“She has hair and nails.”

“How much hair, dummy, and does she lacquer her nails?”

“About as much hair as you, last time I saw her; she kept her nails long, but she seemed to paint them only on special occasions.”

“Then they will be painted tonight,” Dolce said. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” She went out to the car and came back with a train case.

Stone couldn’t imagine where she had stored it in the car.

“There is a small trunk,” she said, reading his mind. “What time are we due there?”

“At seven.”

She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get started,” she said, heading up the stairs.

“It’s only five o’clock,” Stone said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink or something?”

“No time,” she said, disappearing up the stairs.

After a moment, he heard the tub running.

She came halfway back down the stairs. “You can have the bathroom at six-thirty,” she said. “I don’t want to see you up here before then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“What?”

“Yes, signorina.”

“You’re learning,” she said, vanishing up the stairs.

45

AT SIX-THIRTY, STONE WENT UPSTAIRS and walked into the bedroom. The bath was empty, and Dolce was, apparently, in her dressing room. Stone shaved, showered, and dried his hair, and when he came out, Dolce had left the room. He dressed in cream trousers, a brown-plaid shirt, a light tweed jacket, and tan alligator loafers, then went downstairs.

Dolce was standing in front of the living room’s curved windows, her hands behind her back. She was wearing a simple, black-silk dress, moderately high heels, and a slender diamond necklace. A red cashmere sweater was thrown casually over her shoulders, matching her nail polish; her jet-black hair fell softly against the sweater. “Good evening,” she said.

Stone was stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, he thought he had never seen such a beautiful woman. Her makeup was slight, almost nonexistent, and her eyes seemed even larger than usual. “Good evening, signorina,” he said. “You are very beautiful.”

“And you are very observant,” she replied.

“Would you like a drink before we go?”

“It’s seven o’clock; let’s have one at our hosts’. People dine earlier in the country.”

He gave her his arm, installed her in the Mercedes, and drove away.

“It’s very beautiful here,” she said, as they turned past the spired white church on the Green.

“Yes, it is.”

“How did you happen to buy a house here?”

“I came up for a weekend at the Mayflower Inn, which we’re just passing now—it’s up the hill, out of view—and it seemed like a good idea.”

“Was it yours or Miss Buckminster’s?”

“I believe Sarah first mentioned it, but the thought had crossed my mind before. Nobody I know, except Dino, spends the weekend in the city anymore.”

“Quite right.”