“Oh,” she said, “lots to do here. Nice closet space, though. We’ll have to find you some good wallpaper.” She unpacked her bag and hung up a dress. “That won’t need ironing,” she said.
“Our host says it’s very casual.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dolce laughed. “For men, maybe.”
Stone slipped his arms around her and pulled her close.
“My goodness,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “you’re ready, aren’t you?”
“You betcha.”
She broke away. “Well, you’re just going to have to wait; I have a lot of questions.” She led him downstairs, and when they had settled on the sofa, she began. “All right, now; a girl doesn’t like surprises; who’s the movie star?”
“Vance Calder.”
She nodded as if she had dinner with movie stars every evening. “And his wife is Arrington.”
Stone blinked. “You’re way ahead of me.”
“Get used to it,” she replied.
“Ah, yes, I forgot about Mary Ann.”
“A girl’s best friend is her sister; remember that.”
“Believe me, I will.”
“Now, who are the other guests?”
“I’m not aware that there are any, but there could be.”
“A girl likes to know what the competition will be like.”
“Competition?”
“The other women. But since you’re ignorant of these things, just tell me how Arrington is likely to dress.”
“Jesus, how would I know that?”
“Well, how did she dress for casual dinner parties when she was living with you?”
“For casual parties? Well, simply, but elegantly, I suppose.”
“You’re a gigantic help. I’ll just have to go middle of the road, I guess. Does she wear a lot of jewelry?”
“Not a lot, as I recall.”
“Yes, but she wasn’t married to Vance Calder then, was she?”
“Well, no.”
“Her jewelry box will be much better stocked by now. Did she get her figure back after the baby?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t seen her since the baby.”
“Well, she’s a Beverly Hills wife, now; I’ll assume the worst.”
“That she’s fat?”
“That’s she’s svelte and in top shape. What about her hair and nails?”
“She has hair and nails.”
“How much hair, dummy, and does she lacquer her nails?”
“About as much hair as you, last time I saw her; she kept her nails long, but she seemed to paint them only on special occasions.”
“Then they will be painted tonight,” Dolce said. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” She went out to the car and came back with a train case.
Stone couldn’t imagine where she had stored it in the car.
“There is a small trunk,” she said, reading his mind. “What time are we due there?”
“At seven.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get started,” she said, heading up the stairs.
“It’s only five o’clock,” Stone said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink or something?”
“No time,” she said, disappearing up the stairs.
After a moment, he heard the tub running.
She came halfway back down the stairs. “You can have the bathroom at six-thirty,” she said. “I don’t want to see you up here before then.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“What?”
“Yes, signorina.”
“You’re learning,” she said, vanishing up the stairs.
45
AT SIX-THIRTY, STONE WENT UPSTAIRS and walked into the bedroom. The bath was empty, and Dolce was, apparently, in her dressing room. Stone shaved, showered, and dried his hair, and when he came out, Dolce had left the room. He dressed in cream trousers, a brown-plaid shirt, a light tweed jacket, and tan alligator loafers, then went downstairs.
Dolce was standing in front of the living room’s curved windows, her hands behind her back. She was wearing a simple, black-silk dress, moderately high heels, and a slender diamond necklace. A red cashmere sweater was thrown casually over her shoulders, matching her nail polish; her jet-black hair fell softly against the sweater. “Good evening,” she said.
Stone was stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, he thought he had never seen such a beautiful woman. Her makeup was slight, almost nonexistent, and her eyes seemed even larger than usual. “Good evening, signorina,” he said. “You are very beautiful.”
“And you are very observant,” she replied.
“Would you like a drink before we go?”
“It’s seven o’clock; let’s have one at our hosts’. People dine earlier in the country.”
He gave her his arm, installed her in the Mercedes, and drove away.
“It’s very beautiful here,” she said, as they turned past the spired white church on the Green.
“Yes, it is.”
“How did you happen to buy a house here?”
“I came up for a weekend at the Mayflower Inn, which we’re just passing now – it’s up the hill, out of view – and it seemed like a good idea.”
“Was it yours or Miss Buckminster’s?”
“I believe Sarah first mentioned it, but the thought had crossed my mind before. Nobody I know, except Dino, spends the weekend in the city anymore.”
“Quite right.”
They drove down a winding road slowly, taking in the trees and flowers. Following Vance’s directions, they eventually came to an unmarked driveway with a closed gate. Stone reached out the window and rang the bell.
“Yes?” a voice said.
“My name is Barrington.”
The gates swung open, and Stone proceeded up the winding drive, which was beautifully planted on both sides. They rounded a bend and, beyond a green lawn, sat a gray, shingled house with white trim and shutters. Stone parked near the front door, and they walked up the steps, across a broad porch featuring rocking chairs, and rang the bell. A man in a white jacket answered the door and led them into a living room furnished with big sofas and lovely antiques. Vance Calder stood before the fireplace, a drink in his hand, wearing a blue blazer, white trousers, and a silk shirt, with an ascot tied at the neck. Stone was about to offer his hand, when Vance, ignoring him, walked toward his date.
“Dolce!” he cried, taking her in his arms and hugging her. “What a delicious surprise! I had no idea you and Stone knew each other.”
“We didn’t until recently,” Dolce replied. “How are you, Vance?”
“Just wonderful! And how’s Eduardo?”
“In good form.”
Finally, Vance turned to Stone and shook his hand. “Stone, how good to see you; it’s been too long.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Vance,” he managed to say through his surprise. “I had no idea you and Dolce knew each other.”
Dolce spoke up. “Oh, Vance was my date at my sweet sixteen party,” she said. “And the best dancer there.”
“I’ve known her father for a very long time,” Vance said. “We’ve done some business over the years. Arrington is putting the baby to bed; she’ll be down in a moment. Can we get you a drink?”
The butler took their orders and came back with the drinks.
At that moment, Arrington appeared on the stairs, carrying the baby. Somehow, Stone had not expected the infant, and he was a bit thrown by the sight of mother and child. Arrington came slowly down the stairs; she was wearing a white-silk dress, and with her blond hair, she was the visual antithesis of Dolce. She handed the baby to Vance and embraced Stone more warmly than he had anticipated.
He caught a glimpse of Dolce’s face as they hugged; the eyes were daggers. “How are you, Arrington?” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m all right,” she whispered back, then they broke their embrace.
“Arrington,” Vance said, “I’d like you to meet Dolce Bianchi; she is the daughter of my old friend Eduardo Bianchi; you’ve heard me mention him.”
“Of course,” Arrington said coolly, taking Dolce’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Dolce; it’s always good to see Vance’s old friends.”
“Thank you, it’s good to be here,” Dolce replied.
The two were looking each other up and down. Stone noticed that Arrington’s nails were, indeed, lacquered, and she was wearing a discreet necklace of diamonds and rubies.