Chapter 1

Rain was threatening as I looked out my window on that Wednesday morning in the spring of 1977. I was anticipating breakfast in my room at the St. Regis in New York when there was a knock at the door. I answered in my bathrobe, expecting a waiter with a trolley, but in walked Johnny Dodge instead.

“Oh, no,” I groaned.

Johnny was just over thirty. His blond hair was worn long, but he looked slim and fit in a dark pinstripe from whose breast pocket peeked a dark-blue handkerchief with small white polka dots that matched his tie. He wore a cream-colored shirt with french cuffs that were held in place by small gold Cartier cufflinks. I knew the cufflinks were from Cartier because I had given them to him several years ago.

He and I were practically brothers. We had grown up together. My parents were good friends with his parents, but mine were often traveling and out of the country. All concerned thought that such a nomadic lifestyle was ultimately not in my best interest and that I take up permanent residence at the Dodges’. There had been plenty of space in their Fifth Avenue apartment on the fourteenth floor overlooking Central Park. I slept in the same room as Johnny and went to the same schools. I was considered a semi-Dodge, which Johnny would often point out carried certain privileges but, just as importantly, carried certain asymmetric obligations that demanded my immediate involvement, even now, years later.

Now, I wanted to shut the door, but I didn’t. I knew that he would only keep knocking or ambush me when I attempted to leave.

“And a nice hello to you, too, Percy,” said Johnny. “Now, I know you’re waiting for breakfast. Not to worry, it’ll be up in a minute. I sent the order back and added some things because I’m joining you. We have a lot to discuss, and there’s a car waiting downstairs, but we’ll get to that in due course.”

“We’re going somewhere? Only to the airport to catch my afternoon flight back to California.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He smiled at me, gave me a light slap on my shoulder by way of a hello, and then began rubbing his hands in anticipation as he looked around. “Nice room,” he said, changing the subject.

Johnny could be so infuriating. He knew just what to say and what to do to get me to go along with his schemes. He always took advantage of my sense of obligation to him and his family, and I was sure this time was no exception.

“Johnny, I don’t mean to pry, but how exactly did you manage to know I was here?”

“The concierge. He’s on the Dodge family payroll, as if you didn’t know, but I’m very glad he is, and you should be too.”

“Glad?”

“Yes, very glad. I’m saving your bacon.”

“Oh God.”

I knew right then the situation was worse than usual. The magnitude of the difficulty Johnny was involved in was in direct proportion to how much he thought someone else was at fault.

“None of this ‘oh God.’ You think that I have a big problem because I’m blaming you. Rest assured, you have a problem too. Think back to the last time you were up at Rhinebeck.”

Rhinebeck was the name of the town in Dutchess County where the Dodges’ hundred-acre estate was located, situated on a high bluff overlooking the Hudson River. Johnny and I called the estate Rhinebeck. We would often visit during school vacations, and in later years, it became a refuge on weekends.

Johnny took off his jacket and laid it on the bed before sitting down in one the chairs facing the window and waited for my response.

“The last time I was at Rhinebeck was with you quite a few years ago. Frankly, my memory’s a bit hazy.”

“Of course it’s a bit hazy. You were in an alcoholic stupor for much of the time, and I must admit, so was I, but that’s beside the point. Do you remember anything about you and me drinking a couple of bottles of Château Lafite?”

Rhinebeck did have an outstanding wine cellar into which Johnny and I often descended when no one was looking.

“Lafite, yes, they were very good, if memory serves. In fact, they were positively outstanding. I remember your delight when you discovered those two bottles hidden in the back of the cellar. We consumed both, one after the other, and you kept repeating that the wine was fit for the gods.”

“Well, that may have been the case, but do you remember the vintage? Think carefully.”

I thought for a moment and said, “Unfortunately not, but I do recall you saying that we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, should our pilfering be discovered.”

“Too bad you don’t remember the year because I don’t either, and I’m afraid that the bridge may now be before us. Let me explain. The parents have enjoyed quite a number of years of wedded bliss, as you know, and have an important anniversary coming up. They decided to celebrate the occasion with an intimate dinner for a select number of houseguests this weekend. You’re invited, by the way. I managed to mention to them that you might feel slighted if you weren’t, since you were in town and are family — or semi-family, at the least.”

