STONE HAD THE BRESAOLA, THINLY sliced, air-cured beef, and a pasta dish with seafood. Lance ordered the wine, and when it came, it was a Le Montrachet ’78. Stone reflected that the cost of the wines they were drinking on this occasion would pay for a dozen dinners at Elaine’s. Having gotten to know Lance just a little, he fully expected to end up with the check.

They dined in a leisurely manner, and with the wine, Lance became a bit more bearable, even charming, at times. They were on dessert when Stone saw Bartholomew and Sir Antony Shields leave the restaurant. Bartholomew had never looked in his direction. He was tempted to ask Lance if he recognized the man, but the men were too quickly gone. Stone waved at the headwaiter.

The man was there in a flash. “Tell me,” Stone said, “the two gentlemen who just left; one was Sir Antony Shields; do you know the other man’s name?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t. The reservation was Sir Antony’s, and although I’ve seen the other gentleman here before, I never learned his name.”

“Thank you,” Stone said, and the headwaiter went away.

The bill arrived, and as Stone started to reach for it, Erica pushed it toward Lance. “You’re our guest,” she said.

Lance hardly noticed. He signed the bill with a flourish, and they got up to go.

“We’re going this way, to Farm Street,” Erica said as they went out the door.

“I’ll get a taxi for Monica,” Stone said, grateful to be alone with her. He shook hands with both Lance and Erica and said good night.

“No cabs in sight,” Stone said. “Let’s walk down to the Connaught; there’s usually a taxi parked out front.” Monica agreed, and they strolled down Mount Street, which was shiny from a rain that had come and gone while they were at dinner.

“I think Lance liked you,” Monica said.

“I’d be surprised if that were true,” Stone replied.

“No, he turned out to be quite friendly toward you, for someone he has nothing to gain from.”

“Is he friendlier when he has something to gain?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

Stone laughed. “I suppose so.”

“And I thought you showed great forbearance, especially early in the evening.”

“The remainder of the company was good.”

They were nearly to the hotel. “Would you like to . . .” he began.

“Oh, I hardly think the Connaught is the proper place for that,” she said, reading his mind. “However, if you’re free this weekend, there’s a promising house party down in the country. Would you like to go?”

“I’d like that very much,” Stone replied.

“Grand. I’ll pick you up at, say, three tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll miss the worst of the rush-hour traffic.”

“Fine. What clothes shall I bring?”