“Yes, it does.”
“Perhaps you’ll show me the garden tomorrow.”
“Certainly,” Stone replied, though he wasn’t quite sure what she meant.
“How does one afford a house of one’s own, what with property prices the way they are in New York these days?”
“Easy. One has a great-aunt who dies and wills him the house. Then one works one’s ass off renovating it.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“You don’t have to wait, we’re here.” He opened the door, and she slid across the seat. She leaned back into the car. “You can go,” she said to the driver.
Stone liked the sound of that. He led her up the steps, unlocked the front door, and hung their coats in the front hall closet. “I didn’t know you had any friends in New York,” he said.
“Business friends.”
“Oh. And I suppose their front hall closet has a selection of cloaks and daggers.”
“Quite,” she said.
Stone switched on some lights from the master panel in the foyer.
Carpenter walked into the living room. “This is very handsome,” she said. “Did you choose the furniture, or did you have a designer?”
“Most of the furniture came with the house. I had everything reupholstered. I chose the fabrics.”
“Oh? I thought I detected a woman’s touch.”
Stone didn’t want to go there. “My study is through here,” he said, leading the way.
“Beautiful paneling and bookcases,” Carpenter said.
“My father designed and built them.”
“Your father the Communist?”
“Ex-Communist,” Stone replied. “You pulled a few files on me, didn’t you?”
“A few. Mother, a painter. Both parents disowned by their parents, who were textile tycoons in New England. Why?”
“My father, because of his politics; my mother, because she married my father. The only family member who spoke to them was my great-aunt. She bought this house and hired my father to do a lot of the interior. It kept them from starving to death, early in their marriage. What else did you learn about me?”
“Went to New York University, then the law school. Joined the NYPD afterwards, served fourteen years, including eleven as a detective. Retired for medical reasons, ostensibly. A bullet in the knee, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but there were other, more political reasons. The department was never very comfortable with me.”
“You must tell me about it when we have more time,” she said.
“Don’t we have time now?”
“Not really. Where is your bedroom?”
He led her up a flight. “Right here.”
She began unbuttoning her suit coat. “I think we’d better get to bed,” she said. “I have an early meeting tomorrow morning.”
Stone stood, stunned, his mouth open.
She reached over and closed it, then kissed him lightly. “You mustn’t believe everything you hear about proper British girls,” she said, working on his buttons.
“I must remember that,” he said, helping her.
Stone woke with the gray light of dawn coming through the windows overlooking the garden. He could hear the shower running. He got up, found a robe, brushed his hair, and was about to go and find her when she came out of the bathroom, wearing his terrycloth robe, her face shiny with no makeup.
“Good morning,” she said. “You were very good last night.”
“Why, thank you,” he said.
“It’s interesting how you talk during sex,” she said. “Englishmen never do that.”
“No?”
“No, they always seem in such a hurry. You, on the other hand, took your time, and I liked that.”
“You are a very big surprise, Felicity.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she replied. “If I hadn’t been, my carefully composed professional mien would have been compromised.”
He put his arms around her. “I assure you, it was not. As I said, you were a very big surprise.”
She picked up her watch from his dresser top. “I think we may have time to do it again,” she said. “Are you up for that?”
“I’m getting there,” Stone said.
4
Stone stood at the door, his arms around Carpenter. “Can’t I get you a cab?”
“It’s only in the next block,” she said.
“What is?”
“The, ah, home of my friends.”
“What is it, a town house? An apartment building?”
“It’s very comfortable,” she said, “though I like it here better.”
“Then why don’t you move in for the remainder of your time in New York?”
“What a nice idea,” she said, kissing him. “Let me see if I can arrange it.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Love it. I’ll come here at, say, eight o’clock?”
“See you then.” He watched her walk quickly down the street, then turn the corner. Then he went back inside and made himself some breakfast.
Herbie Fisher was forty minutes late for his appointment. He was small, ferret-like, sleekly dressed, and annoying. “Hey,” he said, plopping down in a chair across the desk from Stone.
“You’re late,” Stone said.
Herbie shrugged. “Traffic.”
“If I give you this job you can’t be late,” Stone said.
Herbie shrugged. “So get somebody else,” he said, standing up.
Stone picked up the phone and punched a button for a line that didn’t exist. “Joan,” he said, “get me that guy I used last month for the photography work.” He hung up and pretended to go through some papers, then he looked up. “You still here?”
“Okay, okay,” Herbie said. “I get the picture. I’ll do it your way, on time and everything. What does it pay?”
“Five hundred,” Stone said. “It just went down from a thousand. You want to try for two-fifty?”
“Five hundred’s fine,” Herbie said contritely. “Gimme the pitch.”
Stone handed him a sheet of paper. “The pitch is, you show up at this address at eight o’clock this evening. Can you pick a lock?”
“What kind of lock?”
“The street door of a town house with several apartments.”
“No problem.”
“If you can’t pick the lock, you’ll have to get somebody to buzz you in, or wait for somebody to leave the building so you can get in. If there’s an elevator, take it to the top floor; if not, walk up the stairs.”
“Carrying what?”
“At least two cameras, one wide lens, say a thirty-five-millimeter, one medium telephoto, a hundred-, a hundred-thirty-five-millimeter, in that range. Fast color negative film, no flash. This is strictly existing light. When you get to the top floor, get yourself onto the roof. The sixth-floor apartment has a skylight. There’ll be a man and a woman in the apartment around nine o’clock. I want explicit photographs of whatever they do to each other. Is that clear?”
“Clear as gin.”
“Then get out of there and process the film. Do it yourself; no labs. Got it?”
“Got it. Don’t worry, I got all the equipment. Who are the people?”
“I don’t know, and you don’t want to. I want the negatives and two sets of eight-by-ten prints on my desk, here, no later than ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“I got it,” Herbie said. “I want to be paid now.”
“Forget it. Five hundred, cash on delivery. If you do a clean job, no problems, and I like your work, I’ll give you a thousand. Tell me right now if there’s anything about this you can’t handle; you get only one shot at it.”
“I can handle it all, clean, no problems,” Herbie said.
Stone gave him his cell phone number. “Call me when you’re out of the building safely. Don’t write the number down, memorize it.”