“If it’s the paparazzi, they’ll know the car is from the Arrington. They have all our license plate numbers. They may meet us at the hotel.”

“Let’s drive out to Malibu, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was a beautiful day, and they enjoyed the drive out Sunset Boulevard and up the coast, then they headed back to the hotel.

“Is there another entrance besides the main one?” Laurence asked the driver.

“Yes, sir, there’s a more discreet one that we use for heads of state and the like, who are staying in one of the two presidential cottages, which are next door to Mr. Barrington’s house. I’ll phone ahead for access.”

“Good man.”

They made it onto the property, apparently undetected, and were driven to the house. The New York tabloids were waiting for them.

LIMEY POWERBALL WINNER LANDS IN BIG APPLE, LIVES LARGE.

“My God, they’ve got photographs of the apartment from the Times piece,” Laurence said.

The butler greeted them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hayward, Ms. Crane. Security called and warned of paparazzi near the hotel.” He handed them two small devices with wristbands attached. “It might be a good idea to wear these, should you leave the house. They will summon Security instantly.”

“Thank you,” Laurence said, and they both put them on. He looked at Theresa. “I was thinking of a skinny-dip in the pool,” he said, “but now, not so much.”

“Let’s curl up in bed and watch a movie,” she suggested.

“I need to make a call first.” He pressed the button for the concierge.

“Yes, Mr. Hayward?”

“What time does the sun come up in the morning?”

“One moment. Five forty-six AM,” he replied.

“I’d like a car to depart at five-thirty,” he said.

“Of course, sir.”

“Two other things—see if you can get us a nice suite at . . . just a moment.” He found a copy of Sunset magazine and looked up an ad he had seen. “At Auberge du Soleil,” he said.

“Certainly, sir.”

“And please call Atlantic Aviation at Santa Monica Airport and have my airplane fueled and ready for departure at five-thirty AM.”

“I’ll confirm shortly,” the man said. “How many nights?”

“Ah, three. And please arrange hangar space and a luxury rental car at Napa Airport.” He hung up.

Ten minutes later, the concierge confirmed all his bookings.

Shortly before dawn the following morning, their car left the hotel and headed for the airport.

20

STONE BARRINGTON put down the newspaper and called Laurence’s cell phone.

“Hello, Stone, how are you?”

“Very well, thanks, but I’m concerned about you.”

“We’re just fine. We saw the New York papers yesterday, and we flew up to Napa this morning. We’re at Auberge du Soleil, in Rutherford.”

“Very nice place. Are you being bothered?”