“Oh, something might be arranged, if you play your cards right,” he said, leering a little.

She leaned forward to give him a better view of her cleavage, an act, she had discovered, that tended to concentrate the minds of men. “I’m a pretty good card player,” she said. “And I’ll pay my own airfare. You can deal with the hotel arrangements.”

“You’re serious, then?”

“I am.”

His eyebrows went up. “We’re staying at a small country inn near the house, and I think they’re pretty booked up.”

“I don’t mind sharing,” she said, “as long as I’m not in the stable.”

He shook his head. “Of course not. You can bunk with me, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine.”

“Why don’t we have dinner before we go down there?” he asked.

“I’d love to.”

“Tomorrow night? Eight o’clock at Park Avenue Winter?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Shall I pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there,” she said. “You can see me home afterward.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said.

“So will I.”

Chapter 44

44

Stone and his party took the big round table at the rear for their party of seven: Dino, Ben, Peter, Hattie, Hattie’s parents—Sean and Margaret Patrick—and Stone. He seated himself between the parents. The chat was immediately warm and friendly, and it was clear to Stone that he and Arrington would get along as well with Sean and Margaret as Peter and Hattie were getting along.

They covered all the usual ground: Sean had emigrated from Ireland as a twenty-one-year-old graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, and had gone to work for a stockbroker. He was in business for himself at thirty and was, judging from the size of his hedge fund, very wealthy. Margaret was an Irish-American music student when they met, and it was she who had taught Hattie all her early piano.

“You must be very proud of Hattie’s gifts,” Stone said to her.

“Oh, yes!” Margaret replied. “I’m sorry she doesn’t want to pursue a concert career, because that way I could follow her around and listen to her play all the time.”

“I’ve heard some of the music she’s composed for Peter’s film, and I was very impressed with it.”

“I understand your mother was a very fine painter,” she said.

“Yes, she was,” Stone replied, “and my father was an artist, too, but he expressed himself in wood. I hope you’ll come to my house soon and see some of his work.”

“We’d love to.”

“My wife, Arrington, is in Virginia at the moment, moving into a house she has just built. She asked me to invite the three of you to her housewarming next Saturday night. We’ll fly down on Friday afternoon in my airplane and return on Sunday afternoon or Monday morning, if you can take that much time.”