Stuart Woods - Imperfect Strangers

"Hi, Sam; what's happened?"

"The sales agreement has been faxed to me, and I'm faxing it to you; we'll have the original on Monday"

"Great news! Sam, do you by any chance know the name of a law firm in this building in San Francisco?" He gave the address.

"Yes, we do some business now and then with Carter and Ellis; they're in that building."

"What's the name of a lawyer there?"

"I usually deal with Terry Ellis, why?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

"You need a lawyer out there?"

"No, Sam; it's for a kind of practical joke."

"You want me to call Terry for you?"

"No, really, I just needed a name."

"Whatever you say. By the way, a case of quite spectacular wine arrived in my office today. I don't know how to thank you."

"I'm thanking you, Sam, and I want you to enjoy every bottle."

The other phone line rang.

"Got a call coming in; better run; see you Monday." Sandy punched the button on the other line. "Hello?"

"It's Bart."

"Yes?"

"How did it go?"

"I've satisfied all my obligations to you," Sandy replied.

"Did you leave the building without hindrance?"

"I did. The package we discussed is in the trunk of the red car."

There was a brief silence, then, "And where is the car?"

"It's rather wet."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I told you to leave the package in the garage; I wanted it to be found."

"You told me no such thing, so I improvised. It's taken a dunking; and you won't be seeing it again. Nobody will."

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"This is my end of the deal; I handled it as I saw fit. Don't worry, no one is ever going to be able to connect you with this transaction."

"But you can't prove to me that the package is in the car, can you?"

Sandy allowed himself a chuckle. "I guess you're just going to have to take my word for it, Bart."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Sandy?"

"I confess I am."

"So there's no chance I'll ever see the package again?"

"Not unless you're a superb swimmer."

"Then we're done."

"That's exactly it, Bart; we're done. Don't ever try to contact me again; don't phone, don't write, don't tap on my window. Because if you do, I promise you I'll terminate the relationship in the most prejudicial manner, and the hell with everything else. Do you understand me clearly?"

"I believe I do."

"Good. Now you can go fuck yourself." Sandy hung up the phone, and he was trembling. His next thought was to make sure that he and Cara didn't run into Peter Martindale at an airport. He found the yellow pages and looked through the a's, then dialed a number.

"Hayward Air Charters," a woman answered.

"I'd like to charter an airplane," he said.

"I'll connect you with Pete Harris."

"Pete Harris," a man's voice said.

"I'd like to charter a jet for a trip to New York, something that will get me there nonstop."

"When would you like to leave?"

Sandy glanced at his watch; just after four. "Around six o'clock," he replied.

"How many people?"

"Two."

"I've got a Hawker one-two-five that should do nicely; it's twelve hundred dollars an hour, including fuel. Way we do it is we take the clock time for the eastbound trip, double it, and add an hour for the headwinds on the trip back."

"How long will the trip take?"

"About four and a half hours."

"Fine."

"Your name?"

"Kinsolving." He gave the man a credit card number.

"Can we send a limo for you? It's included in the service."

"Thank you, yes; at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco at six."

"Got it, Mr. Kinsolving; our man will see you at six."

"By the way," Sandy said, "could you arrange a very good dinner and some champagne for the flight?"

Sandy hung up, suddenly tired. He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.

He woke with a start as the door to the suite opened. He sat up and saw Cara walk in, carrying a suitcase. The blonde hair was auburn again. He embraced her. "I like your hair better this way," he said.

"It's pretty much my natural color, now. The wig is in my handbag."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," he breathed.

"I'm going to need some clothes," she said.

"No, you won't; we're leaving the hotel at six for New York. I've chartered an airplane from Hayward, south of Oakland, so that we can avoid the major airports."

"Good thinking," she said.

"Did you see anyone you know?"

"I'm afraid I saw Saul. I had to go back to his place to retrieve some things, but he can keep a secret. He's been told to say that I took my bag with me when I went to the meeting at the law firm, and he doesn't know where I went from there."

"Sounds good." He glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid we don't have time to do what I'd planned to do when you got here." She laughed. "Well, we can always join the mile-high club."

It was nearly five a.m. when they arrived at Sandy's apartment, tired, happy, and still laughing about the effort required to make love in a corporate jet.

Sandy woke up shortly before noon, rested and happy. He crept out of bed, made muffins, coffee, and orange juice for two, then tucked the Saturday Times under his arm and took the tray into the bedroom, where Cara was still sound asleep. He set the tray on the bed and kissed her on an ear.

"Mmmmm," she murmured, turning over and putting her arms around his neck. "What a lovely way to be wakened."

"What's your schedule for the coming week?" he asked.

She sat up and accepted a glass of orange juice. "Well, I have a dinner meeting with my most important client on Monday evening, and after that-"

"Is he also your only client?" Sandy asked.

"I'm afraid so. Thea couldn't believe it when I corraled him before even arriving in New York."

"I'm afraid your only client is going to be leaving town on Tuesday," he said.

She looked at him narrowly. "You have something better to do?"

"Yes, I'm going to London."

Her face fell. "For how long?"

He smiled. "How long do you want to stay?"

She smiled. "I'm going, too?"

"I want to get you out of the country for a while, and I have a perfect business excuse: I have to show you the London shop, so that you can design the New York store to resemble it."

"Not just a dirty weekend, but a dirty business trip," she said. "I love it."

He climbed into bed beside her, laughing, and picked up the Times. "Also, I want you to meet my son, Angus."

"Is he in London?"

"He will be in a couple of days; he's flying to Prestwick, in Scotland, on Monday, to run a family errand, then he's coming to London. His new girlfriend will be with him; I haven't met her yet."

"I'll be on my best behavior," she said.

"Only in public, I hope."

"Only in public. Where are we staying?"

"I have a little flat over the shop, but there's no service, so I think we'll stay at the Connaught, which is just down the street. Also, I don't think I'm quite ready to introduce you to the London staff as… what you are. You'll just be the designer, and they'll think I'm staying in the flat."

"I hear the Connaught is very good."

"I think it will meet your standards. That reminds me, I'd better go and fax them now." He went into the study, switched on his computer, wrote a letter to the manager of the Connaught, and faxed it from the computer. He was on the way back to the bedroom when the house phone rang. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Kinsolving, Detective Duvivier is here to see you," the lobby man said.

Oh, no, Sandy groaned to himself. It had been so long since he had heard from the detective, he thought he had been forgotten. "Ask him to wait ten minutes, then send him up."