Stone followed her to the huge double front doors. She pushed and a door swung back to reveal a central hallway that ran straight through the house. The hall was a gallery, hung with large oils. Stone recognized a Turner.
“Oh, good,” she said. “They’ve finished redoing the hall.” She led Stone out the back door and into gorgeously planted gardens.
Stone looked back. “You’d never know the house was under construction,” he said.
“The outside is all finished, now, so all the equipment and tools are inside.” They passed through the gardens and onto a broad lawn, beyond which Lake Worth gleamed in the sunlight.
Blocking most of the view, however, was a very large, very beautiful old yacht.
“That’s Toscana,” Callie said.
“She’s glorious.”
“She was built in Italy in the thirties. Thad spent two years both restoring her to her original condition and almost invisibly modernizing every system on board.”
“How big is she?”
“Two hundred and twenty-two feet, but with only seven cabins, so everyone aboard can be comfortable. Thad gives me the smallest one, but that’s bigger than the big cabins on lesser yachts.”
A small Hispanic young man wearing a smart uniform of white shirt and shorts came down the gangplank to meet them.
“Stone, this is Juanito, Toscana’s chief steward. Juanito, this is Mr. Barrington.”
“Welcome aboard,” Juanito said. “Mr. Barrington is in cabin number two. Mr. Thad phoned to say he was coming.”
“I’ll show him aboard,” Callie said. “Our luggage is in the Jag.”
Juanito found a handcart and ran off toward the house.
Stone followed Callie into the main saloon, and it was as if they had stepped into a much earlier decade. “My God,” he said, “it might have been launched yesterday.”
“Yes, Thad did a really good job on the restoration. Come on, I’ll show you to your cabin. Thad has given you the best one, after the master stateroom.” She led the way down a central passage off the saloon and opened a heavy mahogany door on the starboard side. “Here you are.”
Stone stepped into a cabin paneled in mahogany, with white painted trim. There was a carved marble fireplace on one side of the room, with a sofa and a pair of chairs facing, and behind them, a large bed with a canopy, trimmed in nautical-looking fabric. Out the large porthole was a view of the water. “Marvelous,” he said.
“Your bath is in here,” Callie said, switching on a light. More marble, with a large tub and a separate shower stall. “I’ve never seen anything like this vessel,” Stone said, “although I once sank a yacht nearly as large.”
“Run her on the rocks?”
“No, I was just angry with her owner.”
Callie looked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “I wouldn’t mention that to Thad,” she said. “You might make him nervous.”
Juanito appeared with Stone’s luggage. “May I unpack for you, Mr. Barrington?”
“Thank you, Juanito, yes.”
“And would you like your suits pressed?”
“Thank you again.”
“My cabin is down the hall,” Callie said, grabbing the single small duffel that had accompanied her. “Why don’t you poke around, take a look at Toscana? Dinner at eight all right? I booked from the airplane.”
“Fine. How are we dressing?”
“It’s an elegant place, and the crowd will be elegantly dressed, at least, as they define elegant.”
“See you a little before eight,” Stone said. He left Juanito to do his work and began to explore the big yacht. There were two other cabins on the starboard side, and another three on the port side. Stone took a narrow staircase up a deck and emerged under a broad awning covering an expanse of teak decking. The superstructure was forward, and a set of doors led to what he suspected was the master stateroom. He took another staircase and came to the bridge, where a man in his mid-thirties, wearing the same white uniform as Juanito, except with more stripes on his shoulder boards, was sitting at the chart table.
“G’day,” the young man said with an Australian twang. “You must be Mr. Barrington.”
“That’s right,” Stone said, offering his hand.
“I’m Gary Stringfellow, the captain,” he said.
“Good to meet you.”
“Juanito show you to your cabin?”
“Yes, I’m just having a look around. This is quite some bridge.” It was all mahogany and brass.
“Yes. In the rebuilding, we tried to keep it much as it was when the yacht was built, except, of course, we have every piece of modern gear known to man.”
“I can see that.”
“Wander at will,” Gary said. “I have some work to do. Just let Juanito know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, I will.” Stone continued his tour, working his way forward to the stem, then aft to a broad sundeck, where he shucked off his coat, loosened his tie and collapsed into a chair.
Juanito appeared, as if by magic, bearing a silver tray and a frosty glass. “I thought you might like a gin and tonic,” he said.
“Thank you, Juanito. You’re psychic.” Stone took the drink, and Juanito disappeared, only to return a moment later with a cordless phone.
“A call for you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
Stone accepted the instrument. “Hello?”
“If’s Bill. How was your flight?”
“You’re full of surprises, Bill, I’ll give you that.”
“I had meant to brief you before you met Thad, but there was no time. I take it you understand his problem?”
“Yes, it’s sort of like being back in high school-the geek wants to date the beauty queen.”
“Thad is impulsive, but he takes these things seriously. Do the best job for him you can, and it will react to your benefit.”
“It already has,” Stone said. “After all, I’m sitting on a yacht in Palm Beach with a gin and tonic frozen to my fist, while you’re in New York, freezing your ass off.”
“That was unkind.”
“It’s no fun being in Florida in winter if you can’t gloat a little.”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, Stone, take this assignment seriously, all right? Thad is very important to the firm. We’re doing all the legal work on his IPO, and I’m his personal attorney. Clients don’t get any bigger than Thad Shames.”
“I get the picture,” Stone replied.
“Keep me posted,” Eggers said, “and don’t let anything go wrong.” He hung up.
Stone put his feet up, sipped his drink and watched the yachts sail by. This was wonderful. Tomorrow he’d find the girl and she and Shames would live happily ever after. What could possibly go wrong?
6
Stone reappeared on the afterdeck just before eight, showered, shaved and wearing a gray linen suit, a cream-colored silk shirt, a yellow tie and black alligator shoes. He took a long look at the lights of West Palm, and then he was joined by Callie.
“Good evening,” she said.
He turned to look at her and was stunned by the transformation. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was wearing a tight-fitting, short dress of a dark brown espresso color. It was cut fairly low, showing off handsome breasts and a good tan. When she smiled, her teeth practically glowed in the dark. “Good evening,” he said, when he got his breath back.
“Shall we go?” She led him back through the gardens, their way lighted by low lamps along the path, through the house and to the car. “Would you like to drive?” She held out the keys.
Stone took them. “Sure. I haven’t driven one of these.” He opened the door for her, then went around to the driver’s side. The engine purred, rather than roared, to life, and he pulled into the lamplit street and accelerated. “Nice. What kind of power?”