“I’m his lawyer. I represent the Steele insurance group.”

“I believe this is where I say, ‘Small world.’”

“Not yet—my mother was a painter.”

“What was her name?”

“Matilda Stone. Now you can say it.”

“Small world. I know her stuff from the American Collection at the Metropolitan.”

“Come over to my house when you get back to New York, and I’ll show you another dozen.”

“Beats etchings.” She got out her phone and made a call, then hung up. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter?”

“My apartment rental doesn’t start until the day after tomorrow. They had told me I could probably get in a couple of days early, but nooooo.”

“I’ll put you up at the Hassler, if you like. I don’t know what kind of accommodations I have yet, but there’s probably a sofa.”

“For me or for you?”

“For you.”

“Well, I guess if you’re my stepfather’s lawyer you can’t do anything terrible to me.”

“I think that was part of my oath. I can’t do anything terrible to a client’s daughter.”

“You’re on.”

—

An hour later, after fighting Roman rush-hour traffic, they pulled up in front of the Hassler. Stone presented himself at the front desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington. We got your call last night, and we’ve given you the only suite left in the hotel. Do you have any luggage?”

“Just the lady’s,” Stone said, indicating his companion. “My luggage won’t be here until tomorrow. Do you think your concierge can find me a pair of boxer shorts, size 36, a pair of black socks, and a white shirt, size 16-35?”

“Certainly, sir. There’s a shop in the hotel, and if they don’t have your sizes, I’ll send a boy down into the Via Condotti, where there are many shops. Let me show you to your suite.”

The man led them to an elevator and to the top floor. He used a key in a door and ushered them into an enormous living room.

“Are you sure this is all you have left?” Stone asked.

“This is our Presidential Suite San Pietro. It’s inadequate, I know, but I’m afraid it’s the best we can offer. We’re booked up for another ten days.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make do, I guess.”

“Look,” Hedy said, “there’s a second bedroom—my virtue is safe!”

The man handed over a key. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I’d like to have my clothes pressed, my laundry done, and my shoes polished. I have a board meeting at noon.”

“Certainly. I’ll send up the valet.” He departed, a fifty-dollar bill in his pocket.

“I’ve got to find a cash machine and get some euros,” Stone said, half to himself. “Excuse me, I have to get out of these clothes.”