49
Stone and Tatiana left the party, having said good night to their host, and they got into a cab. “Would you like to take the scenic route home?” Stone asked.
“Why not?” Tatiana replied.
Stone gave the cab driver his address, and when they arrived, he let them into the house and pressed the switch that turned on lights in every room.
“Oh, it’s bigger than my house,” Tatiana said. “And beautifully furnished.”
“I inherited the house from a great aunt several years ago and did most of the renovations myself. Much of the furniture and all of the cabinet work were built by my father, who had a reputation in that field. Most of my decoration was just updating upholstery and fabrics on the original furniture and adding some pieces.” He showed her the library and kitchen. “My offices are on the ground floor, where there used to be a dentist’s office. Would you like to see the master suite?” he asked.
She gave him a little smile. “Perhaps another time,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“Then let me lead you up the garden path,” he said, opening the kitchen door to the garden.
“Sooner than I had expected,” she said, stepping outside. “Your garden looks very nice.”
“Oh, I have someone who looks after it.”
“You’re not a gardener?”
“I don’t bend over unnecessarily.” He opened the gate at the end of his plot, and they stepped into the common garden. The moon was big and high, and it illuminated the trees and plants.
“It’s such a beautiful place, isn’t it?” she said.
“The jewel of the city, as far as I’m concerned.”
She led him into her garden and to the kitchen door. “If you don’t mind I’ll give you the tour of my house after the housekeeper comes.” They exchanged cards.
“I’ll look forward to it.” They kissed lightly, and Stone left her and returned to his own house.
The following morning, Stone had just reached his desk when Joan stuck her head into his office. “I think you’d better come and tell me what to do with all this,” she said, and was gone before he could ask.
He followed her out the front door to the street, where a number of wooden crates were being unloaded at the curb. “What is this?” he asked.
“You tell me,” Joan replied. “It seems to be wine. I hope to God you haven’t bought a lot of wine. Right now, you can’t afford wines that come in wooden crates.”
Stone took a closer look at the crates. Château Palmer, 1961; Beaune, Clos de Roi, 1959; La Tache, Domaine de Romanée-Conti, 1959; Le Montrachet, 1955. “Good God,” he said.
“How much did all this cost?” Joan demanded.
The truck driver handed him an envelope. “There’s a note,” he said. “Where do you want all this put?”
Stone opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of very fine stationery.
My dear Stone,
I hope you will do me the favor of taking some of Caleb’s wine off my hands. There is so much, I’ll never be able to finish it before . . . well, before I kick off, as they say. It should be drunk by someone who loves and appreciates it as much as you. Enjoy it in good health!
Mildred Strong
“Don’t worry, Joan; it’s a gift,” Stone said. “Show them where the cellar is, please, and just have them stack it up. Don’t take it out of the crates.” He counted as they moved the crates: There were eight of them, each among the twentieth century’s finest vintages.
Stone sat down to write to Mildred. Joan returned a few minutes later. She came into Stone’s office. “I know the names of some of those wines,” she said. “Shall I call Christie’s or Sotheby’s about auctioning it?”
“Don’t you dare,” Stone said. “I plan to drink every bottle of it.”
“You should live so long,”
“I should,” he said, handing her his note. “Would you mail this, please?”
“Sure, I will, but if you’re ever broke again, and you will be, if I know you, then you’ll have a way to raise money.”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Stone said. He picked up the phone and called Tatiana.
“Hello?”
“I hope it’s not too early to be calling,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been up since five.”
“Well, be sure to take a nap this afternoon, so you’ll be fresh when I come to take you to dinner.”
“Oh, that would be nice. What time?”
“Pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“Perfect. Where are we going, so I’ll know how to dress.”
“How about La Goulue?”
“I love it there. See you at seven-thirty. Will you come through the back door?”
“That’s the most convenient way.”
“I’ll leave the kitchen door open for you.”
“See you then.” He hung up. The phone rang, and Joan picked it up.
She buzzed him. “There’s a man on the phone named Creighton Adams, says you’ve met. He’s a lawyer in Rhode Island?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll talk to him.” Stone punched the button. “Good morning, Creighton.”
“Good morning, Stone. I’m afraid I have sad news.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mildred Strong died last night.”
Stone was stunned. “She seemed so well when we met. What happened?”
“It was an embolism. Her doctor had found it in a scan some weeks ago. It was operable, but she refused the surgery. Said she didn’t want to be that sick at this time of her life. So she just carried on until it burst as she was leaving a dinner party last night.”
“She was such a remarkable woman,” Stone said, genuinely sad. “She sent me some wines from her cellar. They arrived only a few minutes ago. I had already written her a note.”
“That was like her: She was given to bursts of generosity, especially after she knew she might die at any moment.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Creighton. I’d like to attend her funeral or memorial service. Will you let me know when that is?”
“Of course. Now to business. I’ve written you a letter that will be delivered tomorrow, but I’ll give you a day’s head start. Please inform your client, Mr. Cabot, that he has ten days to pay the remaining nineteen million dollars called for in his contract with Mrs. Strong. Please tell him that we must be strict about the deadline.”
“Certainly, I’ll tell him,” Stone said. “And thank you again for calling me.” He hung up and sat there a while, thinking of Mildred Strong and her amazing generosity. He was glad to have had the experience of knowing her.
Then something else occurred to him. He hoped Charlie Crow hadn’t heard about her death, yet. It would be like him to stop payment on his half-million-dollar check.