“It’s always mysterious when you’re involved, Stone. Tell me about it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. Maybe when it’s over.”
“Oh.”
“How is Peter?”
“Growing,” she said. “You must come and see him sometime.”
“I’d like that very much,” he said. “Where are you spending most of your time?”
“I’ve been dividing it between LA and Mother’s house in Virginia. Peter is there for the summer with her, while I’ve been apartment hunting.”
“In London?”
“In New York.”
Stone began to sweat again and sipped the cold champagne. From inside the house a chime was being struck repeatedly.
“Sounds like dinner,” Arrington said. “Shall we?”
“Let’s do.” The thought of Arrington living in New York again thrilled and frightened him. Immediately, his life seemed in turmoil.
They sat at round tables for ten, and there were at least twenty of them. Arrington knew some of the other guests, having “jiggled the place cards,” and she chatted animatedly with them all, leaving Stone with a thousand questions and no opportunity to ask any of them. Dinner was good, for banquet food, and when dessert came, Stone excused himself and went to look for a men’s room. A staffer showed him the way, and he went inside and stepped up to a urinal. A moment later, the door opened and someone walked behind Stone and around the room, then stepped up to the neighboring urinal.
“See anyone you know?” Hedger asked.
“Yes, Arrington Calder,” Stone said.
“The movie star’s widow? I think she killed him, don’t you?”
“No.”
“How do you know her?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“Oh, wait a minute, I remember now; you were involved with her trial, weren’t you?”
“She was never tried,” Stone replied. “Her lawyer and I got it quashed at a hearing. She was plainly innocent.”
“Yeah, sure,” Hedger said.
Stone zipped up and went to wash his hands. Hedger was right behind him.
“I saw someone else,” Stone said.
“Who?”
“The man who interrogated me. At least, I think it was he; I only got a glimpse of him, and he wasn’t very well lighted the last time I saw him.”
“Where is he sitting?”
“I don’t know; when I looked for him again, he was gone.”
“You mean, he left?”
“I don’t know; he may have just moved elsewhere in the room.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try and spot him again, and find a way to let me know where he is. I’m at table sixteen.”
“All right. There’s something else we have to talk about, but we can’t do it now.”
“How about lunch tomorrow in the Connaught grill? One o’clock?”
“Fine, see you then.”
Stone left first and went back to his table. He took the scenic route, wandering among the tables, and then, over near the doors to the garden, he saw the man, who was raptly listening to an elderly woman seated next to him. Table twelve, he noted. He looked at the man as closely as he dared. Was it his inquisitor, or was he simply a bald, bullet-headed man? Stone wished he could hear his voice; that would complete the identification. The man never looked at him, and he made his way back to his table and Arrington.
She was gone. Dancing had begun, and he spotted her on the floor with a man from their table. He took a cocktail napkin, drew a circle, and wrote on it, Table Twelve. He marked the bald man’s position and gave it to a waiter. “Please take this to Mr. Hedger, at table sixteen; he’s the one with the mustache.”
The waiter departed, and Stone followed him with his gaze to Hedger’s table. He saw Hedger read the note, then tuck it into a pocket. He didn’t immediately look at table twelve, but a moment later he let his gaze run in that direction. Then he looked toward Stone and shrugged.
Stone looked back at table twelve, but the man was no longer there. He noticed a door to the garden open, near the table. Stone looked back at Hedger and shrugged.
Arrington came back to the table and took Stone’s hand. “Come dance with me,” she said. She led him to the floor, and the band was playing something romantic.
Stone held her in his arms, something he had always loved doing, and moved them around the floor.
“You were always a wonderful dancer,” she said. “Vertically or horizontally.” She kissed him on the neck.
“Let’s get out of here,” Stone said.
“I can’t; I’m a guest of the ambassador, and it would be rude.”
“Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Where?”
“The Connaught restaurant, at nine?”
“You’re on.”
She put her head on his shoulder, and he whirled her happily around the floor.
Stone looked back at table twelve; the man was still not there. “If you jiggled the place cards, you must have access to tonight’s guest list,” he said to Arrington.
“I suppose,” she replied.
“Do you think you could get me a list of the people at table twelve, with their positions marked?”
“I suppose so, but not tonight.”
“Will you bring it with you tomorrow evening? It’s important.”
“Anything for you,” she said, and let her tongue play lightly over his ear.
Stone didn’t complain.