathroom, with its twin sinks, shower, tub, and bidet in a space as large as the bedroom in her apartment. He had done a spectacular job of transforming the formerly industrial space into a large duplex apartment of more than six thousand square feet.

  She was in the middle of her shower when David joined her, and she was tall enough that they could easily make love standing up. She had lost track of how many times they had done it—or something—since Saturday night. David had left very little room for expansion in her repertoire. She was getting the feeling that this one was a keeper, and she had not been previously acquainted with that feeling. Take it easy, she said to herself, and see how it goes.

  She scrambled some eggs for them, and he ate them hungrily.

  “You’re the first woman ever to spend a whole weekend in this apartment,” David said.

  “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  “I’ve only been in it for five weeks.”

  “I still don’t believe it,” she said.

  He laughed. “Next weekend really ought to be fun. Oh, and by the way, the boss has sprung for the company jet, so we won’t have to fly the airlines. It’s always a pain in the ass when you have half a dozen cases of photographic equipment, plus personal luggage.”

  “That’s great news,” she said.

  “A car will pick you up at seven Friday morning. That way, we’ll have most of the day to work and the following morning, as well.”

  “Are we going to get an invitation to the big do on Saturday night?” she asked.

  “We’ll just have to see if that happens,” he said, “but you might bring a suitable dress, just in case. It’s a dressy event.”

  “I can do that,” she said.

  “If you’re free this evening, I’ll cook us some dinner.”

  “Oh, you cook, too? My God!”

  “And bring your toothbrush,” he said, smiling.

  At work, Kelli made a beeline to Prunella Wheaton’s office. Prunie poured her a cup of coffee. “I hear you had a very pleasant weekend,” she said knowingly.

  “How did you know?”

  “Sweetie, you’re going to have to get used to the idea that I know everything. No one can hide anything from me, if I really want to find out.”

  “I believe you, Prunie,” Kelli said. “Yes, it was a wonderful weekend. That apartment!”

  “Well, he trained as an architect,” she said, “and he does work at Architectural Digest, doesn’t he? He has to hold up his end, and the staff there always know where to find the most beautiful things.”

  “I’ve never known a man with that kind of taste and style,” Kelli said. “You wouldn’t believe the state of most men’s living quarters these days.”

  “I expect it’s not much worse than when I was your age,” Prunie said, “and it’s probably much better!”

  45

  Allison Wainwright came into Stone’s office and laid a small stack of papers on his desk. “We’re up to date on the financial reports from Strategic Services and Steele. These are the ones you need to see. Everything else is just boilerplate.”

  “Have a seat, Allison,” Stone said, picking up the papers. He scanned them quickly, then handed them back to her. “Good job,” he said. “That was exactly what I wanted you to do.”

  “They’ll be easier to keep track of, now that we’re caught up,” she said.

  There was a knock at the door and Stone looked up to see Herbie Fisher standing there. “Come in, Herbie,” he said. “I’d like you to meet my new associate. This is Allison Wainwright. Allison, this is Herbert Fisher, our client, and, incidentally, a law student.”

  Herbie shook her hand. “Actually, Stone,” he said, “I’ve finished with school. Graduation won’t be until June, but I’ve completed the course work, and now all I have to do is bone up for the bar exam.”

  Stone noted how Herbie was looking at Allison and how she was returning his gaze. “Have a seat, Herbie,” he said. “Excuse me for a moment. There’s something I have to do.” He left his desk and walked down to Joan’s office and sat down.

  “Are you here for the reason I think you’re here?” she asked.

  Stone nodded. “I thought I’d give them a moment to get acquainted.”

  “I’m glad. Allison is very horny; she’s been complaining about it, and Herbie might be just the ticket for her.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Stone said. “What do you think of Allison?”

  “I like her,” she said. “She sat right down
and did that dirty job you gave her, and I never heard a peep of a complaint. I think she’s very smart, too.”

  “Woodman & Weld wouldn’t have hired her if she hadn’t been both smart and highly qualified. The firm is among the two or three most desirable for graduates among all the New York firms.”

  “Do we keep her, then?”

  “I have the feeling she’ll move up pretty rapidly. Let’s keep her out of the Seagram Building for as long as we can.”

  Joan smiled. “I was hoping you would say that.”

  “Peter and I are going down to Virginia this weekend for Arrington’s housewarming, so scrub my calendar for Friday and Monday.”

  “Will do. How did Peter’s Saturday date work out?”

  “It worked out just fine, thanks. She’s smart as a whip, a terrific pianist, and he’s smitten.”

  “Ah, young love.”

  “Speaking of young love, I’d better get back in there, before Herbie and Allison end up on my sofa.”

  “Go.”

  Stone went back to his office and found Herbie and Allison talking rapidly and laughing. As he sat down his phone buzzed. “Bill Eggers for you,” Joan said.

  “Why don’t you take Herbie to your office, Allison?” Stone said, then picked up the phone. “Morning, Bill.”

  “Good morning, Stone. I just got an invitation to Arrington’s housewarming, and we’re planning to go. Mike Freeman has asked us to fly down with him on Friday, and we’ll come back Sunday afternoon.”

  “Great. I’m glad you can make it. By the way, Bill, I’m impressed with Allison Wainwright. Thanks for sending her to me.”

  “You’re welcome, but the reason she’s there is because of a contretemps with one of the partners, who shall remain nameless.”

  “Let me guess: he made a pass at her?”

  “Without confirming or denying that, you are very perceptive. He’s already looking for work elsewhere, and when he’s gone I’ll want her back.”

  “Then you’ll have to fight me for her,” Stone said. “Joan likes her, too, and that’s not easy to come by.”