Стюарт Вудс - Class Act

Stone opened the envelope and found an invitation to dinner at the home of Jack and Hillary Coulter. For that evening.

“What? This is for tonight?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Joan said, being innocent of any contact with it.

Stone quickly dialed the number.

“The Coulter residence,” a butler intoned.

“This is Stone Barrington. May I speak with either one, please?”

“One moment, Mr. Barrington,” he said.

A moment later, Hillary came on the line. “Stone?”

“Yes, Hillary. My secretary has just handed me, unopened, your very kind invitation to dinner this evening.”

“Bad secretary,” Hillary replied, in the manner of speaking to a dog.

“I do apologize for her, and I’d be happy to come, if the invitation is still open. I perfectly understand if you’ve asked someone else.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “We’ll see you at seven for drinks. I suppose you have a date?”

“Yes, I do. Her name is Hilda Ross.”

“Noted. See you then.” She hung up.

Joan came back into the room. “I suppose you blamed me.”

“Of course, I did,” Stone replied, dialing Hilda’s number.

“Hallo, dahlink,” Hilda said, in a broad Hungarian accent.

“Good news,” Stone said. “We’ve had a great dinner invitation. Joan gave it to me ten minutes ago, unopened. It’s for tonight. I hope you’re up for it, because I’ve already accepted for both of us.”

“In that case, I accept, too. How are we dressing?”

“Black tie.”

“Then I’ll wear a work dress. They’re the nicest things I have with me.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it. All the gentlemen will, too, if not necessarily all the ladies.”

“I’m accustomed to that,” she said.

“We’re due at seven for drinks.”

“What? That only gives me eight hours to get ready!”

“You’ll manage.” Stone hung up. “You are forgiven,” he said to Joan.

They were on their way to the Coulters’ Fifth Avenue apartment for drinks and dinner.

“Who are the Coulters?” Hilda asked.

“Just a very nice Fifth Avenue couple who also live in Palm Beach and Northeast Harbor, Maine, depending on which way the wind blows.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s retired from being an investment adviser, I think,” Stone said. No point going into Jack’s early criminal life and prison term.

“And she?”

“Hillary? Her family company was recently sold.”

“Don’t you know any people who work for a living?”

“Well, let’s see: There’s you. Then there’s Dino. Then there’s just about everybody else I know. Do you think all my friends are shiftless?”

“How many will we be for dinner?”

“Could be eight, could be eighty. It’s a big apartment, and they like entertaining.”

They were deposited on the sidewalk, as the doorman held first the car door, then the building door open for them. In the elevator, Stone pressed the button marked ph. The car rose swiftly. The door opened into the apartment’s foyer, then they walked down a curving flight of stairs and into the living room, which contained nearer to eighty than eight guests.

“Good guess on the numbers,” Hilda said. “God, I’m glad I wore my good jewelry.”

They snagged glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and Stone showed her the terrace. “If you’d been with me the last time I was here, you’d have wished you hadn’t worn your good jewelry.”

“Why?”

“Well, at about this point in the evening, I was standing out here, chatting with my date, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man dressed in black clothes and a black hood in the living room, and he was carrying a shotgun.”

“What was it, a costume party?”

“Not in the least. Turned out the man had three friends, each with his own black outfit and shotgun, and they went about the room relieving the guests of the burden of their jewelry.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I told my date to remove all her jewelry and give it to me, and I put it in my coat pocket.”

“Didn’t she think that odd?”

“I expect so, but I think there was enough urgency in my voice to make her think I was serious. Then I kissed her.”

“Why?”

“Well, first of all, she was very kissable. Second, I thought it would distract the robbers, when they got around to us.”

“Did it?”

“Only momentarily, then they asked for her jewelry. She smartly said, ‘I don’t wear jewelry,’ then I explained that I had only a wristwatch, and it had my name engraved on the back and possession of it might cost him a prison term, so he went away and left us alone on the terrace.”

“So her jewelry didn’t get stolen?”

“No, they never frisked me.”

“What happened after that?”

“Well, I gave her jewelry back, then the police were called, dinner was served, I think in that order. All of the jewelry was recovered when the police arrested one of the robbers the next day.”

They were interrupted by Jack Coulter, and Stone introduced them. Jack seemed to take a great interest in her, it seemed to Stone.

Later, when Hilda was visiting the powder room, Jack took Stone aside. “How long have you known Hilda?” he asked.

“Only a few days. Why do you ask?”

“I once knew her father very well.”

“Where and how?”

“At what was my upstate residence, at the time. Joe Rossetti, his name was, and we had adjoining suites. He had the better river view, though. I used to see Hilda, who was in her teens, when she came on visitors’ days, to see her father.”

“What was he in for?”

“Robbery. But Joe was known to be mobbed up, and he had a reputation for the high quality of his work.”

“As a robber?”

“As a hitman. He got out sooner than I did. Last I heard, he was retired, living in Florida somewhere.”

“When she comes back, don’t bring up her father,” Stone said. “I’ll tell you why some other time.”

“As you wish,” Jack said.

Hilda returned. “You two look as if you’ve been telling each other dirty jokes,” she said reprovingly.

“Not a bit of it,” Stone said. “You were a long time in the powder room.”

“On the way back I ran into somebody I knew, and we had a chat.”

“Who was that?” Jack asked.

“Forrest, your pianist. We’ve worked together a few times.”

“Hilda is a singer,” Stone said. “Fortunately, this is her night off.”

“Perhaps you’ll sing something for us after dinner,” Jack said.

“Of course. I’d be happy to.”

Jack excused himself.

“Does that happen a lot?” Stone asked.

She shrugged. “Now and then. I’m happy to oblige.”

They got another drink and sat on the terrace. “Where did you grow up?” he asked

“In Florida,” she replied.

“Where?”

“Always near a racetrack. My father was an inveterate player of the ponies. He did well at it, too; supported the family. There were times when it seemed he was getting a winner or two a week.”

“He must have been a hell of a handicapper,” Stone said, and let the subject drop. He knew next to nothing about horse racing.

After dinner, Jack introduced Hilda, and she sang two Cole Porter numbers for them, then sat down to much applause.

“Thank you,” Stone said. “It’s always nice to have a date who can earn her dinner. Hillary and Jack will always ask you back now.”

“What a good idea,” she said.

On the way home afterward, Stone nearly asked about her father, but stopped himself. Maybe she really did think he had earned his living as a handicapper.