Johnny reached into his breast pocket and placed a small envelope made from thick cream-colored paper on a side table. I recognized the writing of Mrs. Dodge’s secretary. “Your personal invite, as I know how you get when I simply say you’re invited.”

Before I could protest, the bell bonged, and Johnny jumped up to open the door. Two breakfast carts were wheeled in, and what looked like a veritable feast was set up in short order. The problem must be impressive. Johnny was pulling out all the stops.

Johnny thanked the waiters and passed them a couple of bills. “Keep the change,” he said and hustled them out the door.

I grabbed a piece of toast and a cup of black coffee and looked over my eggs Benedict. “Okay, Johnny, you have me seriously worried. What gives?”

“Ah yes, I’ll be getting to that. But first, let’s dig in.”

“Johnny!”

“Okay, okay, but I’m starving.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a piece of toast with bacon, which he munched on between sentences. I ate and listened.

“A number of years ago the parents decided to lay away a couple of bottles of Château Lafite 1959 to be opened on a very special anniversary. Knowing how outstanding this wine was, they hid them in the back of the cellar at Rhinebeck. It was their secret, but last week I overheard them talking about their little stash. Well, imagine my horror when I found out that those bottles were not kept under lock and key in New York, as they should have been, but hidden in plain sight where they could be discovered. They expect to drink what has been considered one of the finest vintages of Château Lafite ever created this Saturday night at dinner. I can barely conjure up in my mind the surprise and outrage they’ll feel when they find out that those two bottles are missing — consumed some time ago by none other than you and me.”

“I see. But did we really drink them? Perhaps we didn’t, and they’re still there.”

“Too true, and therein lies the problem. We must be certain or come up with a plan to replace them.”

“To replace them might not be too difficult,” I said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t there cases of Lafite in that cellar?”

“Indeed, there are, but not ’59s, or even ’61s, I assure you. Bottles of those years are very rare. The parents even wrote little love notes to each other on the labels. I’ve been almost sick with worry thinking that we might have gotten our hands on them and that our theft is about to become very public knowledge — this week of all weeks.”

“Bad week?”

“Horrendous.” Johnny stood up and began to pace. He was definitely bothered. “I’ve been carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders for the last few days. The monthly trading report generates on Friday, and Father will be getting a copy for his review over the weekend. This will not make for a happy moment. Sometimes I hate that we have a family business.”

“Bad report?”

“Awful. I really screwed up. A trade leg got unwound at the wrong time, really pumping up my losses for the month. He’s aware of some of them, but not last night’s attempted arbitrage, which really went south. He’ll not be in a good mood after he gets the report. Add to that the missing wine, which they’ve been looking forward to for years, and my promising career could be flushed down the toilet.”

Johnny made his way over to the window. He parted a curtain and looked out as if to distract himself. I knew from experience we were coming to the crux of the matter.

“And then there’s the matter of Brunhilde,” he whispered.

“Brunhilde?”

“Yes, Brunhilde. Bruni for short.”

He turned away from the window and sat back down in his chair. He sighed and began to nibble nervously on more bacon. I let him take his time. At last, he stopped and looked at me.

“To add to my woes, Mother wants grandchildren and is eager to see me marry. She’s put forward Brunhilde as a possible match. Not that she can force me. It’s the twentieth century, after all, but she’s starting to ratchet up the pressure as only mothers can. The whole subject is starting to get contentious between us. I know she’ll lose patience completely if this latest gambit of hers should fall apart. To give you an idea of what’s involved: Brunhilde’s parents are Baron and Baroness von Hofmanstal. Very suitable and very rich. Mother has invited the three to Rhinebeck as houseguests for the special dinner and a look-around this weekend.

“Brunhilde, according to Mother, is extraordinary and able to stop traffic, which is the good news, and of which I have no doubt. The bad news is the mere thought of settling down with anyone makes me very nervous. I had a tarot card reading once, to say nothing of several other attempts at divining my marital future, and all have said the same thing with complete certainty: don’t. One went so far as to say that a planetary disturbance of cataclysmic proportions might result and pleaded with me on hands and knees to never marry. I know you think that’s a bit overly dramatic, but the incident affected me greatly, and I have, to date, avoided any such entanglements, with happy results.

