“In Brooklyn?”
“Of course not; I live in the East Sixties.”
“Sure you’ve got room?”
“Sure; you don’t take up much space.”
“Maybe I’ll come into the city tonight; that okay?”
“Sure.” She wrote down her address. “Call me on your car phone when you’re in the block, and I’ll open the garage door for you.”
“You and I must be the only people in the city with a garage.”
“Could be.” Dolce got up, threw her things in a bag, kissed him, and left the house.
A moment later, he heard the Ferrari’s high-pitched roar. A moment after that, he was asleep again, exhausted.
48
S TONE WAS JERKED AWAKE BY A LOUD ringing. For a moment, he thought it had been a dream, then it rang again. It wasn’t the phone; could it be the door? He had never heard his own doorbell. He got up, got into a cotton robe, and padded downstairs.
Arrington was standing on the porch.
“Good morning,” he said sleepily. ?
??Come in.” She was wearing faded jeans, a chambray shirt knotted under her breasts, and no makeup. He thought she had never looked more beautiful.
She put her arms around his waist and leaned into his shoulder. “Good morning,” she said.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, all right.”
He moved away from her and into the kitchen, where he busied himself making coffee.
Arrington came and sat on a stool at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “I take it I just missed Ms. Bianchi?”
“Yes.”
“I saw her drive away.”
Stone turned. “Did she see you?”
“No.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“I like the cottage; it suits you.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you choose it with Ms. Bianchi?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate on that.
“I like it even better, then.”
“I’m glad; you’ll have to bring Vance and Peter over.”