Stone Barrington: The Short Forever Part 25

Stone inspected the interior before getting into the car.

"Good evening, Mr. Barrington," the uniformed driver said.

"Good evening." The car pulled away from the curb. "What kind of car is this?"

"It's a Daimler limousine, sir; made by Jaguar."

"And to whom does it belong?"

"It belongs to the emba.s.sy, sir; they have a small fleet of them; this particular one is a.s.signed to the amba.s.sador, but since he's entertaining at home this evening, he didn't need it."

"Are these cars common in London?"

"Oh, yes; many of the foreign emba.s.sies use them, as does the Royal Family."

Stone relaxed a little; he wasn't being abducted again. "Where is the amba.s.sador's residence?"

"In Regents Park, sir; do you know it?"

"No, this is my first trip to London in many years, and I never got to Regents Park the first time."

"It's about a twenty-five-minute drive this time of day, sir."

"You're English?"

"Welsh, sir; the emba.s.sy employs quite a lot of locals. Cheaper than bringing over Yanks, I expect."

"I'm afraid I don't even know the amba.s.sador's name."

"It's Sumner Wellington, sir; I'm told the name went down rather well with the Queen."

"Oh, yes, of course; he owns a big communications company," Stone said.

"That's correct, sir; it's said that American presidents always appoint very rich men to the Court of St. James, because they can afford to do all the necessary entertaining out of their own pockets. Amba.s.sador Wellington has paid for a complete renovation of the residence, as well."

"Sounds like an expensive job."

"I expect so, sir."

"But Amba.s.sador Wellington can afford it."

"Quite so, sir. You said you were in London once before?"

"Yes, as a student; I did a hitchhiking tour of Europe one summer, and I spent a week of it in London."

"I expect your accommodations this time are somewhat better than on your last trip."

"Oh, yes. I spent most nights at a youth hostel, and, on one occasion, I got back after curfew and was locked out, so I slept under a railway arch somewhere."

"So the Connaught is a big step upwards."

"You could say that." The man was awfully chatty for a Brit, Stone thought, especially for a chauffeur. "Are you the amba.s.sador's regular driver?"

"No, sir, I'm just a staff driver; I've driven the amba.s.sador on a few occasions, when his regular driver wasn't available."

"Do you like him?"

"Yes, sir, I do; I find self-made Americans are much nicer to staff than the upper-cla.s.s British. Oh, we're in Regents Park, now."

They were driving along a wide crescent of identical buildings, with the park on their left. After a turn or two, the car glided to a stop before the residence, a very large Georgian house.

A U.S. marine opened the rear door of the car.

"Mr. Barrington?" the driver said.

Stone stopped getting out of the car.

"I was asked to give you a message."

"Yes?"

"If you recognize someone, be careful."

"That's it?"

"Yes, sir; I'll be waiting when you're ready to leave; just give your name to the marine on duty."

"See you later, then."

"Yes, sir."

Stone got out of the car and entered the house. In the huge foyer, there was a reception line that was moving slowly. Stone got into it, behind a very American-looking couple. He was short and pudgy; she was taller, very blonde, and expensive-looking.

"Hey," the woman said.

"Good evening," Stone replied.

"That's what I should have said, I guess; good evening."

"Hey works for me," Stone laughed.

She held out her hand. "I'm Tiffany b.u.t.ts; this is my husband, Marvin."

Stone shook their hands.

"We're from Fort Worth, Texas," she said. "Are you an American?"

"Oh, yes; I'm from New York."

"I wasn't sure about your accent."

"I've been here a few days; maybe I'm picking up an English accent."

"Oh, shoot, no, it's just me."

"What business are you in, Mr. Barrington?" Marvin b.u.t.ts asked.

"I'm an attorney."

"I'm in the sc.r.a.p metal business," b.u.t.ts said. "In a fairly big way."

I'll bet you are, Stone thought, or you wouldn't be at this party. "Sounds good."

"Good, and getting better," b.u.t.ts replied.

They had been moving along the line, and suddenly they were before the amba.s.sador and his wife. The amba.s.sador was sixtyish, slim, and handsomely tailored. His wife was twenty-five years his junior, very beautiful and elegant. The amba.s.sador greeted Marvin and Tiffany b.u.t.ts warmly, then turned toward Stone.

