Стюарт Вудс - Cut and Thrust

“Of course. Would you like to have lunch in the garden here? Say, at one o’clock tomorrow?”

“That would be delightful.”

Stone set down his glass, stood up, and offered his hand. “Until tomorrow at one, then.”

“Good day,” Grosvenor said. He left the bar, leaving Stone to deal with the check.

Back in the car he phoned Tom Wise.

“Good afternoon, Stone.”

“Good afternoon, Tom. I think Bill Eggers must have alerted you to the possibility of an important new client?”

“He did.”

“I’ve made a lunch date with him and his wife for tomorrow at one in the garden at the Bel-Air.”

“That’s fine. Will you be joining us?”

“I will, then I’ll hand off to you. His name is Charles Grosvenor, of Eaton Square, London.”

“Family connection to Westminster?”

“I assume so but have no real knowledge. Perhaps you can pry it out of him.”

“What’s his wife’s name?”

“He didn’t say, but she’ll be at lunch. Will your secretary book the table?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Tom. See you tomorrow.”

Stone called Eggers.

“And did you meet your new client?”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s Tom Wise’s new client,” Stone replied. “I told Grosvenor I’d be available for consultation from New York.”

“Did that put him off?”

“Didn’t seem to.”

“Did he say that he was related to the Duke of Westminster?”

“No, but he did say that he lives in Eaton Square and has a country place near Chester. That puts him in the duke’s neighborhood. Are you coming out for the convention?”

“Can you put me up?”

“No, I’ve got Dino, Mike Freeman, and Ed Eagle staying. I can try to do something at The Arrington for you.”

“Okay, let me know.” He gave Stone his dates.

Stone called the manager and found Eggers a suite and got him some tickets for the gala.

Stone took Dino and Viv and the Eagles to dinner in The Arrington’s garden restaurant, where Ann Keaton joined them just in time to order. Stone introduced her to Ed and Susannah, Ann complimented her on her film work, and they settled in for dinner.

“I’ve been hearing so much about your two sons,” Susannah said. “I’d love to meet them.”

“I think we can arrange that,” Stone said.

“I heard that they bought a novel that’s a favorite of mine,” she said. “ Not Far Enough , by a Santa Fe writer, Helen Bradford.”

“That’s true,” Stone said. “They have a script and they’re going into production in a couple of weeks.”

“There’s a woman in the novel that I’d like to play,” she said. “It’s a character part, but I have to start doing those at some point.”

“When would you like to meet them?” Stone asked.

“As soon as possible. It’s going to get crazy as the convention gets cranked up. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“Excuse me a moment,” Stone said. He walked away from the table and called Peter. “Would you like to meet Susannah Wilde?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Peter said. “I’m a great admirer of hers.”

“Can you and Ben host her at lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, we can do that.”

“I should tell you that she’s interested in playing a woman in the novel. She says it’s a character part.”

“God, she’d be great in the part!”

“Twelve-thirty tomorrow?”

“Yes. Can you come?”

“I have to have lunch with a new client, but you don’t need me there.”

“Tell her to come to the bungalow. We have a chef now.”

“I’ll do that. Oh, and thank you again for the party last night. I love your house — Ben’s, too.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Stone hung up and returned to the table. “Twelve-thirty tomorrow? They’ll give you lunch at their bungalow.”

“Which one?”

“It used to be Vance Calder’s.”

“Oh, I know it. Do you think they’ll let me have a look at the script?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stone said.

The following day he went back to the Bel-Air for lunch and found Tom Wise waiting for him at the table. Tom was in his early sixties but looked tan and fit.

“Just how rich are these people?” Tom asked.

“They have a house in Eaton Square, and a country place, and they want to buy in Bel-Air. If I were you, I wouldn’t press them on the subject. The British upper class tend to be reticent about wealth.”

“All right. If we take them on, I expect I’ll find out anyway.”

“I expect so.”

Stone saw Charles Grosvenor approaching with a woman and he stood up to greet them. “This is Mrs. Grosvenor,” he said.

“And this is Tom Wise, the managing partner of our Los Angeles office,” Stone said. Mrs. Grosvenor had beautiful iron-gray hair to her shoulders, straight and parted in the middle. She appeared to be considerably younger than her husband, but they looked good together.

They sat down and ordered lunch, and Tom probed them lightly about what he could provide in the way of services.

“I think our first order of business will be an estate agent,” Grosvenor said.

Tom produced a card. “This woman is the queen of Bel-Air real estate,” he said. “I’ll have her call you this afternoon, if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” Grosvenor said, pocketing the card. He began asking questions, doing the talking for both of them, and Tom responded, revealing a depth of knowledge on every subject raised. Stone hardly got a word in edgewise, but he wasn’t bored. Mrs. Grosvenor seemed content to just listen. Two hours later, they parted company.

“What do you think?” Stone asked Tom as they walked to the parking lot together.

“He asks all the right questions and doesn’t seem put off by the property prices in Bel-Air. He’ll do for a client, I think. Did you catch the reference to his airplane?”

“I must have zoned out for a while there.”

“They own a Gulfstream G450. That puts them in the stratosphere in more ways than one.”

“Yes, it does,” Stone said. He shook Tom’s hand.

“Thanks for taking them off my hands,” he said. “I doubt you’ll need any help from me, but call if you do.”

The two men got in their cars and left the hotel.

Stone was having a drink before dinner with the Bacchettis and Mike Freeman, waiting for the Eagles to arrive, when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“You son of a bitch.” A woman’s voice, low and threatening. “You goddamned motherfucking bastard.” The volume was growing.

“Who is this?”

“You filthy, scum-sucking piece of shit!” She was screaming now.

“Who is this?” Stone said, then held the phone away from his ear as the screaming continued. “Stop it!” he shouted, and she did for a moment. “Now, let’s start over. Who is this?”

“This is the best actress working in movies,” she said, “the one who’s not going to get a nomination next year.”

“Charlene? Is that you?”

“How could you do it?”

“Do what? What on earth are you talking about?”

“My part in Peter’s picture — you gave it to Susannah Wilde, who won’t have the slightest idea what to do with it!”

“I didn’t give Susannah anything,” Stone said. “Peter is in charge of his own work and I stay out of it.”

“Then how is it that she’s staying at your house and she just happened to turn up at Peter’s bungalow for lunch today?”

“I set up the lunch because they both wanted to meet.”

“And he gave her my part just like that ! That horrible, preposterous bitch, who can’t act her way out of a paper bag!”