“Where was the leak?” Holly asked.
“A staffer on the SSCI, used to work for Carson.”
“Whew!”
“Will she get fired?” Dino asked.
“I didn’t ask.”
“If Carson wins, I’ll bet she turns up on the White House staff.”
“Let’s don’t talk about ‘if Carson wins,’” Stone said. “I shudder at the thought.”
60
The following morning, Stone and Holly packed their clothes and moved back into the suite at l’Arrington; it seemed a good idea, since they were departing from the hotel for the airport. Stone sent his tails to be pressed and his shoes to be polished, while Holly unboxed her new gown from Ralph Lauren and hung it in her dressing room.
While she was fussing with that, Stone’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Ann.”
“Hi, there. How are you?”
“Relieved.”
Oh, no, he thought. “Relieved, as in fired?”
“No, silly—relieved as in relieved. Less anxious, if you like.”
“Have you changed your meds?”
“No. I mean, I’m not on meds. Except sometimes, when I need to sleep.”
“Why are you less anxious?”
“Because the reporter I told you about yesterday told me he wasn’t filing the story. He said he didn’t have backup sources.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is. What I want to know is, how did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get the story killed.”
“Ann, I don’t even know the reporter, never met him. I don’t know his editor or his publisher, either.”
“Then how did you do it?”
“Why are you assuming I did something?”
“Because you’re the only person I told about the story.”
“You didn’t tell Kate or Sam Meriwether?” Meriwether was the holder of Will Lee’s old Senate seat and Kate’s campaign chairman.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I had a feeling you were going to fix it.”
“You overestimate me.”
“I thought you would deny it, but I warn you, when you get home I’m going to torture you until I get the whole story.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
She laughed. “Anyway, I’m relieved, and I wanted you to be relieved, too.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Have a good time at your gala tonight.”
“That will be torture, too.” They said goodbye and hung up.
That evening, when Stone came out of his dressing room, Dino was standing at the bar in the living room, sipping scotch and dressed in white tie and tails.
“I don’t know how you ever got me to have this suit made,” Dino said.
“I told you you’d need it, eventually.”
“You’re usually right about these things.”
Viv walked in from next door wearing a champagne-colored sequined dress and a piece of jewelry around her neck that Stone figured had cost Dino three months’ pay.
“Wow,” he said.
“Me, too,” Dino echoed. “Everything was worth every cent of what it cost, and I don’t want to know what that was.”
“That is the highest compliment you’ve ever paid me,” Viv said, kissing him lightly, so as not to smear her lipstick.
Holly made her entrance, her auburn hair piled on top of her head, in her strapless emerald green gown that set off her hair and skin color. Everyone oohed and aahed, and they had a drink while waiting for the other guests to arrive.
Stone opened the terrace doors and they stood, watching the elegant crowd as they spilled out of big black cars—Bentleys, Rollses, Mercedeses—and passed slowly through the doors and the security checkpoint, where metal detectors and X-ray machines were set up. Well-dressed guards from Strategic Services—no uniforms—greeted them while armored weapons specialists patrolled the courtyard and the rooftops.
“Everything seems in good order,” Stone said. When the bulk of the crowd had passed in, the women made one last pass at the living room mirror, adjustments were made, and they all took the elevator down to the main floor.
A string orchestra was playing light classical music in the big lobby, and handsomely uniformed waiters passed among the glittering crowd with trays of champagne and canapés. The American ambassador to France arrived through the main doors, accompanied by Lance Cabot. Stone took Holly’s hand and drew her closer. “Help,” he whispered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll fight her off,” Holly replied.
Just behind the ambassador, Marcel duBois entered alone to applause and made a beeline for Stone. They shook hands and embraced.
“Is it going well, do you think?” Marcel asked.
“It’s going beautifully,” Stone said.
Marcel shook everyone’s hand and admired the women. “You didn’t cash the big check, did you?” he asked Stone.
“Lance Cabot took it from me before I could,” Stone said.
Then a momentary hush caused everyone to look toward the entrance. Mirabelle Chance was seen first, in a flame-red gown, no doubt of her own creation, then behind her appeared her brother, Jacques, resplendent in a dress uniform with much gold braid. The crowd began to chat again, no doubt about the infamous Chances.
“He must have designed that uniform himself,” Holly said. “Shades of General Custer!” Everybody laughed but Stone.
“I didn’t think he’d have the gall to show up,” he said. “Perhaps I should go and greet him properly.” He started to move.
“Don’t,” Holly said, taking his arm and tugging to stop him.
“He’s probably in better shape than you are,” Dino said.
Marcel spoke up. “Perhaps pistols at dawn!” That relieved the tension, and they turned their attention to meeting and greeting the other guests.
Lance and the ambassador wandered over, and Stone took shelter behind Holly. “What’s the news from the States?” Lance asked Stone.
“I’ve heard that the reporter didn’t file his story, because of a lack of corroboration. There is much relief in the Kate campaign.”
Lance leaned in. “I let it be known to Henry Carson that if the story did emerge, there would be consequences,” he said quietly, “in the form of a story tracing the leak to his campaign.”
“Very good,” Stone said.
Then chimes were rung, and the crowd filed into the grand ballroom and found their tables and seats, while a jazz trio played the American Songbook.
“Take a look at that,” Dino said, holding up a beautiful steak knife from his place setting.
“They were especially made for our hotels by an American custom knife maker,” Marcel said. “A set of them will be party favors for each of the gentlemen guests, while the ladies will receive a specially created perfume called ‘Arrington.’”
Dino chuckled. “After all that security at the door, the guests have been armed, and these things are razor sharp. I hope no fights break out.”
Soup and fish courses were served, then thick slices of boeuf à la Wellington, for which the knives were intended, came next, and the accompanying wines were superb.
After dessert, Peter Duchin, who had been flown in from New York, led a big band for dancing.
Jacques Chance and his sister swept around the floor, and people made room for them. No one was smiling, Stone noticed.
He noticed something else, too: at the edges of the room uniformed French gendarmes were appearing in twos and threes.
Jacques Chance noticed, too, and he maneuvered Mirabelle toward the bandstand, where an American singer was performing.
From his angle of view, Stone noticed something else: cradled in Jacques’s hand was the haft of one of the hotel’s steak knives, its blade concealed in his sleeve.
Stone began to move quickly toward the couple, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time.
61
Stone felt as if he were moving in treacle, dodging waiters carrying cheese and glasses of port. He struggled on.
Jacques Chance, clutching his sister’s wrist, dragged her toward the bandstand, where he shoved the singer out of the way and stood before the microphone. “Attention!” he shouted. The orchestra and the crowd began to fall silent.