“Now we can start working on the next time,” she said, “and we can practice waiting.”
Chapter
13
Stone woke not long after dawn as a shaft of new sunlight fell across his face; it had been a warm night, and they were both lying on top of the bedcovers. She lay on her stomach with her head turned toward him, a strand of blond hair falling to a corner of her mouth and a tiny frown on her face, as if she were trying to figure out something about a dream. The frown lent her the innocence of a little girl.
Stone didn’t know what had motivated her to make love to him—maybe the realization that she might have no more than a week to live and the desire to make the most of it; or maybe she was just horny. For himself, he had been disappointed, angry, jealous, drunk, and, oh yes, horny. She was a client, of course, but he was a long way from the Ethics Committee of the New York State Bar Association, and he had never been any good at saying no to women. He reached over and lifted the strand of hair from her face, and, to his surprise, she smiled.
“I was just going to do that,” she said.
“Glad to be of service,” he replied.
Without opening her eyes, she reached for him and ran her hand down his body until it rested on his crotch. “Speaking of service,” she said, “are you in a mood to render a little?”
“I am now,” he replied, reaching over and running a finger lightly down the cleft between her cheeks.
She gave a little shudder and pulled herself on top of him.
He took her buttocks in both hands and moved them up until her pelt was in his face, then began using his tongue lightly, teasing her until she became more insistent. She came easily, as she had been doing for most of the night, then she slid down his sweaty body and returned the favor, insisting on hanging on until he was entirely spent. Then she flopped down beside him, and they panted together, laughing. Shortly they were asleep again.
They were awakened by a sharp rapping on the hull.
“Ahoy there, anyone aboard?” A female voice.
“Jesus,” Stone said, “what time is it?”
“Half past nine,” she replied, checking the bulkhead clock. She raised herself on an elbow. “Who is it?” she called out.
“The New York Times,” the voice replied. “If you’re Allison Manning, I’d like to talk with you.”
“I really don’t think the Times should find us like this,” Stone whispered.
Allison grabbed a robe and left the cabin, while Stone lay low. He could hear her climbing the companionway ladder, then the two voices.
“I’m afraid I overslept,” Allison was saying. “Could I meet you over at the Shipwright’s Arms in half an hour?”
“I’m Hilary Kramer,” the woman said. “I’d really like to see your yacht.”
“Maybe later in the day,” Allison said. “It’s a mess right now.”
“All right,” the woman said, sounding disappointed. “I’ll meet you over there in half an hour.”
Allison came back to the after cabin. “The New York Times! That I wasn’t expecting.”
“I don’t know how she could have gotten here so soon,” Stone said. “I wasn’t expecting anybody until tomorrow, late this afternoon at the earliest. I’m certainly glad she didn’t arrive at dawn.”
Allison burst out laughing. “That would have made quite a story, wouldn’t it?”
“I hope I can sneak over to my boat without being seen.”
“You’d better start sneaking.”
“I’ll be there when you talk to her. Just be yourself, tell your story just as you told it at the coroner’s inquest.”
“I don’t know any other way to tell it,” Allison replied.
Stone, showered and dressed, got to the Shipwright’s Arms a little before Allison. He walked over to the table where the woman was drinking coffee. “Good morning,” he said, “I’m Stone Barrington, Allison Manning’s attorney.” He stuck out his hand.