“Besides, I fall in love far too easily, and that’s always been my problem. I see no indication that my character has changed, or will any time soon, so I’d rather forego matrimony at all costs. My intention is to carry forward with my resolve, but I don’t know if I can withstand a beautiful girl, my mother’s machinations, and assured future great wealth for any extended period — hence, our conversation.”

“Why, Johnny, that’s quite a statement. I’m impressed with your astute self-observation. You never cease to amaze me.”

I drank more coffee. The breakfast was having its effect, and the fact that Johnny was being so candid had softened my determination to resist at all costs accompanying him up the Hudson to Rhinebeck. The house’s stately beauty cast a soft focus over much of my memory, but I knew that interspersed among the long interludes of tranquility and happiness were disturbing periods of disquiet, and more than one instance of terror that prevented me from simply acquiescing.

“Yes, even I can occasionally be aware of my own shortcomings. But there’s once again more to it. I may have run into Brunhilde before, and meeting her again might prove to be extremely awkward.”

“Oh yes?”

“Oh yes, indeed. I’m pretty sure I’ve met her. I mean, how many Brunhildes does one happen to run into who have black hair and electric-blue eyes and are called von-something? I never did get this woman’s last name fully. I’d really like to forget that meeting. I place the blame squarely on that damn Robert the Bruce.”

“The fourteenth-century Scottish king or your white bull terrier?”

“The dog.”

“You told me that he was permanently banished to Rhinebeck. I take it this has something to do with that?”

“It does.” Johnny got up, sat back down, and sighed deeply. “I’ve told this story to no one, and I impart it to you in strictest confidence only because if this is the same Brunhilde, you can understand my predicament.”

“I’m listening.”

“A few years back and very early one morning, I took Robert across the street to Central Park for a walk.

“I was going out with Laura Hutton at the time. She was very into dogs, so I purchased the young Robert the Bruce to impress her. I had no idea the breed was so damned pigheaded and ate anything that was not tied down. I mean, buying that dog was like jumping off a cliff and figuring that something would be worked out on the way down. I had no idea what I was doing.

“The creature was obsessed with tennis balls. I always carried a couple to throw and give him some exercise, along with one in reserve to help leash him when I wanted to return home. Of course, the little bastard would play coy and wait a few yards out, looking at me with those beady little eyes until I walked over and pried the damn thing out of his jaws. I’d utter a prayer that he wouldn’t remove my hand in the process as he tried to get a better grip. I also had to be quick at firing the ball off again, or he would snap it out of my fingers with those teeth.

“That particular morning, we were playing fetch when up walks this absolute knockout with two yellow labs. She proceeded to let them off the leash and stood close to me. She asked if the bully was my dog and what its name was — that sort of thing. She looked my age, my height with black hair, wonderful clear pale skin, and the most electric-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She was positively breathtaking, so much so that Robert went right out of my mind. He’d been waiting a few yards off, gnawing on the ball, expecting me to come get it. I’d normally respond rather quickly because left to his own devices, he’d pop the damn thing with his teeth and then rip it to shreds. This time, he flicked the ball in my direction, hoping to get my attention. But one of the other dogs intercepted and ran away with it.

“Well, this turned into a good-natured rumpus, with dogs bounding and sprinting here and there. We continued to talk and look up every now and again to see if everyone was behaving. I was facing the dogs, and she had her back to them when Robert decided that this amount of excitement had stimulated him to the point that he needed to relieve himself. He hunkered down while the other two dogs swirled about with the ball. Everything seemed normal until I noted in the back of my mind that he was taking an inordinate amount of time. I wondered what he had been eating lately. He was some distance away, but the color of what he was producing appeared decidedly green, and that was odd.

“While I was watching, one of the dogs flicked the ball to Robert, who momentarily paused what he was doing and lunged for it, in spite of not having completed his business. He then proceeded to perform several ‘run, stop, and hunkers’ while the other two dogs tried to get the ball away from him. The more times he did this, the longer the greenish, brown log became. By now the length was such that even a Great Dane owner would have been astounded, and still it continued. I grew uneasy, but I was still captivated by the beautiful creature before me and spoke to her as if nothing was happening, while the more sensible part of my brain was beginning to register all this with some alarm. Her dogs started barking louder and louder as they became more and more impressed with Robert’s Herculean performance. I, however, was hoping they would all just go away.

