Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

Stone went back to his own cabin. Thad was right, of course. Paul Manning wasn’t stupid, and, if Stone could just find him and talk to him, he’d be a rich man from the settlement Allison/Liz wanted to make with him. And then, he thought, sighing, he’d be free of this whole business, Thad Shames would have the girl of his dreams, and everybody could get on with the business of living happily ever after.

Sometime after midnight, Stone was wakened from a deep sleep by someone crawling into bed with him. He had been dreaming, and what was happening seemed an extension of his dream.

“Arrington?” he said sleepily.

“Whoa!” Callie said, sitting up and crossing her legs.

Stone shook himself fully awake. “Callie? What’s happening?”

“You were about to get made love to,” she said, “but you spoke to the wrong girl.”

“I’m sorry. I was dreaming. I thought you were… somebody else at first.”

“Stone, I know very well that Arrington is Vance Calder’s wife- rather, widow. The whole world knows. Why would you be dreaming of her crawling into bed with you?”

“I don’t remember exactly what I was dreaming,” Stone said, sitting up in bed and dragging a couple of pillows behind him.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she said. “But if it’s none of my business, tell me so, and I’ll get out of here.”

“No, no,” he said, stroking her hair. “Arrington and I were… close, before she married Vance. We don’t have a relationship now, at least not a very good one.”

“You’re sure about this? I don’t want to intrude where I’m not wanted.”

He pulled her head down onto his shoulder, and she stretched out beside him. “You’re wanted,” he said.

She ran a hand down his belly until it stopped at his penis. She held it in her hand. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “it’s alive!”

“Alive and well,” he replied.

She rolled on top of him, sat up and guided him inside her. She bent down and put her lips close to his ear. “You’d better be telling the truth about Arrington Calder,” she whispered, “or this will never happen again.”

Stone was awakened by conflicting smells-one chemical, one culinary. He sat up in bed in time to see Callie enter his cabin, bearing a covered tray, kicking the door shut behind her.

“Smells good,” he said. “But what’s the other odor?”

“Paint,” she replied. “The painters finished their work last night, and all the windows in the house are open. The decorators and moving people are in there now, working like beavers.” She set the tray on the bed between them and whipped off the cover. “Voila!” she said. “Brie omelettes!”

Stone picked up a plate and dug in. “Fantastic!” He sipped some orange juice.

“We’ve got the yacht to ourselves this morning,” she said. “Thad has already made a lot of phone calls and had a business breakfast aboard and has taken a party into town for some shopping.”

“I can’t believe he’s putting that house together in a day,” Stone said.

“Oh, he’s had the designers shopping for a year. They’ve planned out every room, right down to the pictures on the walls.”

“It took me a year to get my house to that state.”

“You must not have been newly superrich,” she said.

“Good guess.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“Plans? Me? I never have plans. I just sit back and let you and Thad do it for me. I don’t think I’ve made a decision of any kind since I met the two of you. What do you have planned for me today?”

“Absolutely nothing. I plan to get some sun, do some reading and rest up for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re going to be pretty busy, aren’t you?”

“Not if the caterers don’t want to get fired. They’re turning up at five, and I’ll show them the kitchens and where to set up. After that, they’d better not bother me because I’ll be partying.”

“Well, I think your plan for the day sounds good. I’ll join you, if that’s all right.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “By the way, do you need to rent a dinner jacket? I know a place.”

“Nope. I brought one, just in case.”

“Always prepared, aren’t you?” She finished off her omelette, took his plate, poured him a large mug of coffee and stood up. “I’ll get this stuff back to the galley, and I’ll see you on the afterdeck, later.”

“Okay.” Stone watched her go, then he got up, showered, put on a swimsuit, grabbed a terry robe from the closet and walked back to the fantail. Callie was already stretched out on a chaise, wearing only her bikini bottom, reading.

“Hi, want something good to read?”

“Sure.”

She tossed him a book. “I just finished it. It’s great.”

Stone looked at the book: Tumult, by Frederick James. “Oh, yes, I read some pages yesterday. Starts well.”

“Ends well, too. Enjoy.”

Stone read through the morning, broke for sandwiches and closed the book at five.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Thad liked it, too. He had me send the author an invitation to the party tonight, but we never heard from him. I guess his publisher didn’t forward it.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get over to the house and brief the caterers,” she said. “I’ll see you at the party.”

“Think I’ll have a nap,” Stone said. He went back to his cabin and slept for half an hour, then he shaved, showered and dressed in Vance Calder’s ecru raw silk dinner jacket, a silk evening shirt and black tie. He walked back to the house and through the central hallway, dodging frantic caterers and decorators, got into his borrowed Mercedes E430 convertible and drove into town. Shortly, he pulled up in front of Liz Harding’s house. He walked across the driveway, his evening shoes crunching on the pea gravel. The doorbell was set in an intercom box. He pressed it and it made a noise like a telephone ringing.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone.”

“Oh, Stone. The door’s unlocked; let yourself in, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She clicked off, and Stone opened the door and walked into the house. It was quite beautiful, Queen Anne in style, not terribly large, but made of good materials-marble floors, walnut paneling, beautiful moldings. He found the living room and continued to explore, ending up in a handsome little library with many leather-bound volumes. A small bar had been set up on a butler’s tray, and he poured himself some chilled mineral water, then he wandered around the room. A collection of silver-framed photographs rested on the mantel, and Stone inspected them. They were all of Liz Harding with a handsome, silver-haired man, clearly Winston Harding, taken in various cities and on various beaches.

“He was handsome, wasn’t he?” she said.

Stone turned and found her standing in the doorway, wearing a white silk dress and a gorgeous diamond necklace, with matching earrings. Her hair was blond again.

“Yes, he was, and you are very beautiful,” Stone said.

She came and gave him a little hug, careful not to muss her makeup. “And so are you,” she said. “That’s the most beautiful dinner jacket I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Stone replied. He decided to stop telling people that the clothes were Vance Calder’s, and to start taking credit himself.

“Would you like a drink before we go?” she asked.

“I think we’re already fashionably late,” he replied. “Why don’t we just go to the party?”

She took his arm, and he led her out to the car.

“Drive slowly,” she said. “The hair.”

“I like it blond.”

“So do I. It’s my natural color.”