Callie looked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “I wouldn’t mention that to Thad,” she said. “You might make him nervous.”
Juanito appeared with Stone’s luggage. “May I unpack for you, Mr. Barrington?”
“Thank you, Juanito, yes.”
“And would you like your suits pressed?”
“Thank you again.”
“My cabin is down the hall,” Callie said, grabbing the single small duffel that had accompanied her. “Why don’t you poke around, take a look at Toscana? Dinner at eight all right? I booked from the airplane.”
“Fine. How are we dressing?”
“It’s an elegant place, and the crowd will be elegantly dressed, at least, as they define elegant.”
“See you a little before eight,” Stone said. He left Juanito to do his work and began to explore the big yacht. There were two other cabins on the starboard side, and another three on the port side. Stone took a narrow staircase up a deck and emerged under a broad awning covering an expanse of teak decking. The superstructure was forward, and a set of doors led to what he suspected was the master stateroom. He took another staircase and came to the bridge, where a man in his mid-thirties, wearing the same white uniform as Juanito, except with more stripes on his shoulder boards, was sitting at the chart table.
“G’day,” the young man said with an Australian twang. “You must be Mr. Barrington.”
“That’s right,” Stone said, offering his hand.
“I’m Gary Stringfellow, the captain,” he said.
“Good to meet you.”
“Juanito show you to your cabin?”
“Yes, I’m just having a look around. This is quite some bridge.” It was all mahogany and brass.
“Yes. In the rebuilding, we tried to keep it much as it was when the yacht was built, except, of course, we have every piece of modern gear known to man.”
“I can see that.”
“Wander at will,” Gary said. “I have some work to do. Just let Juanito know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, I will.” Stone continued his tour, working his way forward to the stem, then aft to a broad sundeck, where he shucked off his coat, loosened his tie and collapsed into a chair.
Juanito appeared, as if by magic, bearing a silver tray and a frosty glass. “I thought you might like a gin and tonic,” he said.
“Thank you, Juanito. You’re psychic.” Stone took the drink, and Juanito disappeared, only to return a moment later with a cordless phone.
“A call for you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
Stone accepted the instrument. “Hello?”
“It’s Bill. How was your flight?”
“You’re full of surprises, Bill, I’ll give you that.”
“I had meant to brief you before you met Thad, but there was no time. I take it you understand his problem?”
“Yes, it’s sort of like being back in high school—the geek wants to date the beauty queen.”
“Thad is impulsive, but he takes these things seriously. Do the best job for him you can, and it will react to your benefit.”
“It already has,” Stone said. “After all, I’m sitting on a yacht in Palm Beach with a gin and tonic frozen to my fist, while you’re in New York, freezing your ass off.”
“That was unkind.”