At that moment, Arrington appeared on the stairs, carrying the baby. Somehow, Stone had not expected the infant, and he was a bit thrown by the sight of mother and child. Arrington came slowly down the stairs; she was wearing a white-silk dress, and with her blond hair, she was the visual antithesis of Dolce. She handed the baby to Vance and embraced Stone more warmly than he had anticipated.
He caught a glimpse of Dolce’s face as they hugged; the eyes were daggers. “How are you, Arrington?” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m all right,” she whispered back, then they broke their embrace.
“Arrington,” Vance said, “I’d like you to meet Dolce Bianchi; she is the daughter of my old friend Eduardo Bianchi; you’ve heard me mention him.”
“Of course,” Arrington said coolly, taking Dolce’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Dolce; it’s always good to see Vance’s old friends.”
“Thank you, it’s good to be here,” Dolce replied.
The two were looking each other up and down. Stone noticed that Arrington’s nails were, indeed, lacquered, and she was wearing a discreet necklace of diamonds and rubies.
“And this is Peter,” Arrington said.
Stone now met the baby who might have been his son. The boy was a quiet, grave infant, who was the image of Vance. If Stone had had any doubts about the blood tests, he no longer did. Dolce made the right noises at the baby, then a young nanny materialized and took the boy away.
The butler brought Arrington a martini on a silver tray. “Why don’t we go out onto the terrace,” she said. “It’s such a lovely evening.”
“Yes, it is,” Dolce agreed.
Vance led the way to a patio filled with cushioned white furniture, and they took seats. The evening was pleasantly cool, and the crickets kept them company. “Betty asked me to give you her most affectionate regards,” he said to Stone.
Betty was Vance’s secretary, with whom Stone had had a brief liaison in LA the year before. Stone saw Dolce shoot a glance his way at the mention of a woman’s name. “Please give her mine,” Stone said.
“She’s holding down the fort at the office, of course. Oh, you remember Lou Regenstein, the chairman of Centurion Studios?”
“Of course I do.”
“He’ll be with us for dinner.” Vance glanced at his watch. “I’ve sent a car to Oxford Airport for them; they should be here any moment. It’s only a few miles away, and it has a runway long enough for the Centurion G-IV.”
“It’ll be nice to see Lou,” Stone said.
They chatted idly for a while, then Lou Regenstein arrived in the company of a lovely redhead, thirty years his junior.
“Dolce!” Lou cried, hugging her. “What a surprise!”
Nobody was more surprised than Stone; the worl
d was getting smaller by the minute. He and Lou shook hands, and Stone was presented to the redhead, whose name was Lola.
“Would you like to freshen up?” Arrington asked.
“No, we changed for dinner on the airplane,” Lou replied.
Stone remembered from his one ride on the airplane that the Gulfstream had a shower. He was relieved that another couple would be with them for dinner; it eased the strain, a little. As they chatted, he cast an occasional surreptitious glance at Arrington. Dolce had been right; she was slim and taut. He strained to catch the sound of her voice when she was speaking to someone else.
Lou sat next to Stone. “I’m astonished that you and Dolce know each other.”
“Yes,” Vance said. “How did you meet?”
“My former partner, Dino Bacchetti, on the police force, is married to Dolce’s sister, Mary Ann.”
“And how is Mary Ann?” Both Vance and Lou asked simultaneously.
“She’s very well,” Dolce said.
As the conversation continued, Lou leaned over to Stone. “After Oney Ippolito went to jail last year, Eduardo bought his Centurion stock. It was a great relief to me to have someone of his caliber as an investor; it lends stability.”