“How about lunch tomorrow in the Connaught grill? One o’clock?”

“Fine, see you then.”

Stone left first and went back to his table. He took the scenic route, wandering among the tables, and then, over near the doors to the garden, he saw the man, who was raptly listening to an elderly woman seated next to him. Table twelve, he noted. He looked at the man as closely as he dared. Was it his inquisitor, or was he simply a bald, bullet-headed man? Stone wished he could hear his voice; that would complete the identification. The man never looked at him, and he made his way back to his table and Arrington.

She was gone. Dancing had begun, and he spotted her on the floor with a man from their table. He took a cocktail napkin, drew a circle, and wrote on it, Table Twelve. He marked the bald man’s position and gave it to a waiter. “Please take this to Mr. Hedger, at table sixteen; he’s the one with the mustache.”

The waiter departed, and Stone followed him with his gaze to Hedger’s table. He saw Hedger read the note, then tuck it into a pocket. He didn’t immediately look at table twelve, but a moment later he let his gaze run in that direction. Then he looked toward Stone and shrugged.

Stone looked back at table twelve, but the man was no longer there. He noticed a door to the garden open, near the table. Stone looked back at Hedger and shrugged.

Arrington came back to the table and took Stone’s hand. “Come dance with me,” she said. She led him to the floor, and the band was playing something romantic.

Stone held her in his arms, something he had always loved doing, and moved them around the floor.

“You were always a wonderful dancer,” she said. “Vertically or horizontally.” She kissed him on the neck.

“Let’s get out of here,” Stone said.

“I can’t; I’m a guest of the ambassador, and it would be rude.”

“Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Where?”

“The Connaught restaurant, at nine?”

“You’re on.”

She put her head on his shoulder, and he whirled her happily around the floor.

Stone looked back at table twelve; the man was still not there. “If you jiggled the place cards, you must have access to tonight’s guest list,” he said to Arrington.

“I suppose,” she replied.

“Do you think you could get me a list of the people at table twelve, with their positions marked?”

“I suppose so, but not tonight.”

“Will you bring it with you tomorrow evening? It’s important.”

“Anything for you,” she said, and let her tongue play lightly over his ear.

Stone didn’t complain.

37

STONE WAS ALREADY AT AN ALCOVE table in the Connaught grill when Stanford Hedger arrived for lunch. Hedger sat down and ordered a pink gin, something Stone had never heard an American do.