“I can pay cash,” Stone replied.
“Good; here’s the deal. Increase your offer ten percent and agree to close in two weeks, and the place is yours.”
“Done,” Stone said.
“Let’s go to my office and type up an offer,” Carolyn said, marching them out to the Range Rover. “And you’ll have to come to dinner the next time you’re up from the city. I’ll introduce you to a lot of people.”
Two hours later, the sellers had faxed back a signed contract, and Stone left with it in his pocket, having left a large check as deposit.
“Did that really happen so quickly?” Sarah asked.
“It certainly did.”
“Why were you so ready to buy it?”
“Weren’t you?”
“Of course, but…”
“I was way ahead of you. I’d been thinking about a country place for a while, and I spent a weekend up here a couple of years ago with… an acquaintance.”
“And who might that have been?” Sarah asked archly.
“A woman named Amanda Dart.”
“The gossip columnist? The one who was murdered outside the Plaza Hotel?”
“One and the same.”
“Did they ever figure out who killed her?”
“No arrest was ever made.”
“But they know?”
Stone shrugged. “Maybe, but it won’t ever be solved.”
“Why not?”
“Because the people who arranged it don’t make a practice of committing murders that can be solved.”
“Stone, tell me the house you just bought wasn’t Amanda Dart’s.”
“It wasn’t. I’m not even sure exactly where Amanda’s place is. I was only there a couple of times, and it was on some back road or other.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d been to Washington before.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Am I ever going to get to know all the nooks and crannies of your devious mind?” she asked.
“God, I hope not.”
“I’m going to have to start looking for furniture and fabrics.”
“Listen, Sarah,” he said, “we still have to be very careful.”
“With money?”
“With your safety.”
“Why? Hasn’t your suspect flown the coop?”
“Yes, but we don’t know where he’s flown to. You can’t tell anybody about this place for the time being, and maybe not for a long time.”
“But I want to tell everybody.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s okay. As far as decorating goes, I think we should buy a bed and some other necessities in the city, then furnish the place from the shops and antique shops around here. There are a lot of them.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Something else.”
“What?”
“I’m worried about your show. I know it would be difficult, but do you think you could cancel, or at least, postpone it?”
“Are you insane? Bergman has sent out a thousand invitations, at the very least.”
“I drove past the gallery yesterday; it’s very exposed, opening right onto Madison Avenue. I’d feel better if it were on a side street.”
“Stone,” she said, “understand me clearly: I am not going to have my life ruled by some maniac who wants to harm us. I’ll tell you a story: I lived in London at the height of the IRA bombings a while back. I was having dinner with my parents at a little restaurant in Chelsea, when someone set off a car bomb next door. We all hit the floor, of course, but when the smoke had cleared, my father ordered another cup of coffee to replace the one that had blown away, and he sat there and finished it. ‘Never,’ he said, ‘never let people like that cause you to alter your existence in the slightest.’ Since that time, I never have, and I never will. I wouldn’t have left my friends’ apartment if I hadn’t been so anxious to get into bed with you.”
“Well, that was an awfully good reason,” Stone said.
“So you understand that I will not cancel my show.”
“I understand. I hope you understand that I’m going to do whatever I can to make it as safe a show as possible.”
“I’ll be happy to introduce you to Bergman; the two of you can discuss that.”
“I’ll be happy to meet him.”
They reached the inn and went upstairs to dress for dinner.
“It was an awfully nice day,” Sarah said, as she ran her bath.
“I suppose there are worse ways to see a place than with a real-estate agent who knows her stuff.”
She got into the tub. “Join me?”
“You betcha.” He climbed into the tub with her, but his mind was on the Bergman Gallery.
23
MR. AND MRS. HOWARD MENZIES ARRIVED at their Park Avenue apartment building for the first time and got out of a taxi. Mrs. Menzies was an attractive woman in her early fifties, dressed in a Chanel suit and very good shoes, her graying hair carefully coifed. Mr. Menzies was perhaps two or three years older than his new wife and was dressed in a gray, pin-striped suit that was, though of good quality, a little out of fashion.
“Oh, I’m so nervous,” Mrs. Menzies said. “I hope you’re going to like it.”
“My dear,” Mr. Menzies replied, “put your mind at rest. I have the utmost confidence in your taste and judgment.”
The doorman greeted Mrs. Menzies warmly.
“Oh, Jeff,” she said, “I want you to meet Mr. Menzies; he was abroad when we bought the apartment, and he’s seeing it today for the first time.”
“How do you do, Mr. Menzies,” Jeff said, shaking hands. “I’m sure you’re going to love the building.”
“I’m sure I will, too, Jeff,” Mr. Menzies replied, rewarding the doorman with a smile.
“Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you,” Jeff said.
“Darling,” Mrs. Menzies half whispered, “Jeff has been very helpful with our moving in.”
“Thank you so much for helping my wife, Jeff,” Mr. Menzies said warmly, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into the doorman’s hand.
They took the elevator to a high floor and got out. Mrs. Menzies slipped a key into her husband’s hand. “You open the door,” she said nervously.
“Of course, my dear.” Menzies unlocked the door, pushed it open, and allowed his wife to precede him into the apartment. He was immediately struck by the warmth, comfort, and beauty that his wife had brought to the decorating of the apartment. He followed her from room to room, admiring what she had chosen and occasionally spotting an old, familiar piece of furniture or a picture that he had chosen years before. The apartment was only six rooms, but perfect for a childless, middle-aged couple. They had views across Park Avenue to the park and down the avenue. “It must be beautiful at Christmas,” he said, “with all the trees lining the avenue.”
“I’m told it is,” she replied. “We’ll have to wait a few months to find out.”
He took both her hands in his. “My dear, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the way you have put the place together. It feels as if we have always lived here.” He kissed her lightly.
“It was my great pleasure to do this for you,” Mrs. Menzies said. “I’ve done all the other things you asked me to do, as well. Shall I fix you a drink, and we’ll talk about them?”
“What a very good idea,” Menzies replied. “May I have a martini? I haven’t had a martini for such a long time.” He took a seat on the living-room sofa and relaxed, while his wife puttered at the wet bar.
She returned with a tray containing two martinis and some canapés that she had prepared earlier, in anticipation of her husband’s homecoming. She set her drink on the coffee table, then brought an accordion file to the sofa, before taking a sip. “Here are the legal documents,” she said, “all in perfect order. Here are the ownership papers for the apartment; and here are the bank and brokerage statements, arranged by date. And here are your passport and driver’s license applications. Your appointment for the driving test is tomorrow at three.”
Menzies looked quickly through the documents. “You are a wonder!” he exclaimed. “Everything is exactly as I wished it to be. Now, my dear,” he said, taking her hands in his, “what about your personal arrangements?”