“I can believe that! Just when you thought you had Tirov made permanently unwelcome in our country, bang! He plays the Petrov ace! An unfortunate twist in what I thought was a rather well-executed plot.”

“Ah, well.”

“Still, it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow somebody some good, isn’t it?”

“And who might that be?”

“I understand that the mere announcement that Petrov will attend the film’s premiere tonight has caused a rush in advance ticket sales.”

“Really?”

“I’m told the film may be grossing north of thirty million dollars in Russia, perhaps a great deal more.”

“Well, I’m as happy for them as one can be who has no relationship with that studio.”

“That’s right, it’s Centurion on whose board you serve, is it not?”

“You know very well it is, Lance.”

“And, in an unusual arrangement, Centurion is co-financing the film with Stalwart Studios.”

“I’m afraid I missed my first board meeting at Centurion because of a monumental traffic jam on I-405, so I was not aware of that arrangement.”

“Ah, yes, that was the board meeting that nixed the production deal with Boris Tirov, wasn’t it?”

“It was, and I regret missing it, because I would have liked to cast my vote against it. Still, Tirov believes I killed his deal, so I have all the fun of being his enemy while not having earned his enmity.”

“On that count, at least,” Lance said.

At that moment, Geoffrey called them to lunch, and Stone had to wait until halfway through the fish course before he could return to the subject of Tirov. “You were saying, Lance, that there are other reasons why Tirov should hate me?”

“Was I?” Lance munched on his turbot for a moment. “Oh, yes, well, there is the imbroglio with Tirov’s near deportation, isn’t there?”

“Tirov connects me with that?”

“It appears that his connections on the Russian side are nearly as good as your connections on our side. He certainly believes, rightly or wrongly, that you personally instigated that very embarrassing episode.”

“Rightly,” Stone said. “And I’m sorry it didn’t work as planned.”

Lance turned to Gala. “Ms. Wilde, given your personal experience of your former spouse, what effect would you think this knowledge would have upon Mr. Tirov’s view of our mutual friend Stone?”

“I should think,” Gala said, “that if he was annoyed before, he is livid now.”

“How very well put!” Lance put down his fork, took a large sip of his Bâtard-Montrachet, dabbed his lips with his napkin, and consulted his watch. “And now, Stone, having persuaded Ms. Wilde to deliver the bad news I had found so distasteful, I’m afraid I must hie myself back to a meeting at the embassy this afternoon. I hope you will forgive me for rushing away.” He drew an envelope from his pocket. “Have you a pen?”

Stone offered him one.