Стюарт Вудс - Class Act

“Is she younger or older than I? Is that an ‘Official Secret’?”

“Maybe not, but I can only guess.”

“Which?”

“It’s probably best to say that she is of an indeterminate age.”

“Ah. Older, then.”

“You said that, not I.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing indeterminate about that.”

“Does she like men?”

“Certainly.”

“Does she like women?”

“Now, there we’re straying into Official Secrets territory again.”

“So she likes women, as well as men?”

“Why do you want to know? Are you aiming at seducing her?”

“I don’t know, yet. Would she object, if I did?”

“Probably not.”

“Would you object if I seduced her?”

“Not if I can watch.”

Tara laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather help?”

“It’s my nature to be helpful,” Stone replied.

“Does she work?”

“Oh, yes, ah... Do you mean does she have a job?”

“I do.”

“She works for the British government, in the Foreign Office.”

“What’s the Foreign Office?”

“It’s like our State Department. It conducts foreign affairs.”

“What does she do in the Foreign Office?”

“She holds an executive position.”

“Why are you trying so hard not to tell me what she does? Is it an Official Secret?”

“It used to be, until a newspaper printed the name of one of her predecessors. After that, there hardly seemed to be a point.”

“Then, if I can read it in a newspaper, you shouldn’t mind telling me.”

“All right, if we were living in a James Bond novel, she would be called ‘M.’ She is the director of MI-6, which is the foreign intelligence service.”

“Like our CIA?”

“Yes.”

“Is there an MI something else?”

“There’s MI-5, which is the domestic intelligence service, sort of like our FBI. “I don’t know if there are other MIs.”

“Dame Felicity sounds more and more interesting,” Tara said.

“She is certainly ‘more and more interesting,’ ” Stone agreed.

“She sounds very smart.”

“She is that, and a specialty of hers is upending persons who fail to perceive that.”

“I like smart, beautiful women,” Tara said.

“That makes two of us.”

She stretched out beside him and fondled his nether region. “I believe, as the saying goes, I owe you one.”

“You’re halfway there,” Stone said, making himself available.

When Stone awoke the curtains had been pulled back, and sunlight was streaming through the windows. Tara was still naked and laying out her riding habit on her side of the bed.

“Good morning,” she said.

“And to you. I take it you would like to go riding this morning.”

“I would.”

“May I persuade you to have some breakfast first?”

“You may. I’d like what is called on hotel menus, a ‘full English breakfast.’ ”

“With or without a kipper?”

“You want to have sex during breakfast?” she asked.

“A kipper is a smoked herring.”

“With breakfast ?”

“It’s very popular with breakfast.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try.”

Stone called down and ordered.

Breakfast arrived. Tara tasted her kipper and was pleased.

“I’m glad.”

“I saw something last night.”

“Asleep or awake?”

“I think awake, but I can’t be sure.”

“What did you see?”

“I got out of bed and pulled back that curtain,” she said, pointing at a window.

“What did you see?”

“The lawn was moonlit, and I saw a figure run across it.”

“A figure? A figure of what?”

“A figure of a man. At least, I think it was a man. It was dressed in black, from head to toe.”

“And where did it run from and to?”

“From there,” she said, pointing in the direction of the Beaulieu River, “to there.” She pointed toward the front gate.

“Was he carrying anything?”

“Such as?”

“Such as a weapon. A rifle, perhaps.”

“I can’t be sure, since I’m not sure I was awake.”

“Well, as we ride, we’ll look for evidence of an intruder.”

“Good idea,” she said.

They both got into their riding clothes, and Stone pulled on a shoulder holster, shoved a small 9mm pistol into it, then slipped into a tweed jacket. “Ready?”

“Oh, yes.”

The horses awaited them in the stable yard, held by a girl groom. Another groom gave them each a leg up, Stone onto his favorite gelding and Tara onto a pretty mare. Someone handed her a helmet, and she tried it on. “Good.”

“Don’t forget to buckle the strap,” Stone said, buckling his own.

“What are the horses’ names?” Tara asked.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced,” Stone replied.

The girl groom spoke up. “The gelding is Casey, the mare Connie. And my name is Peg. Your lunch is tied onto Casey’s saddle.”

“Thank you, Peg,” Stone said, and headed for the long front lawn, leading down to the airstrip and its hangar. Tara pulled up even with him, and they walked their mounts to warm them up.

“Keep an eye out for the ninja,” Stone said.

“That’s what he looked like, a ninja.”

“Do you often wake in the middle of the night and see things you aren’t sure are there?”

“Not as a regular thing,” Tara replied, “but it has been known to happen.”

“Did any of these sightings turn out to be real?”

“Not exactly. They just seemed real to me.”

“Then I won’t shoot first and ask questions later. We wouldn’t want to wing a girl groom.”

“Why do you call them ‘girl grooms’?” she asked. “It seems demeaning.”

“Because they’re young girls and they are grooms. It’s a traditional title around stables. If you like, you can take them aside and question them about their feelings on that subject. If it seems indicated, we’ll rename them.”

“Rename them what?”

“That can be between you and the grooms.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s gallop a bit. Are you comfortable with jumping?”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a stone wall a couple of hundred yards ahead that requires either jumping or getting down and opening a gate, then closing it behind us, so the cattle won’t get out.”

“I’ll jump,” she said.

“Then lead the way.”

She tapped the mare’s flanks with her heels and pulled ahead, while Stone followed, ready to stop if she didn’t make the jump.

Tara took the wall successfully and Stone followed. As the gelding cleared the wall, Stone glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. A man, he thought, and dressed in black. By the time he could rein up and call out to Tara, the shape had vanished into the brush.

“What?” she asked.

“I think I saw your figure in black,” Stone said, turning his horse toward the bushes. He got down from his mount, unbuttoned his jacket for access to his firearm, then he tied Casey to a branch. “Wait here,” he called to Tara.

“All right.”

He parted the bushes and made his way toward the main road, unable to see more than a few yards ahead. He unholstered the pistol, racked the slide, and flipped on the safety. Up ahead he could see a small roof rising above the brush. It was called the Hermit’s Cottage, where an actual hermit had once lived. He made his way there and peeked through a window. The two rooms were bare.

He circumnavigated the cottage, then walked back to where the horses were. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing I could see, anyway. We need to clear these woods of the undergrowth.” He got a foot into a stirrup and swung aboard the gelding, then they walked on toward the airstrip.