A U.S. marine opened the rear door of the car.
“Mr. Barrington?” the driver said.
Stone stopped getting out of the car.
“I was asked to give you a message.”
“Yes?”
“If you recognize someone, be careful.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, sir; I’ll be waiting when you’re ready to leave; just give your name to the marine on duty.”
“See you later, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stone got out of the car and entered the house. In the huge foyer, there was a reception line that was moving slowly. Stone got into it, behind a very American-looking couple. He was short and pudgy; she was taller, very blonde, and expensive-looking.
“Hey,” the woman said.
“Good evening,” Stone replied.
“That’s what I should have said, I guess; good evening.”
“Hey works for me,” Stone laughed.
She held out her hand. “I’m Tiffany Butts; this is my husband, Marvin.”
Stone shook their hands.
“We’re from Fort Worth, Texas,” she said. “Are you an American?”
“Oh, yes; I’m from New York.”
“I wasn’t sure about your accent.”
“I’ve been here a few days; maybe I’m picking up an English accent.”
“Oh, shoot, no, it’s just me.”
“What business are you in, Mr. Barrington?” Marvin Butts asked.
“I’m an attorney.”
“I’m in the scrap metal business,” Butts said. “In a fairly big way.”
I’ll bet you are, Stone thought, or you wouldn’t be at this party. “Sounds good.”
“Good, and getting better,” Butts replied.
They had been moving along the line, and suddenly they were before the ambassador and his wife. The ambassador was sixtyish, slim, and handsomely tailored. His wife was twenty-five years his junior, very beautiful and elegant. The ambassador greeted Marvin and Tiffany Butts warmly, then turned toward Stone.
“Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to the residence.”
“Good evening, Mr. Ambassador,” Stone replied. “I’m Stone Barrington.”
“Ah,” the ambassador said, looking him up and down.
His wife gave Stone a broad smile. “We have a mutual friend, Stone,” she said.
“And who would that be, Madame Ambassador?”
“Oh, please, I’m Barbara, among friends.”
Friends? What was she talking about? An aide ushered Stone farther along before he could ask.
Stone found himself a few steps above a large hall, looking down on a very elegant crowd. Before he had moved a step, he recognized two people. The sight of either would have made his heart beat a little faster, but for very different reasons.
Arrington Carter Calder saw him almost at the same moment and held his gaze, expressionless. And just beyond her, Stone saw a short, bald, bullet-headed man he had met before.
Chapter 36
THEN ARRINGTON SMILED WARMLY, and Stone’s knees went a little weak. He experienced a series of vivid flashbacks: meeting her at a New York dinner party some years before, she in the company of America’s biggest movie star, Vance Calder; taking her away from Calder, making love to her in his house and hers, falling desperately in love with her; then setting off on a sailing trip to the Caribbean, planning to meet her there; her not showing up, but writing to say she’d married Calder. Then there was the child, of course, Peter; born slightly less than nine months later: Calder’s son, she said, and the tests had backed her up. Then, after Calder was dead, murdered, learning that the tests might have been rigged. She’d refused further testing. He’d seen her a few months before in Palm Beach, for a single evening, then he had been in the hospital with a bullet wound, then whisked back to New York. They had not spoken since.
Stone snapped back to the present and made his way down the steps toward her. She was tall, a little blonder than before, dressed in a long, emerald-green gown. Ravishing. To his surprise she met him halfway, embraced him warmly, and gave him a light kiss on the lips.
“Hello, Stone,” she said, nearly laughing. “Are you surprised to see me?”
“I certainly am,” he replied; “what brings you to London?”
“Barbara Wellington and I were roommates at MountHolyoke; she invited me over to see what she’s done with the residence. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes, it is.” But he wasn’t looking at the residence. “And you are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you.”
“Aren’t you sweet! I saw your name on the guest list this afternoon, and I jiggled the place cards around so we’re seated together.” She stopped and looked at him. “I’m alone in London.”
Stone was beginning to sweat a little, and he was grateful when a waiter showed up with a tray of champagne flutes. He took one and replaced hers with a full one. “I’ll look forward to catching up,” he said.
Then he remembered the other face he had recognized and looked for it. Gone. Lost in the crowd.
“Looking for someone?” Arrington asked.
“I thought I saw a familiar face, but no more.”
She took his arm and led him across the room and out some French doors to a garden. “And what brings you to London?”
“A client asked me to come over and look into something for him.”
“Sounds mysterious.”
“It is.”