Stone had finished lunch when his iPhone rang: a Paris number calling. “Hello?”
“Good afternoon to you,” she said. “It’s Tessa.”
“And good evening to you.”
“How was your flight back?”
“Flawless, thank you.”
“I thought you might take the opportunity to get to know Peter better.”
“I did take the opportunity, but the results were questionable.”
“Surely your friend Lance could help with that.”
“Not so much. At Teterboro I muffed the opportunity to find out where Peter is staying. A car met him.”
“Oh, I can tell you that: he’s at the Harvard Club. He’s too cheap to stay at a hotel.”
“Even when he’s flush with cash?”
“I forgot about that. In that case, he’ll be in a suite at the Pierre. He does that sort of thing when he’s flush, or when somebody else is paying.”
“Thank you, that narrows it down. What are you doing with yourself this week?”
“There’s a big party tonight that I planned, then I will be idle.”
“Then why don’t you be idle in New York? I’ll arrange a flight for you.”
“That sounds irresistible,” she said.
“Then don’t resist.”
“You win. There’s a flight at two tomorrow.” She gave him the flight number.
“My driver will meet you at JFK,” Stone said. “Watch for a small man with a sign bearing your name. His name is Fred.”
“Will do.”
“Call me when you’re inbound. We’ll have dinner here, because you’ll be tired.”
“Oh, good. Then we can concentrate on you making me even more tired.”
“That we can do.” They said goodbye and hung up. Stone buzzed Joan.
“Yes, sir?”
“The package will be inbound tomorrow.” He gave her the details and asked her to book Tessa in first class. “Have Fred meet her. Her name is Tessa Martindale.”
“Certainly.”
Stone hung up and called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“You over jet lag?”
“Sure.”
“Dinner at seven? Patroon.”
“Okay. Viv has already left for Singapore.”
“Then I’ll book for two.” They both hung up, then Stone called Lance. “Scramble.”
“Scrambled.”
“I have news: Peter Grant is likely staying at either the Harvard Club or the Pierre.”
“What is your source?”
“Tessa Martindale, who seems to know him as well as anybody. It’s more likely the Pierre, she says, because he’s flush.”
“I’ll have him observed,” Lance said, “and we’ll see who he sees.”
“I have nothing else.”
“Bye.” Lance hung up.
His duty done, Stone went upstairs for a nap, to deal with the last of his jet lag, then dressed comfortably for dinner.
Stone was on time, but Dino was early and half a drink ahead. The owner, Ken Aretsky, seated Stone. “How’s the new airplane?” he asked.
“Awfully nice,” Stone said, sliding into the booth. His drink arrived, concurrent with Ken’s departure. “Did you tell him about the airplane?” Stone asked Dino.
“Everybody knows about the airplane, Stone. Get used to not being embarrassed because you can afford a Gulfstream.”
“I’m working on that,” Stone said. “Tessa’s arriving tomorrow evening.”
“What took you so long?”
“She’s throwing one of her parties tonight.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Dino said. “Can you go that long without sex?”
“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.”
“Neither. It’s just a comment on your constitution, which is formidable.”
“You probably have more sex than I do, Dino.”
“When she’s not in Singapore, or somewhere else exotic, she’s demanding.”
“Good for you.”
“Keeps me in shape.” Dino looked across the room. “Look who’s here.”
Peter Grant, in the company of an attractive woman, was being seated across the room.
Stone took the opportunity to call Lance, and they scrambled. “I thought you’d like to know that Peter Grant is dining at Patroon,” Stone said.
“I know,” Lance replied. “Do you see another couple entering?”
“Yes,” Stone said, spotting two young people being seated.
“They’re ours. Oh, and you were right about the Pierre. Bye.” Lance hung up.
“The other couple that just came in belongs to Lance,” he said to Dino.
“So Peter has grown a tail?”
“Yes. Tessa predicted he’d be at the Pierre.”
“Newfound wealth is a great thing, isn’t it?” Dino said.
“And he’s making the most of it.” Stone looked up to see another couple being seated with Peter and his date. “Now, who could that be?” he asked, half to himself.
“Lance will know in a couple of minutes,” Dino replied.
The man appeared to be in his sixties, white-haired and well-dressed. His companion was too young to be his wife, so she probably was.
“Does he look Russian to you?” Stone asked.
“What does Russian look like? I mean, I know central casting Russian, but a real one?”
Stone stopped Ken Aretsky as he passed. “Ken, do you know the couple you just seated across the room?”
“The people with Peter Grant? No. Should I?”
“Did you hear him speak as you were seating him?”
“Yes.”
“Any accent?”
“Southern,” Ken said. “Charleston, I’d say.”
“Is that in Russia?” Dino asked.