Stone thought about it. “Open the glove compartment; there’s an address book inside.”

She did as he asked.

“Look up the number for the American Express Platinum Travel Service. Call them on the car phone; book us two first-class seats to London tomorrow morning.”

She grabbed the phone. “You bet I will!”

Stone felt as if a burden had been lifted from him. She was right; he needed to get away. He found a garage on Broadway, and they walked around the corner to the ABC Furniture store. During the next two hours, they bought a bed, sheets and towels, a sofa, two chairs, some rugs, lamps, a dining table, and occasional furniture. Stone had everything shipped to Connecticut for delivery after the closing on the house, with a note for the driver to call at the Klemm Real Estate office for the key. Then they found a housewares store and bought pots and pans, silverware, a coffeepot, dishes, glasses, and everything else they could think of.

When they went back to the garage for the car, Stone noticed a black van parked across the street. It was not the same one that had been outside his house.

“You’re getting black-van fever, aren’t you?” Sarah asked, as they drove away.

“I’m not making them up, am I?”

“Just don’t make too much of them. The world is full of black vans.”

“You’re right,” Stone said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Tomorrow we’re out of this city, and when we come back we’ll have a house and a lot of furnishings waiting for us in Connecticut. I’d better call Bob Eggers and arrange to have the closing papers for the house sent to England. Where will we be?”

“Probably at my parents’ country house, in Hampshire, but they have a town house, too. I’ll call them when we get home and find out where to send the papers.”

Stone drove home, happily thinking of his first trip abroad, but his eyes constantly flicked to the rearview mirror.

32

STONE AND SARAH WERE DRESSING FOR her opening. “I spoke to Mother this afternoon,” Sarah said, “and she suggested we come straight to the country house. I think that’s best, don’t you? We can just relax and do some sailing.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stone replied, pulling his black bow tie snug. He slipped into his dinner jacket. “What sort of sailing?”

“The house is on the Solent, the strip of water that separates the Isle of Wight from the rest of England. Daddy keeps a cruising boat nearby, in the Beaulieu River. Do you sail?”

“I did some sailing as a kid, at a summer house on Martha’s Vineyard, belonging to the parents of a friend. I’ve chartered in the Caribbean, too, but the last time, I didn’t get much sailing done.”