“Of course. It was built in the eighteen-nineties by the father of my great-aunt on my father’s side. I suppose that makes him my great-grandfather? The architect was a man named Ehrick Rossiter, who worked from the eighteen-seventies through the nineteen-thirties.”
“He had an eye for proportion,” Amanda said, looking around the room.
“Yes, and he filled the house with interesting detail. I’ll give you the tour someday, when you have the time.”
“Thank you, I’d love that, but not today. Did you choose the furnishings?”
“About half of them, I suppose. The rest came down from family or were in the house when my great-aunt left it to me.”
“You’re very fortunate in your family’s tastes.”
“I am.”
“Has Bill Eggers told you why I’m here?”
“No, he said he’d let you explain everything.”
Amanda opened her alligator bag and handed him the scandal sheet. “Recently, I had a weekend in Saint Bart’s; the day of my return this was sent to at least several dozen fax machines around the city – perhaps farther abroad, who knows?” She waited while Stone read it.
“Where were these photographs taken?” he asked.
“At a hotel in Manhattan.”
“What is it that you’d like me to do for you, Ms. Dart?”
“I want you to find out who produced this… document,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know, of course.”
“Why do you want to know?”
She looked at him blankly. “Because when someone is publicly telling gratuitous lies about me I want to know who it is.”
“I see.” Stone looked at the photographs carefully. “Ms. Dart,” he said, “are you saying this isn’t you in the photograph?”
“Of course that’s what I’m saying,” she replied.
“Ms. Dart, I am principally a lawyer, and when I am representing someone it is essential that I know everything there is to know about the situation in question.”
“I don’t want to hire you as a lawyer, but as an investigator.”
“There is little difference from my point of view. You see, if a client withholds information from me, I tend to spend too much of my time trying to find out why he is doing so. It would be much less expensive for you to save me that trouble. I expect Bill Eggers told you that I used to be a police detective.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Well, old habits die hard; I can usually tell when a person is lying to me.”
“Oh, all right, it was… I was…” She seemed unable to go on.
Stone looked at the photographs again. “And I believe I recognize the front door of the Trent in the background. You are not the first of my clients who has made use of it. After all, it’s the best, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, “it’s the best.”
“As a lawyer, Ms. Dart, I am ethically bound to respect my clients’ confidences; and if I have your confidence I will be better able to help you.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, then she recomposed herself. “All right, the statements in the sheet are accurate; I wasn’t in Saint Bart’s, I was at the Trent, with a friend.”