“Do you always ask women their age?”
“Always. Their age isn’t important; it’s whether they’ll tell you that’s important.”
“I’m twenty-two and a half,” she said. “And now, shall I tell you why I picked you up at Harrod’s?”
“Is that what you did?”
“Didn’t you notice? Your following me made it very easy.”
“All right, tell me.”
“As I told you, I’m spoken for, but I have a very nice girlfriend who’s not, and she’s on the other side of thirty, which I should think would appeal to you more than a twenty-two-and-a-half-year-old.”
“Is she as beautiful as you?”
“Though it pains me to say it, she is more beautiful than I.”
“I would like very much to meet her.”
“You free this evening?”
“I am, as it happens.”
“Suppose we meet you in the Connaught bar at eight o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Wear a suit.”
“Will do.”
“And now,” she said, gathering her packages together, “I must run. You stay and finish your bitter; I’m walking from here; it’s quite nearby.” She hopped off the stool and pecked Stone on the cheek. “Bye-bye.” And she was gone.
Stone sipped the now-warm ale and wondered what the hell was going on with John Bartholomew and his “niece.”
5
STONE LEFT THE GRENADIER AND walked back up the mews to Wilton Crescent. No cabs. He walked a bit farther and found himself at the Berkeley Hotel, where the doorman found him a taxi.
“Where to, guv?” the cabbie asked.
“There’s a chemist’s shop across from the American Embassy. You know it?”
“I do.” He drove away. Ten minutes later, Stone was having his photograph taken by a man with a large studio Polaroid camera, which took four shots simultaneously. He paid for the photos and walked across the street to the embassy. As he climbed the steps outside, he saw a familiar-looking form perhaps twenty yards ahead of him. The man went into the embassy, and Stone quickly followed.
As he entered the main door, he saw the man get onto an elevator. Although he got only a glimpse, it seemed to be John Bartholomew. He started for the elevator, but a uniformed U.S. marine stepped in front of him.
“You’ll have to check in at the desk,” the marine said, pointing to a window surrounded by what appeared to be armored glass.
“Do you know the man who just passed?” Stone asked. “He got onto the elevator.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t notice.”
“Can you tell me where to get my passport renewed?”
“Yes, sir. You go out the main door, turn left, walk around the corner to your left, and the passport office is right there.”
Stone went to the window first. “Can you tell me if there’s a Mr. John Bartholomew in the building?” he said to the woman behind the glass. “I think I just saw him go up in an elevator.”