“I tried to keep the gorgeous lady looking in my direction, but the hue and cry proved too much. She turned to see what was going on.

“She gave a bit of a start and said in a breathless voice, ‘Is there something wrong with your dog? He seems to be growing something out of his bum.’

“I actually said, ‘Oh, that’s quite normal,’ or some such nonsense, to play the whole thing down, but truth be told, some perverted magician was performing some ghastly endless-handkerchief trick with my dog. The thing was now over three feet long, and to make matters worse, Robert had begun to bound and hunker in our direction. The ball now forgotten, the two labs followed, barking aggressively at the snakelike thing that flopped behind.

“I wanted nothing to do with him, but Robert had decided on this occasion to bring the ball to me.

“As he approached, the wonderful woman next to me suggested that I get a stick or something to help relieve the poor dog of whatever he was having trouble expelling.

“Her suggestion was not winning her any prizes, as my definition of complete mortification was being recalibrated upward by several orders of magnitude with each passing moment. I felt like I’d been thrown into some sort of horror movie, and I could not get my wits around what was happening — when I recognized what Robert was disgorging.

“Laura had been missing one of those expensive oversize scarves and was incensed over the loss. She said she was sure she had the scarf when she arrived for dinner the other night and that someone, probably one of the servants, had stolen it. Laura could jump to conclusions at the drop of a hat, but here before me was the answer.

“Robert had eaten it. Problem solved.

“I babbled some inane comment, but Robert the Bruce was now beside me. He banged the ball on my leg for me to take, when one of the woman’s dogs managed to stand on the end of the thing while Robert jumped up. A foot more was expelled, and the whole mess fell to the ground. The stench was horrible, but the relief was immediate. Robert now jumped an additional two feet in the air with the ball in his mouth to get my attention.

“Instinctively I grabbed it out of his teeth and hurled it as far away as possible. All the dogs streaked away.

“I looked down and said, ‘My God! Look at that. Hermes.’ I gazed, fascinated, at what remained of Laura’s scarf.

“Well, the person next to me interrupted my musings by saying, ‘You’re not going to just leave that on the ground? Aren’t you going to pick it up and throw it in the trash?’

“Of course I was going to leave the bloody thing there. What else was I going to do with it? Only I didn’t say that.

“She was beautiful, but she really was becoming a bit of a trial. All I wanted to do was flee. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve bolted and hoped that Robert would follow, but she stood in front of me, blocking the way, and continued to point out that I should somehow be responsible for the travesty that now lay before me. Whatever spark there was between us was rapidly disappearing. Giving in to her demands seemed the only course open to me.

“There were no trees nearby, so I stomped off to find some sort of stick to pick the thing up with and transport the remains to a trash can.

“Robert and the rest followed me with the ball. I took out my frustration by hurling it very far away indeed, and off they flew again.

“After several minutes of searching, I finally found a suitable pair of sticks and returned. I’d hoped that during that time she would have collected her dogs and gone. Instead, she had waited and then watched as I proceeded to gingerly pick up the gooey monstrosity, drop it, pick it up again, walk a few steps, and repeat the process. Eventually, I made it to the trash can and got rid of the mess once and for all. I almost threw up several times, but in the end, I succeeded. The damn thing was surprisingly heavy.

“Only after she had verified that I’d thrown the remains away did she whistle — quite impressively, I thought — leash her two dogs, and depart.

“I called out to Robert. I think I screamed rather loudly, ‘You fucking bastard.’ She was at a distance, but she turned around, looked at me now with disgust, and then continued to walk away.”

Johnny paused and reached for some coffee.

“Good heavens!” I said. “That is embarrassing. Did she get your name?”

“I don’t remember ever giving it to her, but she might recognize me if we were to meet again. I’d certainly recognize her. Unfortunately, that’s not the end of the story. There’s this other part that sort of puts the icing on the cake.”

“I doubt you could make it any worse.”

