“He did.”
“And you got the yacht.”
“I did.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No. I sold it in Fort Lauderdale.”
“You said you’d never been anywhere in Florida except Miami.”
“I forgot about Lauderdale.”
“How much did you get for the yacht?”
“A million, six.”
“And what did you do with it?”
“I gave the IRS a large chunk, and the rest is in a sock, under my mattress.”
She threw back her head and laughed. When she had recovered herself, she asked, “Why do you suppose Allison Manning is in Palm Beach?”
“I have no idea.”
They got back to Toscana around eleven and stood on the afterdeck, watching the moon come up.
“If you will forgive me,” she said, “I’m going to turn in. It was a long day, and I’ve had a lot to drink.”
“I’m hurt,” he replied, “but I’ll get over it.”
She leaned into him and kissed him, just long enough to be interesting; creamy lips, warm tongue. “Sleep well.”
“Now I won’t sleep at all,” Stone said.
“Oh, good,” she replied, then walked off toward her cabin.
7
LATE THE FOLLOWING MORNING, STONE BORROWED Callie’s Jaguar, drove downtown and found a parking space on Worth Avenue. He arrived at Renato’s five minutes early and presented himself to the headwaiter. “I’m meeting a Mrs. Harding,” he said.
“Oh, yes,” the man replied. “We have you in the garden.” He led Stone to a table under overhanging bougainvillea and left a pair of menus. Stone sipped some mineral water and waited for Mrs. Winston Harding to appear. When she arrived, Stone choked on his mineral water. This, he had not been expecting.
She was only fashionably late, wearing blue slacks and a matching cashmere sweater, pearls at the neck, the very picture of the fashionable young matron. He tended to remember her in short shorts, with a shirt tied below her breasts, revealing an enticing midsection, and he tried to make the adjustment.
Stone stood to greet her. “Hello, Allison,” he said.
“Shhh,” she whispered, hugging him, her breasts pressing against him for an extra moment. “We don’t use that name here.”
He held her chair and ordered a cosmopolitan for her. “Brad,” she said to the headwaiter, “this is Stone Barrington. I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of him.”
The headwaiter shook Stone’s hand, then went to get her drink.
“So what is this Mrs. Winston Harding business?”
“That, my love, is my name these days. It’s good to see you.” She smiled, leaning forward to allow her breasts to be seen down the V-necked sweater.
“And you,” he said. “You disappeared over the horizon in that rented yacht, and I thought I’d never see you again. I’ve often wondered where you got to.”