“All right,” Rutledge said.
“Where is the shotgun cabinet?” she asked, pointing at a gap in the beautiful paneling, near the fireplace.
“The cabinetmaker made a serious error, and I insisted he remake it. It will be installed tomorrow.”
“When my furnishings arrive, you will find two very fine shotguns and two rifles that belonged to my father. Please be sure that they are securely locked in that cabinet. Where are the keys?”
“The cabinetmaker has them. He had to install the locks.”
“Fine. I don’t want those weapons stolen; they’re worth a fortune.”
“I understand.”
He was beginning to sound more cordial, she thought.
“Listen to me, Arrington,” he said.
She turned to face him. “Yes? Is this about the house?”
“It’s about you and me. You can’t treat me as if I’m some servant who works here, not after what we’ve done in bed.”
Arrington drew back her right hand and delivered a swinging slap that connected with his face, staggering him. He stood, wideeyed, staring at her.
“Don’t you ever again speak to me in that manner, or about anything but this house. Is that perfectly clear?”
Rutledge rubbed his face, which had turned red with anger.
“As you wish,” he said.
“And there’s something you should know: Stone Barrington and I were married on Christmas Day.”
Rutledge turned pale and was blinking rapidly. “Congratulations,” he said weakly.
“Good,” she replied. “Now, let’s have a look at the living room floors.” She led him through the remainder of her list of things to do in the house, then she curtly said good-bye, got into her car, and drove back to her rental house.
39
Stone had slept late on Saturday morning when the phone rang. “Hello?” He coughed.
“Poor baby,” Arrington said, “I woke you. I thought you woke at dawn, regardless of the day.”
“So did I,” Stone replied, pressing the button to raise the head and foot of his bed to a sitting position. “How’s it going down there?”
“Better,” she said. “It was a mess when I got here, but I got it sorted out. The floors in the library and living room had been stained improperly, but that is being redone, and there were a dozen other things that needed attention. Moving-in day is next Friday.”
“Do you want me to come down there and help?”
“You’d just be in the way. You don’t know where anything goes, and I have a carefully worked out plan for where every piece of furniture and box should land. Anyway, I don’t want you to see it until it’s perfect.”
“I can handle perfect,” Stone said.
“What are you doing with yourself today?”
“Chaperoning Peter and a girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? What’s this?”
“She’s a music student at Knickerbocker, and he says she’s going to score his movie. He’s pretty excited about it. They’re going to lunch at the Brasserie, then coming here to watch the film.”
“And you’re going to sit between them, right?”
“Maybe I’ll watch it with them, or maybe just bundle them up in blankets and seal them in with duct tape. By the way, I read his script while he was having his interview at Yale, and I thought it was great.”
“Be sure and look in on them several times,” she said. “After all, he is your son, so he got half his genes from you.”
“And the other half from you.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Peter and I had the conversation about sex, you know. I told you about it.”
“Well, I hope you didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”
“I don’t think I did. In fact, about the only thing I could have told him was the only thing I’ve ever really learned about women.”
“Which is?”
“That they like sex just as much as men.”
“Good God! I hope you didn’t tell him that!”
“He’ll find out for himself in due course.”
“Due course is why he needs watching.”
“What would you do, if you were here?”
“I told you: sit between them.”
“I don’t think that’s a possibility,” Stone said. “Anything else?”
“Who is this girl?”
“Hattie something. She lives at Park and Sixty-third.”
“At least she’s from a good address. That makes me sound like a snob, doesn’t it?”
“ Everybody at Knickerbocker is from a good address.”
“You know, I think this is Peter’s first real date,” she said.
“Unless something happened at Herald that you don’t know about.”
“Perish the thought! Anyway, they were watched like hawks by the faculty anytime there were girls on campus.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you: the woman from the Post called again.”
“Prunie?”
“No, the younger one. Joan told her you were doing a book and that you would have nothing further to say until it’s published. Joan thinks that put her off.”
“I’m so glad. That sort of thing was a constant threat when Vance was alive. We had to book at Beverly Hills restaurants under false names to avoid the paparazzi.”
“New York is better about that, I think.”
“Then why are they so interested in us?”
“Maybe we should hire a publicist,” Stone suggested.
“But we don’t want any publicity.”
“I mean hire a publicist to keep our names out of the columns.”
“How does that work? It sounds unnatural.”
“The publicist puts out a press release saying that he’s representing us, so all the calls go to him, if there’s a question, and he gives them something innocuous, or just brushes them off.”
“Vance never had a publicist.”
“He had the studio, and they have a whole publicity department.”
“You’re right.”
“If we were in L.A. they could handle it for us, but they’re probably too far away. But things have been quiet, since Joan brushed the woman off, so we probably don’t need to do anything about publicity, until Peter is a famous director.”
“Then he can get his own publicist. Oh, a delivery truck has just pulled up outside; I have to go. I love you!”
“Wait a minute!”
“Yes?”
“How did it go with Timothy Rutledge?”
“I managed very well, thank you. Bye-bye!”
“I love you, too,” Stone said, but she had hung up.
Peter arrived at the Brasserie ten minutes early, was given a booth with a view of the front door, and sat down and waited nervously. Hattie was ten minutes late, and Peter had already had a glass of iced tea and needed to go to the bathroom.
He went to meet her as she descended the stairs from the door and escorted her to their booth.
“I really liked your film,” she said, as she slid into her side of the table, “and I already have some ideas about what the score could sound like.”
“Wonderful!” he said.
“Do you have a piano at your house?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure it’s in tune. That’s all right, though, I have an electronic keyboard.”
“Do you play?”
“Sort of. I amuse myself with it sometimes.”
They were brought menus and studied them carefully.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“I’ll have the eggs Benedict,” she replied.
“Good idea. So will I.”
They ordered, and Peter sat back in his seat and looked at her. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you when you weren’t in profile,” he said.
“And what is your opinion?” she asked, archly.
“Very high,” he said. “I have a high opinion.”
“That was just the right thing to say,” she said, blushing a little.
They seemed stuck for words for a moment, so Peter said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the men’s room.”
And he did.
40
Kelli Keane sat at the bar at the Brasserie and toyed with her lunch. She had spotted Peter Barrington the moment he entered the restaurant, and he had made it obvious that he was waiting for someone. Kelli was delighted with the coincidence that she and Peter had chosen the same restaurant. She had been working too hard at this, she thought, and she deserved a break.