Stone followed Vanessa's instructions to a quiet street up in the Hollywood Hills, above Sunset Boulevard, where they turned into the driveway of a pretty, New England-style, shingled cottage. They had been quiet all the way.
"You all right?" she asked, when they had stopped.
"Yes, sure," Stone said.
"Tell you what: "Why don't you come in, and I'll fix you some dinner?"
"I don't want to put you to any trouble, Vanessa."
"I gotta eat, you gotta eat," she replied.
"Okay." He got out of the car, followed her to the front door and waited while she unlocked it and entered the security system code. The house was larger than it had seemed from the outside, and prettily decorated and furnished.
"There's a wet bar over there," she said, pointing to a cabinet. "Fix us a drink; I'll have a Johnny Walker Black on the rocks."
Stone opened the cabinet, found the scotch, and found a bottle of Wild Turkey, too. He poured the drinks and followed her into the kitchen. There was a counter separating the cooking area from a sitting room, and he took a stool there. He wondered if she would now strip to the waist and walk around as she had in Palm Springs.
Vanessa turned out to be something of a mind reader. "Don't worry," she said, "I'm not going to take any clothes off. That was Marc's idea, in Palm Springs."
"Marc's idea? Why would he ask you to do that?"
"Oh, I was already fairly naked; he just asked me not to get dressed. Marc is concerned about you."
"Concerned how?"
"He thinks you need… companionship." She began rummaging in the refrigerator.
"Oh."
"Marc is a very kind man; I owe him a lot."
"Why?"
"I was in the middle of an awful divorce, and my lawyer was intimidated by my ex's lawyer. I ran into Marc at a cocktail party and complained about it, and he said he'd fix it. He did. He renegotiated my setdement, got me the Bel-Air house and a lot of money. I sold that house, bought this place, and invested the difference. If not for Marc, I'd probably be working as a secretary somewhere. As it is, I'm well fixed."
"Good for him," Stone said.
"He thinks that if you're fucking Arrington, it could hurt his case.
"He has made that point," Stone said.
"You two were an item before she married Vance, weren't you?"
"Yes, we were."
"Will you be again, assuming she doesn't go to prison?"
"Hard to say," Stone replied.
"Is that what you want?"
"Sometimes I do; other times, I don't know," he admitted.
Vanessa smiled. "I think it's what you want." She switched on the gas grill of the restaurant-style stove and put the steaks on, then started to make a salad.
Stone watched her move expertly around the kitchen. She was beautiful, smart, and, he did not doubt, affectionate. But Arrington was on his mind, and he could not get that out of the way.
* * *