"Good evening," he said. "Welcome to the residence."

"Good evening, Mr. Amba.s.sador," Stone replied. "I'm Stone Barrington."

"Ah," the amba.s.sador said, looking him up and down.

His wife gave Stone a broad smile. "We have a mutual friend, Stone," she said.

"And who would that be, Madame Amba.s.sador?"

"Oh, please, I'm Barbara, among friends."

Friends? What was she talking about? An aide ushered Stone farther along before he could ask.

Stone found himself a few steps above a large hall, looking down on a very elegant crowd. Before he had moved a step, he recognized two people. The sight of either would have made his heart beat a little faster, but for very different reasons.

Arrington Carter Calder saw him almost at the same moment and held his gaze, expressionless. And just beyond her, Stone saw a short, bald, bullet-headed man he had met before.

36.

THEN ARRINGTON SMILED WARMLY, and Stone's knees went a little weak. He experienced a series of vivid flashbacks: meeting her at a New York dinner party some years before, she in the company of America's biggest movie star, Vance Calder; taking her away from Calder, making love to her in his house and hers, falling desperately in love with her; then setting off on a sailing trip to the Caribbean, planning to meet her there; her not showing up, but writing to say she'd married Calder. Then there was the child, of course, Peter; born slightly less than nine months later: Calder's son, she said, and the tests had backed her up. Then, after Calder was dead, murdered, learning that the tests might have been rigged. She'd refused further testing. He'd seen her a few months before in Palm Beach, for a single evening, then he had been in the hospital with a bullet wound, then whisked back to New York. They had not spoken since.

Stone snapped back to the present and made his way down the steps toward her. She was tall, a little blonder than before, dressed in a long, emerald-green gown. Ravishing. To his surprise she met him halfway, embraced him warmly, and gave him a light kiss on the lips.

"h.e.l.lo, Stone," she said, nearly laughing. "Are you surprised to see me?"

"I certainly am," he replied; "what brings you to London?"

"Barbara Wellington and I were roommates at Mount Holyoke; she invited me over to see what she's done with the residence. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes, it is." But he wasn't looking at the residence. "And you are more beautiful than I've ever seen you."

"Aren't you sweet! I saw your name on the guest list this afternoon, and I jiggled the place cards around so we're seated together." She stopped and looked at him. "I'm alone in London."

Stone was beginning to sweat a little, and he was grateful when a waiter showed up with a tray of champagne flutes. He took one and replaced hers with a full one. "I'll look forward to catching up," he said.

Then he remembered the other face he had recognized and looked for it. Gone. Lost in the crowd.

"Looking for someone?" Arrington asked.

"I thought I saw a familiar face, but no more."

She took his arm and led him across the room and out some French doors to a garden. "And what brings you to London?"

"A client asked me to come over and look into something for him."

"Sounds mysterious."

"It is."

"It's always mysterious when you're involved, Stone. Tell me about it."

"I'm afraid I can't. Maybe when it's over."

"Oh."

"How is Peter?"

"Growing," she said. "You must come and see him sometime."

"I'd like that very much," he said. "Where are you spending most of your time?"

"I've been dividing it between LA and Mother's house in Virginia. Peter is there for the summer with her, while I've been apartment hunting."

"In London?"

"In New York."

Stone began to sweat again and sipped the cold champagne. From inside the house a chime was being struck repeatedly.

"Sounds like dinner," Arrington said. "Shall we?"

"Let's do." The thought of Arrington living in New York again thrilled and frightened him. Immediately, his life seemed in turmoil.

They sat at round tables for ten, and there were at least twenty of them. Arrington knew some of the other guests, having "jiggled the place cards," and she chatted animatedly with them all, leaving Stone with a thousand questions and no opportunity to ask any of them. Dinner was good, for banquet food, and when dessert came, Stone excused himself and went to look for a men's room. A staffer showed him the way, and he went inside and stepped up to a urinal. A moment later, the door opened and someone walked behind Stone and around the room, then stepped up to the neighboring urinal.