Стюарт Вудс - Desperate Measures

“There’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you, Stone,” Whitehorn said, staring into his scotch.

“Certainly,” Stone replied.

“It’s my grandson, Mike Adams, who this afternoon received his freedom.”

“How can I help?”

“I realize you haven’t met the boy, but I’ve always felt he had more to offer than we’ve seen from him. His father, Howard Adams, is not very well, and I fear we’ll lose him in a year or two. Then Mike will be awash in money, which may not be the best thing for him. Howard owns the commercial real estate company that owns the hotel where Mike was given the night clerk’s job. They’re going to close the hotel immediately; it was scheduled for a gutting and renovation anyway, but its new infamy would kill any existing business. They want to turn it into more of a businessman’s destination.”

“Do you think that Mike, if given major responsibility, might rise to it?”

“That is in line with my assessment of him. However, he has disappointed his father so often that I think he is unlikely to be given such responsibilities.”

“Do you have any influence with the boy’s father?”

“I daresay I do. I put him in business and invested heavily with him.”

“Has your investment paid off?”

“It certainly has, and beyond my expectations.”

“Then, perhaps, his father might be susceptible to a suggestion from you that he put Mike in charge of the revitalization of this hotel. The boy should know something about it, having worked there for a year or two.”

Whitehorn looked thoughtful. “And, if Mike looks like he is screwing it up, the brakes could be applied.”

“He could start by reconceptualizing the hotel, perhaps as something better than a businessman’s destination. There are a lot of hotels in the city that cater to a younger crowd, who seem to have a lot of money to spend, but they’re mostly downtown; none in that neighborhood.”

“By God, that’s a fine idea!” Swifty said. “I’ll have lunch with Howard tomorrow and put it to him.”

The butler entered the room. “Mr. Whitehorn, Mrs. Edith Beresford,” he said, “and there are others arriving, too.”

The butler was followed into the library by a tall, slim woman in her thirties, wearing a clinging sheath of a dress that featured a lot of gold thread and accented her full breasts.

“Edith,” Swifty said, “may I present Mr. Stone Barrington? Stone, this is Edith Beresford.”

Stone shook Edith’s hand. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Her voice reminded Stone of that of Ava Gardner, smooth and a little Southern.

“Tell me,” he said, “were you, by any chance, born in a small Georgia town called Delano?”

“No,” she replied, “I was born in a slightly larger Georgia town called Atlanta.”

“Ah,” he replied. “I seem to meet so many people from Delano.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that,” she said. “I believe you must be the attorney Swifty says can put all my affairs into order.”

“He did mention something about that,” Stone replied, “but frankly, you don’t look like a woman who needs her affairs put into order. The impression you give is one of confidence.”

She smiled. “Thank you. That sounds like a very good excuse for you to avoid the job.”

“I have a better excuse than that,” Stone said.

“And what would that be?”

“I would prefer a personal relationship to a business one, and the two are often incompatible. However, I can recommend an excellent person for the job.”

“And who might that be?”

“Bill Eggers, who is the managing partner of my firm, Woodman & Weld.”

“I’ve heard good things about the firm,” she said, “but why Mr. Eggers? Surely someone a bit further down the ladder — but not too far — might be more interested in my situation.”

“Well, Bill has something of a specialty in dowager widows and divorcées, you see.” He held up a hand. “I know, but if I tell him you’re a dowager, he will have a more immediate reason to see you. Then you can surprise him at your first meeting.”

“As I surprised you, Mr. Barrington?”

“I confess you did,” Stone replied. “Please call me Stone.”

“And I’m Edie,” she replied. “What sort of ‘personal relationship’ did you have in mind?”

“Why don’t we start with dinner and see where that leads us?”

“But we’re having dinner this evening,” she said.

“Of course, but this evening I’ll have to share you with whoever is seated on your other side, and while I’m not the jealous type, well, my personal motto is Si non nunc quando .”

She laughed. “‘If not now, when.’”

“Your Latin is very good.”

“It comes from having been a classical scholar. How’s yours?”

“I have just exhausted my entire Latin vocabulary,” he said.

“All right, we can have half a dinner tonight and a whole one tomorrow evening?”

“What more could I ask?” Stone said.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

They were called in to dinner. It was a table for twelve; Stone was on Edie’s right, and another gentleman, whose place card read “Dr. Johnny Hon,” was on her left.

Edie and Dr. Hon exhibited an immediate affinity for each other, and Stone was having difficulty getting a word in edgewise. Between courses, Dr. Hon excused himself for a moment.

“Whew!” Stone said. “I’m glad to see the back of him.”

“Why?” Edie asked. “He’s perfectly charming.”

“I expect that’s why I’m mostly seeing the back of you.”

She laughed. “And you struck me as a competitive sort. Was I wrong?”

“Well, I could arm-wrestle him for the privilege of your attention, I suppose.”

“Think of it as football,” she said. “What you need is a turnover.”

Dr. Hon returned, and Stone lost the ball again. After dinner, when Dr. Hon’s attention was diverted, he took the opportunity to whisk Edie into the library, where they were alone.

“Turnover accomplished!” Edie said.

“Now I have to score?”

She laughed again; he liked it when she laughed. “You’ll have to run up a lot of yardage rushing,” she replied. “The forward pass doesn’t work every time.”

The butler appeared with a tray of after-dinner drinks, and they both chose cognac.

“Let me ask you a question,” she said, “the answer to which I have always found to be revealing.”

“Then I’ll be sure to give you a straight answer.”

“Where is your second home?”

Stone burst out laughing. “That’s a more difficult question than I anticipated,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I have more than one second home. But for purposes of this discussion, and because it’s the closest, my reply will be Dark Harbor, Maine.”

She looked surprised. “Nothing in the Hamptons?”

“I’m afraid not. I don’t think I’d fit in very well out there.”

“Very good,” she said. “I despise the Hamptons. Now, since you have more than one second home, where is your favorite one?”

Stone thought about it for a moment before replying. “South Hampshire, England,” he said. “On the Beaulieu River.”

“And why is it your favorite?”

“I like the climate.”

That made her laugh again. “Oh, really?”

“There’s nothing like curling up with a good book and listening to the rain beat against the window.”

“I perceive that you are a contrarian. Everyone else is looking for heat and sunshine.”

“Heat is overrated,” Stone replied. “I enjoy a cool day.”

“And sunshine?”