“It made the front page here, and just about every other front page, too. Kate is delighted, and a flash poll wipes out the earlier losses after Axelrod published the rumor. And you didn’t have to take a DNA test on national television!”
“I would have done so, if I’d had to.”
“I’ll tell Kate you said that. In fact, hold on.”
“Stone?”
“Kate? How are you?”
“Ever so much better, thanks. I don’t know how you did it, but the apology from Axelrod worked wonders.”
“I didn’t do it, Lance did.”
“Thank him for me.”
“Will do. He’s also arranged for an interview with Carla Fontana, from the Times, so that she can do a story. I’m giving her dinner tonight.”
“Excellent. She’s a credible reporter, and we have a cordial relationship. However, if you’re not careful, Carla will be carrying your baby. Take precautions.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Stone said. “How’s Will?”
“Much, much better since the paternity issue was so neatly solved. He was getting very tired of the questions.”
“I can imagine.”
“When are you coming home?”
“In a few days. I have to get the grand opening of l’Arrington out of the way, then I’m free to return.”
“Oh, good, you’ll be here for election night. I’d like for you to join us at the White House that evening.”
“What a wonderful invitation. I’ll call the Hay-Adams and book a suite.”
“The town will be sold out that night—you’re staying with us. How’s the Lincoln Bedroom?”
“If you’re sure Abe won’t mind.”
“Believe me, he won’t. Is Holly there?”
“She’s at the Agency station at the embassy, if you want to reach her.”
“No, just tell her I send my love.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll let you go. Your interview must be soon.”
“Momentarily.”
“Until election night,” Kate said, then hung up.
Stone glanced at his watch, then found the room service menu and ordered a sumptuous dinner for two. Then the doorbell rang.
He answered it to find the Washington bureau chief for the New York Times, clad in a clinging black dress that revealed an enticing amount of décolletage.
“Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” she said.
He ushered her in. “Good evening, Ms. Fontana, and I hope that will be the last time we use that form of address.”
“Agreed.”
“May I get you something to drink? I have a very nice bottle of Krug on ice.”
“That would be perfect.” She strolled around the suite’s living room and had a peek into the bedroom while he opened the bottle. “This is very impressive,” she said. “Do you live this well in all hotels?”
“Just Arringtons,” he replied, handing her a fizzing flute.
“That’s right, you have a business connection, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be here for the grand opening. I have to fly back to New York tomorrow morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, then breathed a sigh of relief that she and Holly wouldn’t be in the same room for the event. “Please have a seat.”
She arranged herself becomingly on the sofa and took a sip of her Krug. “Very nice,” she said. “I’ll enjoy it more after our interview. Why don’t we get that out of the way?”
“As you wish.”
She removed a small recording device and set it on the sofa table behind them, equidistant from their lips. “Now, background?”
“Born and raised in Greenwich Village, attended P.S. Six, NYU, and NYU Law School.”
“How did you get sidetracked into the NYPD?”
“As part of a law school program I rode with a squad car for a few days, and the bug bit. I took the exam, passed, and entered the Academy right after graduation.”
“Without taking the bar?”
“After my ride with the NYPD I couldn’t imagine ever practicing law. I thought I would be a career police officer.”
“And that’s where you met our beloved police commissioner?”
“We both made detective in the same class and our captain put us together. We were partners until I left the force ten years later.”
“I haven’t been able to get the straight story on why you left the NYPD. The official word was a knee injury?”
“That was a convenience for the department. I had made an irritant of myself on a case Dino and I were working, and when I opposed my superiors’ views, it became clear I had no future in the department. A police doctor made it official, and I was unceremoniously retired.”
“With a seventy-five percent pension, tax-free?”
“That is the reward for being invalided out for a line-of-duty injury. Mine was a gunshot to the knee, from which I had pretty well recovered.”
“So you were at loose ends, then?”
“I was doing a renovation job on the town house a great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, had willed to me, so that kept me busy, but I was getting deeper into debt, and my pension wasn’t enough. Then I ran into an old classmate from law school . . .”
“That would be William Eggers, managing partner of Woodman & Weld?”
“Correct. Bill suggested that if I would take a cram course for the bar and pass, then he could find some work for me. I did, and I became ‘of counsel’ to Woodman & Weld.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s go off the record here. In my case, it meant that I was assigned the cases that Woodman & Weld didn’t want to deal with and wanted to go away.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a client’s son who was accused of date rape, a client’s wife who while driving intoxicated struck another car and injured someone, or, perhaps hiring a private investigator to help on a difficult divorce. I stress that all these cases are hypothetical.”
“I see, and that’s how you got something of a reputation as a fixer?”
“All lawyers are fixers—some do it in court, some at the negotiation table, some in other ways.”
“And how did you come to have such a reputation with women?”
“I beg your pardon? What kind of reputation are we talking about?”
“A swordsman’s reputation, to put it politely. My researcher was able to connect you to more than a dozen women, among them Ann Keaton, a deputy campaign manager for Kate Lee.”
“I’ve spent most of my adult life as a single man,” Stone said, “and I have never had any inclination toward celibacy.”
She smiled. “An excellent answer. May we talk about how you became a father?”
“Not on the record. My son doesn’t need to be reading about that. Perhaps later, off the record and when your recorder isn’t operating.”
The doorbell rang. “That must be our dinner. I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
“Thank you. We can finish our discussion later.”
Stone let the waiter in, who set the table and lit the candles.
“Come,” Stone said, taking her hand. “Don’t let it get cold.”
“Nothing will get cold,” she said, “I assure you.”
39
They began with fresh foie gras, then transitioned to a duck, and another bottle of the Krug was uncorked along the way. Dessert was crème brûlée, and then they were on espresso, which they had on the sofa.
They went back on the record.
“How did you become involved with the Arrington hotels?”
“I had married, and, as I’m sure your researcher has noted, my wife was murdered by a former lover. She was the widow of the actor Vance Calder, and inherited his estate, which included a large plot of land in Bel-Air, Los Angeles. The site seemed ideal for a fine hotel, a corporation was formed and funded, and we opened last year. Then Marcel duBois, whose name I’m sure you know . . .”
“France’s Warren Buffett?”
“I’ve heard him described as such. Marcel contacted me, looking to buy the Bel-Air property, but instead, we went into business together. He already owned the Paris property, which underwent a complete renovation, the result of which you’ve seen tonight. I came over for the opening.”