Стюарт Вудс - Class Act

“What sort of unusual occupations?”

“Bookmaking, loan-sharking, prostitution, like that.”

“You mean, like, criminal occupations?”

“I do.”

“Well, there were rumors about his family when we were kids.”

“What sort of rumors?”

“Like, unusual occupations.”

“Tara,” Stone said. “What, exactly, did you tell Tony about where we were?”

“I told him I was in a beautiful country house named Windward Hall, in the county of Hampshire, in the south of England. In short, exactly what you told me.”

“Oh,” Stone said.

Everyone was very quiet, even Tara, until she finally got it.

“Oh,” she said.

“Think hard, Tara,” Stone said. “Has Tony ever mentioned anyone in his family called Sal?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She thought some more. “Does ‘Salvatore’ count?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dino said, making another note in his notebook.

“It counts,” Stone said. “How are they related?”

Tara thought about it. “I don’t know. The name was mentioned only once in my hearing.”

“In what context?”

“That Salvatore was a real piece of shit,” she said. “That was about it.”

“Well, I’m glad they aren’t chummy,” Stone said.

“I didn’t say they weren’t chummy,” Tara replied. “My recollection is that they are very chummy. That’s why Tony can talk about him that way.”

“Does Tony spend a lot of time in Brooklyn?”

“He lives there, with his mother.”

“Does his mother have any siblings?”

“A sister. Just one.”

“Does the sister have any children?”

“Just one. Tony is an only child, too.”

“Is Tony’s aunt’s son Salvatore?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Tara,” Stone said, “I want you to call Tony. It’s late afternoon in New York, so he shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“No, he should be at work,” she said. “What am I to say to him?”

“I want to know if he’s told anyone else about where we are, using the references that you heard from me. I want to know if Sal knows, and if Tony knows why Sal went to London. Put the call on speaker, so we can all hear.”

“Why shall I say I’m calling?”

“Just checking in, everything all right? Like that. Then, casually, ask him if he’s told anyone where you are.”

“All right.” She dug her phone from her purse, dialed a number, pressed the speaker button, and set the phone on the coffee table.

“Tony speaking.”

“Hi, Tony, it’s Tara. How are you?”

“I thought you were on vacation in Paris.”

Tara started to correct him, but Stone waved both arms. “That’s right, I am. I just wanted to see if the new production is moving along.”

“It’s right where it’s supposed to be at this point,” Tony said, sounding exasperated.

“Tony: question for you.”

“Okay.”

“Remember, earlier today, when I called and told you where I am?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Have you mentioned that to anybody?”

“Yeah, I mentioned it to Mama. We talk a couple of times a day, and she likes to know what’s going on.”

“And you told her I was in Paris?”

“Yeah, I... Wait a minute, did I say Paris?”

“You tell me.”

“It was south of something. Did I say Paris?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Then that must be what I told her.”

“Do you think she might have told somebody else what you said?”

“She doesn’t talk to anybody but me— Oh, and her sister.”

“Is that the sister who is the mother of Salvatore?”

“Yeah, Sal. That piece of shit.”

Stone put his face in his hands and groaned.

“Why don’t you like Sal, Tony?”

“Well, I don’t dislike him. He’s just a piece of shit.”

“Is that what you call somebody you like?”

“Well, I don’t like him that much.”

“He clearly rubs you the wrong way.”

“He always has, since we were kids.”

“Do you speak to him often?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Are you likely to speak to him anytime soon?”

“Sometimes he brings his mother over to see my mother, and they have tea. That’s about the only time.”

“How often?”

“Usually on Friday.”

Stone winced.

“So they could be there today?”

“Probably.”

“Tony, I’d appreciate it if you’d do me a favor.”

“Sure, what’s that?”

“If you should see Sal or his mother, please don’t mention what I said to you about being where I am.”

“Why not?”

“Because Sal dislikes a man I know. He may even want to hurt him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be the guy Sal wants to hurt. He’s sort of in the hurt business, if you know what I mean.”

Stone shook his head and mouthed, Don’t ask .

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you want somebody’s legs broken or a throat cut, Sal always knows somebody who knows somebody, you know?”

“I do now. Please remember what I said about Sal, Tony.”

“Oh, I forgot. Sal won’t be here today. He went to London.”

Stone made beckoning motions and mouthed, Why?

“Why did Sal go to London?”

“He said he had to see a man about a dog.”

“Okay.”

“No, that’s wrong. He said he had a throat to cut.”

Stone gritted his teeth. He mouthed, Hang up.

“Do you know where he stays in London?”

“Yeah, in that hotel where Elizabeth Taylor and Eddie Fisher used to stay. The big one.”

“Gotta run, Tony. Take care.” Tara hung up.

“Where did Elizabeth Taylor and Eddie Fisher used to stay?” Stone asked.

Dino began typing on his iPhone with his thumbs. “The Dorchester,” he said. “They stayed there while she was making Cleopatra and screwing Richard Burton at the same time.”

“Is that what it says on Wikipedia?” Stone asked.

“It’s what they wanted to say,” Dino replied.

“How did I do?” Tara asked.

“Nice, how you ran with the Paris thing,” Dino said.

“Stone?”

“Yeah, the part about Paris worked. I hope.”

Finally, everyone went upstairs. Bob curled up in his bed beside the fireplace.

Tara seemed to like the master suite. “I like the master suite,” she said.

“I’m glad. It likes you, too.”

She came out of her dressing room wearing a black sheath nightgown.

“It likes you better without the nightgown,” he said.

She stopped at the bedside, shucked off the shoulder straps, and let it fall to the floor. “Like this?”

“Like that,” Stone said, pulling her to him and kissing her on the belly, then working his way down.

“Mmmm, I’m glad you like that,” Tara said, doing what she could to help him. “Tell me about Dame Felicity Devonshire,” she said.

Stone stopped what he was doing. “Now?”

“Oh, okay, let’s finish, then you can tell me about her.”

He finished, and she expressed approval and appropriate gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Now Dame Felicity. How old is she? Let’s start with that.”

“No one knows,” Stone said.

“I bet I could find out.”

“You might want to steer away from that inquiry. It’s probably covered by the Official Secrets Act.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s a document that about half the British population has signed, swearing not to reveal any Official Secrets. Violating it could get you sent to prison.”

“Do you know how old she is?”

“Probably, but for reasons just stated I cannot discuss the subject.”