“When are you coming home?”
“The grand opening gala is later this week. I’m getting on the Strategic Services jet immediately afterward and heading straight for Washington. Kate has offered me the Lincoln Bedroom for election night.”
“I know about that, I’ll be there, too, but down the hall.”
“Then you can sneak in and sleep with me in Abe’s bed.”
“I’d sleep with you in anybody’s bed.”
“I’ll count on that.”
“I’ve gotta run. I have three thousand things to do.”
“Then go do them. I’ll see you soon.”
—
STONE HUNG UP and sighed. That poll sounded like very bad news for Kate.
“You ready for dinner?”
“Yes!” he called back.
“Upstairs or downstairs?”
“I’ll meet you in the study!” He got into a robe and trotted down the stairs, fear for Kate replacing hunger in the pit of his stomach.
50
Stone bounded out of bed, shaved, showered, dressed, and bounded down the stairs, ready for breakfast.
“You slept well,” Holly said, dishing up eggs and bacon.
“You exhausted me,” Stone said.
“That’s a good reason.” She kissed the top of his head. “I’ve gotta run—a meeting about you at the station.”
“I’m flattered, but I don’t believe it for a moment.”
“Believe it—there’s already an office pool on whether you’ll make it as far as the grand opening of l’Arrington.”
“How are you betting?”
“I haven’t decided yet—maybe after the meeting.” She kissed him, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door. “Oh, by the way,” she called over her shoulder, “the pistol Rick loaned you is in your sock drawer.”
“Thanks!”
Stone finished his breakfast alone, then went into the living room, his sense of well-being evaporating. He picked up a book and tried to read; no use. He played some Jerome Kern on the piano; no effect. Cabin fever began to set in.
He got up and paced a bit, then, seeking fresh air, he opened the front door and stepped out into the mews. His guards were, apparently, on the boulevard side of the big doors. He walked carefully around the cobblestoned area in front of the house, then inspected the flowers growing in the center turnaround but quickly ran out of walking space. He heard the phone ring inside the house and ran back indoors to answer it, but when he picked it up, the caller had already hung up.
He collapsed into one of his new/old armchairs and wondered what to do next. Then there was a tapping on the window behind him. He looked around to see one of his guards peering inside.
“Good morning,” the man said when he opened his door. “There’s a man who shouldn’t know where you are, asking to see you, and he has a woman with him.” He handed Stone a card that read “Yves Carrier, Woodman & Weld.”
“It’s okay, you can let him in,” Stone said. “He’s from the Paris office of my law firm.”
“Right you are,” the man replied. He went to the big doors, opened the small inset door, and waved in a man and a woman. The man was young and fashionably dressed; the woman was middle-aged and motherly-looking.