Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“I’ll cook for you, then.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Find the galley when you’re awake,” she said. “I’ll be the one in the apron.”

“Be there shortly,” he said. “I’d like to grab a shower.”

“Half an hour is fine,” she said, then closed the door.

Stone went into the bathroom, a little groggy, and inspected his face. The shave was okay. He stripped and got into the shower, and by the time he emerged, he was awake again. He dried his hair, slipped into a polo shirt and chinos and made his way forward. He found the galley a deck below the bridge, off the dining room. Callie was, indeed, wearing an apron, and, it appeared, nothing else.

“Hi,” she said. “Make us a drink?” She pointed to the butler’s pantry, and when she turned back to the stove he was a little disappointed to see that she was wearing a strapless top and shorts under her apron.

“What would you like?” Stone asked.

“You were drinking vodka gimlets last night, weren’t you?”

“That’s right. Would you like to try one?”

“Love to.”

Stone measured the vodka and Rose’s sweetened lime juice into a shaker, shook the liquid cold and strained it into two martini glasses. He took them back into the galley and handed one to Callie. “Try that.”

She sipped the icy drink. “Mmmm … perfect!”

“What are you cooking?”

“Risotto,” she said, stirring a pot with her free hand. “It has to be constantly stirred until it’s done.”

“I love risotto,” he said.

“Any kind of food you don’t love?”

“I never eat raw animals,” he said, “or anything that might still be alive, like an oyster.”

“You don’t like oysters? You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Last time I saw somebody eat oysters, he squeezed some lemon juice onto them, and they flinched. I never eat anything that can still flinch.”

“Anything else?”

Stone thought. “Celery and green peppers. I think that’s it.”

“There’s a bottle of chardonnay in the little wine fridge, there,” she said, nodding. “Will you open it? This is almost ready.”

Stone found a bottle of Ferarri-Carano Reserve and opened it. “Where are we dining?”

She was spooning risotto onto two large plates. “Follow me,” she said, picking them up. She led the way through a swinging door into a small dining room, where a table was set for two. “The big dining room is through that door,” she said. “We can seat up to sixteen in there.”

“This is lovely,” Stone said, sliding her chair under her and taking his own. He tasted the wine and poured two glasses.

“Dig in,” she said. “Don’t let it get cold.”

Stone tasted the risotto, which contained fresh shrimp and asparagus. “Superb. Where’d you learn to cook?”

“At my father’s knee,” she said. “My mother preferred his cooking to hers, so she never entered the kitchen if she could help it. Later, I did a course at Cordon Bleu, in London, and I worked for a while for Prudence Leith, who has a London restaurant and catering service there. I learned a lot from Prue.”

“How’d you come to work for Thad Shames?”