Stuart Woods - Lucid Intervals

The Wights spotted Stone and came over. “Barrington, isn’t it?” Wight asked.

“It is, your lordship,” Stone replied. “Your ladyship, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Mr. Barrington,” she replied. “Sarah still speaks of you.”

“That’s kind of her,” Stone replied. “May I present Dame Felicity Devonshire?”

“Howjado,” Wight replied.

“So nice,” echoed his wife. Both of them looked right through her, having no idea who she was.

“How do you do, Lord Wight, Lady Wight,” Felicity said. Then, turning to him, “I believe you knew my father.”

Wight looked at her blankly for a moment, then the penny dropped. “Why of course,” he said. “You remember General Sir Giles Devonshire, my dear.”

“Of course I do,” Lady Wight replied. “Such a dear man. How is he?”

“Deceased,” Felicity replied. “Last year.”

“Saw the obit in the Telegraph,” Wight replied. “So very sorry.”

“Thank you,” Felicity said.

Wight narrowed his eyes in thought. “I believe he had a sort of second career after his retirement from the army, didn’t he? In Whitehall or someplace?”

“A minor post,” Felicity replied, “but it kept him busy.”

Lady Wight tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “Must check in with the ambassador,” she said.

“Oh, Lord Wight,” Stone said. “I believe you’re acquainted with a Mr. Stanley Whitestone.”

Wight looked momentarily alarmed, then he lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, yes, decent fellow,” he replied.

“Where is he these days?” Stone asked.

“Oh, dear, I’m not sure I know,” Wight replied. “Believe he was in Cairo for a spell; lost track of him after that. Will you excuse us? Must check in with the ambassador.” He hustled his wife toward the other side of the room.

“That was very direct,” Felicity said. “Very clever, too.”

“Thank you, but why?”

“Now we know that Wight knows where Whitestone is,” she said.

“We do?”

She shook her head. “Men can be so dense. Didn’t you see his reaction when you mentioned him?”

“You mean the lifted eyebrow?”

“You shocked him to the core,” she said.

“And you learned that from a lifted eyebrow? I could use you in court when picking a jury or cross-examining a hostile witness.”

“I expect you could,” Felicity said, and then the butler shouted that dinner was served.

THEY WERE SIXTEEN at dinner; Stone knew because he counted. He found himself at Lady Pemberton’s right hand, and he could just make out Felicity at the far end of the table, between the ambassador and Lord Wight. A sliver of foie gras was served.

“Delicious,” Stone said.

Lady Pemberton gazed archly at him. “Yes, you are.”

Stone felt himself blush. “I hope you didn’t send to England for this,” he said. “We have quite good geese and ducks in the Hudson River Valley, and they keep us supplied with their livers.”

“Oh, we always order domestically,” she said, “except for Champagne, of course. Do you expect to be in your office tomorrow afternoon?”

On another occasion, with a less married woman, Stone would have been pleased to invite her over. She was, after all, quite alluring. As it was, Bill Eggers and his wife were halfway down the table, no doubt wondering what the hell they were doing here, and Susan Eggers could spot two people arranging an assignation from across the street. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “I have a houseguest at the moment who is taking up much of my time.”

“What a pity,” Lady Pemberton said. “Perhaps another time?”

“Lady Pemberton,” Stone said, “in your position I’m sure you know who Dame Felicity is.”

“Of course I do,” she replied.

“Then you will know how… inconvenient it might become for her to suspect we’re having this conversation.”

It was Lady Pemberton’s turn to blush. “You have a point,” she said, “but I expect our paths will cross again here or there.”

“As Fats Waller used to say, ‘One never knows, do one?’ ” Stone replied. Lady Pemberton looked baffled for a moment then turned her attention to the gentleman on her left.

AFTER DESSERT, IN the British tradition, the gentlemen departed the dinner table and wandered into Sir John’s study for cigars and brandy. In a moment the air was thick with the aroma of burning Cuban tobacco, an odor Stone despised. He would have to have his tuxedo sent to the cleaners tomorrow.

Bill Eggers approached. “What the hell are you doing here, Stone?”

“I might ask the same of you, Bill,” Stone replied.

“Oh, Lady Pemberton has taken an interest in early American furniture, and she and Suzanne met at some event or other and got on famously.” Eggers was a major collector of eighteenth-century American furniture and owned some pieces that had been loaned to museums for exhibitions. “What’s your excuse?”

“An old friend invited me to accompany her here.”

“The redhead? She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea,” Stone said. Apparently, the only people here who knew who Felicity was were the ambassador and his wife, Mr. Smith and, possibly, Admiral Sir Ian Weston.

“Is she something with the British UN delegation?”

“Something like that,” Stone replied.

“You’re not being very forthcoming, Stone. Ordinarily, I can’t shut you up.”

“Circumstances require me to be discreet,” Stone said.

“And who’s the heavy gent with the elegant wife?” Eggers asked.

“Lord and Lady Wight. You remember my painter friend, Sarah?”

“I remember you hustling us out of her gallery opening the night the place was bombed,” Eggers said.

“The Wights are Sarah’s parents.”

“Now that I think of it, he’s a big developer in the UK, isn’t he?”

“He was; then he wasn’t. Now he is again, I’m told.”

“Someone mentioned him as a possible client,” Eggers said.

“I’d be happy to introduce you,” Stone said. “Let’s wend our way over to the fireplace, where he’s warming his backside.”

And they did.

They found Wight before the fireplace, momentarily alone.

“Lord Wight,” Stone said, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. William Eggers.”

Wight nodded. “Howjado?”

“Bill is the managing partner of the law firm of Woodman and Weld. I’m of counsel to the firm.”

“Oh, yes,” Wight said, suddenly interested. “I believe someone in London mentioned your firm to me in a favorable light.”

“That’s very gratifying,” Eggers said.

“Perhaps we should have a chat in more businesslike surroundings.”

“If you’re going to be in New York a few days, why don’t you come up to our offices and have lunch with Stone and me?”

“I’d like that,” Wight said. “Are you available tomorrow?”

“I am,” Eggers replied, “and I’m sure Stone is, too.”

“Of course,” Stone said.

“We’re in the Seagram Building on Park Avenue,” Eggers said. “May we say twelve-thirty tomorrow?”

“Very good,” Wight replied. “I know the building, of course.”

The butler stood at the door. “The ambassador invites you to rejoin the ladies,” he said more quietly than usual.

As Stone was leaving the study, Smith materialized at his elbow. “A word?” he said.

Stone remained in the study with him while the others made their way out. “Certainly,” he replied.

“Are you aware of Lord Wight’s former relationship to Stanley Whitestone?”

“I’ve heard it mentioned,” Stone said. “Are you sure it’s former?”

“Lord Wight has been at some pains the past few years to make it seem so.”