“Au contraire — I had a chance to take a good look at the scarf while I was holding it at arm’s length, gagging every few feet, when I noticed that the silk was still in pretty good shape. There were no teeth marks or rips that I could see, and since this was Laura’s absolute favorite, and maybe because I felt a little guilty chatting up the blue-eyed vixen, I decided to rescue the remains from the trash and get it cleaned as penance. Complete insanity, to be sure, but I’d spied an empty paper bag in the same trash can that got me thinking that might be a good idea. Robert bounded over, so I put him on the lead and walked back to where I had chucked it. The bag was there, but the sticks were at the bottom of the trash can and out of reach. I contemplated what to do and concluded there was no way around it. I had to pick up the soiled scarf by one end with my bare fingers. I put Robert’s leash on the ground and stood on it to free up my hands and then lifted the horror out of the bin. I tried to hold the bag underneath with the other hand, only the scarf was too long. I was forced to let go and take a grip somewhere in the middle. Imagine my surprise when whom do I see coming back again but that witch with her two dogs. She stopped short, gaped for a moment, and then turned around. The look on her face was one of such unmitigated revulsion and disgust that I hope never to experience anything like it in the future at any time, let alone by someone that good-looking. It was awful, just awful. Unbelievably bad.”

“So you think she may be the same girl?”

“Exactly. Let’s do the math, shall we? Let’s state as given: she’s the same woman, and meets the same man with the same dog again, but in a different location. What do you suppose is going to happen?”

“I’d hate to say,” I offered, “but you definitely have my interest.”

“Very funny. How much of a chance do you think he has of any sort of relationship, let alone a future marriage proposal?”

“Well, the odds of her being the same woman are pretty long, but I agree. If by some bizarre quirk of fate, the woman you are about to meet at Rhinebeck is the same one you subjected to that ordeal, I’d think you’re pretty much a nonstarter. By the way, if you don’t mind my asking, what happened to the scarf?”

“I eventually got the travesty into the bag, which I brought to a dry cleaner in a different part of town. I was forthcoming as to the fact that the article had been stained with some dog doo, which explained the bag tied with a string; however, I was perhaps remiss in that I didn’t reveal the full extent of the soiling. I gave the man a hundred dollars in advance for his services after telling him quite firmly to open the bag away from public view. I could do no more. The result was worse than mediocre. The colors seemed faded, and by the time I got it back, Laura and I were no longer an item. I sent Robert to the country where he could run around and attached the scarf around his neck by way of farewell. He still has it, as far as I know.”

“Well, if it’s the same girl, you might want to bury the thing. But what are the odds, really?”

“What do you reckon they are?”

“Remote. Very remote. Billion to one?”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, but my belief is that life has peculiar ideas about probability that are quite different from our own, to the extent that I would wager Brunhilde von Hofmanstal and Brunhilde the dog woman are one and the same. Besides, there was a calculation I saw once that concluded that everyone who lives to be over seventy years old experiences at least two one-in-a-billion events during their existence.”

“I do recall seeing that as well.”

“You get my point. This may be my one in a billion, and I think you should accompany me to Rhinebeck to see with your own eyes whether she is the one or not. What do you say?”

“Let me consider that for moment. I admit that originally I was not about to accompany you, but the situation is intriguing. What about my flight?”

“Not to worry — I’ve already taken care of everything. I canceled your reservation and have you on the company Lear out of Teterboro on Monday that gets you into Van Nuys at around three.”

“That’s more than a bit presumptuous…” I said with some alarm.

“I know. I know,” he said, raising his hands. “Look! I can’t put it any plainer. Please!”

Johnny went over to the window again. He stood there looking out.

There had been a desperation in his voice that was unusual and that concerned me more than anything he could have said. Johnny was never one to offer up his true motivations to anyone, at least not on the first go-round, or even on the second. He wasn’t telling me the whole story, this I knew, but I was concerned for him and found myself saying, much to my surprise, “Consider it done. I’m coming with you.”

“You will?” He turned back to me obviously relieved.

“Yes.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had in a while. I mean it. You’ll help me with the Lafite business?”

“Of course.”

“And with Brunhilde?”

“I’m not sure how I can, but I’ll try. What would you have me do?”

“I don’t know. Talk to her?”

“I suppose I could manage that, but I doubt either of those are the real issue, are they?”

He looked at me carefully. “It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten how well we know each other. You’re right, of course, but for that answer you’ll have to wait. Can you do that?”

“I can, if I must.”

“Then that’s settled. Best we get going. You’ll need to pack, and the car is waiting downstairs. Chop-chop.”

Whatever vulnerability he had shown was gone in an instant. He was always like that, but I knew he was troubled, and that was a rare day. He’d asked for my help, and that was rarer still.