“What?” Tatiana asked.
Stone got to his feet. “I’ll explain later.” He shook Barton’s hand and was allowed to peck Carla on the cheek. “May I introduce Tatiana Orlovsky?” he said. “Tatiana, this is Barton Cabot and Carla. Just Carla, before you ask.”
Tatiana shook their hands.
“I must say,” Stone said, “I’m even more surprised to find you two here than I am to find me here.”
“An invitation was delivered this morning,” Barton said, “as we were leaving the house.”
“I took it as a sort of peace offering,” Carla said, “since both our names were on the envelope.”
“We spent most of the day in Bristol, photographing Mildred Strong’s house and all her pieces,” Barton said. “Carla turns out to be an excellent photographer.”
“Did you remember to inquire about her acquaintance with our friend, Crow?”
“I did. She admitted to selling him something, but she wouldn’t say what. Not something on our list, though.”
“Did you ask how they met?”
“Through a friend, she said, but when I asked who, she changed the subject.”
“I hope you were able to warn her about Crow.”
“I tried. I hope it registered.”
“So do I. Tatiana, forgive us for discussing business. We’ll stop now.”
“You are kind. I think I’ll seek out the powder room.”
“May I join you?” Carla asked.
“Of course.” The ladies left them.
Stone turned to Barton. “How did Mr. Deal react at seeing you together?”
“Graciously,” Barton replied. “Having invited us, how else could he behave?”
“I don’t know,” Stone said. “He’s an odd one. He sent people into my houses in Washington and in the city. Messed with my dressing room.”
“What?”
Stone told him about the incident. “You may arrive home and find your living room rearranged.”
“I don’t think odd is a strong enough word for this fellow,” Barton said, gazing across the room at his host.
“I was about to say,” Stone said, “that I think I’ll avoid his company in the future, but then, look what I found by seeking his company tonight.” He nodded toward Tatiana, who was coming back from the ladies’, followed by Carla. They stopped to speak to someone.
“There’s something I should tell you about Carla,” Stone said.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, I know that, by now, you must know her better than I, but it’s about her last name.”
“What is her last name? She wouldn’t tell me.”
“It’s Bianchi. Her grandfather is a friend of mine, Eduardo Bianchi.”
“How odd,” Barton said. “I sold him a pair of tables a few years ago.”
“You do get around, Barton. So you know who he is?”
“You mean the Mafia connection? I’ve heard about that.”
“Some of the women in the family can be a little screwy,” Stone said, reflecting on his experience with Dolce, Eduardo’s daughter. “You might keep that in mind.”
49
Stone and Tatiana left the party, having said good night to their host, and they got into a cab. “Would you like to take the scenic route home?” Stone asked.
“Why not?” Tatiana replied.
Stone gave the cab driver his address, and when they arrived, he let them into the house and pressed the switch that turned on lights in every room.
“Oh, it’s bigger than my house,” Tatiana said. “And beautifully furnished.”
“I inherited the house from a great aunt several years ago and did most of the renovations myself. Much of the furniture and all of the cabinet work were built by my father, who had a reputation in that field. Most of my decoration was just updating upholstery and fabrics on the original furniture and adding some pieces.” He showed her the library and kitchen. “My offices are on the ground floor, where there used to be a dentist’s office. Would you like to see the master suite?” he asked.
She gave him a little smile. “Perhaps another time,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“Then let me lead you up the garden path,” he said, opening the kitchen door to the garden.
“Sooner than I had expected,” she said, stepping outside. “Your garden looks very nice.”
“Oh, I have someone who looks after it.”
“You’re not a gardener?”
“I don’t bend over unnecessarily.” He opened the gate at the end of his plot, and they stepped into the common garden. The moon was big and high, and it illuminated the trees and plants.
“It’s such a beautiful place, isn’t it?” she said.
“The jewel of the city, as far as I’m concerned.”
She led him into her garden and to the kitchen door. “If you don’t mind I’ll give you the tour of my house after the housekeeper comes.” They exchanged cards.
“I’ll look forward to it.” They kissed lightly, and Stone left her and returned to his own house.
The following morning, Stone had just reached his desk when Joan stuck her head into his office. “I think you’d better come and tell me what to do with all this,” she said, and was gone before he could ask.
He followed her out the front door to the street, where a number of wooden crates were being unloaded at the curb. “What is this?” he asked.
“You tell me,” Joan replied. “It seems to be wine. I hope to God you haven’t bought a lot of wine. Right now, you can’t afford wines that come in wooden crates.”
Stone took a closer look at the crates. Château Palmer, 1961; Beaune, Clos de Roi, 1959; La Tache, Domaine de Romanée-Conti, 1959; Le Montrachet, 1955. “Good God,” he said.
“How much did all this cost?” Joan demanded.
The truck driver handed him an envelope. “There’s a note,” he said. “Where do you want all this put?”
Stone opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of very fine stationery.
My dear Stone,
I hope you will do me the favor of taking some of Caleb’s wine off my hands. There is so much, I’ll never be able to finish it before… well, before I kick off, as they say. It should be drunk by someone who loves and appreciates it as much as you. Enjoy it in good health!
Mildred Strong
“Don’t worry, Joan; it’s a gift,” Stone said. “Show them where the cellar is, please, and just have them stack it up. Don’t take it out of the crates.” He counted as they moved the crates: There were eight of them, each among the twentieth century’s finest vintages.
Stone sat down to write to Mildred. Joan returned a few minutes later. She came into Stone’s office. “I know the names of some of those wines,” she said. “Shall I call Christie’s or Sotheby’s about auctioning it?”
“Don’t you dare,” Stone said. “I plan to drink every bottle of it.”
“You should live so long,”
“I should,” he said, handing her his note. “Would you mail this, please?”
“Sure, I will, but if you’re ever broke again, and you will be, if I know you, then you’ll have a way to raise money.”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Stone said. He picked up the phone and called Tatiana.
“Hello?”
“I hope it’s not too early to be calling,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been up since five.”
“Well, be sure to take a nap this afternoon, so you’ll be fresh when I come to take you to dinner.”
“Oh, that would be nice. What time?”
“Pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“Perfect. Where are we going, so I’ll know how to dress.”
“How about La Goulue?”
“I love it there. See you at seven-thirty. Will you come through the back door?”
“That’s the most convenient way.”
“I’ll leave the kitchen door open for you.”
“See you then.” He hung up. The phone rang, and Joan picked it up.