Hickock looked genuinely shocked. “You can’t be serious.”
“Entirely,” Stone said. “I can’t really complain about it, because their politics brought them together. Where would I be if one of them had been a Republican?”
Vance Calder spoke up. “What work did your father do?”
“He was a carpenter.”
Bill Eggers broke in. “…and something of a genius as a maker of furniture and cabinet work. If he had been working in this country during the eighteenth century, Sotheby’s would be selling his work for very high prices today.”
“Why did he become a Communist?” Hickock asked.
“He had a Republican father,” Stone explained.
Amanda spoke up. “Stone’s mother was Matilda Stone.”
Hickock and Calder looked blank.
“The painter,” Amanda explained.
Arrington Carter was smiling broadly. “I own one of her pictures,” she said to Stone. “Of Washington Square in winter.”
Stone was surprised. “What good taste you have.”
“I certainly do.”
“Arrington has a very good collection,” Vance Calder said.
“I explained that to Vance,” Arrington said to the table. “He only knows about clothes, scripts, and leading ladies.”
Coffee was served in the library, and Stone declined brandy. “I really have to be leaving,” he said, rising. “I have an early appointment tomorrow morning.” He collected a grateful smile from Amanda, shook hands with the other guests, and went home.
As he lay in bed, waiting for sleep, he thought of Arrington Carter, but tried to dismiss her from his mind. He couldn’t compete with the likes of Vance Calder.
Arrington Barrington. He laughed aloud.
Chapter 16
Stone took the wheel and pulled away from Amanda’s apartment building. “Wonderful car,” he said, heading across Seventy-ninth Street toward the West Side Highway.
“Isn’t it?” Amanda agreed. “This is the first time I’ve sat in the front seat.”
As he accelerated onto the highway, Stone realized for the first time what twelve cylinders meant. “Unbelievable,” he said.
Amanda smiled. “Don’t get a ticket; I don’t want to waste a minute of today.”
After paying the toll as they left Manhattan, Stone set the cruise control at a reasonable number and relaxed, letting the amazing car do the work. The leaves along the Sawmill River Parkway were beginning to change color, but as they drove north, the colors intensified. By the time they were north of Danbury, the maples were so brilliant as to be distracting
. Following Amanda’s instructions, Stone ran the car along the winding Connecticut roads through Brookfield and Bridgewater. South of Washington, they turned down a narrow road into the woods, and after two miles they came to a beautiful little colonial house set back from the road behind a screen of birches and flaming maples. A handful of geese sunned themselves beside a small pond.
“Spectacular,” Stone said, as they got out of the car.
“I bought it twelve years ago for peanuts, and I’ve been redecorating ever since,” Amanda said. “After Sister Parrish died, I did it mostly myself. Will you get the basket from the trunk, please?”
Stone followed her through the front door and to the kitchen, where he deposited the basket. Amanda got a bottle of Krug Brut from the fridge and poured them both a glass. “Ready for lunch?” she asked.
“I’m ready for anything,” Stone replied.
“I’m delighted to hear it. Why don’t you light the fire in the living room, and I’ll be in in a moment. Take the champagne with you.”