6
STONE ARRIVED AT THE CONNAUGHT bar downstairs promptly at eight o’clock, showered, shaved, and dressed in a freshly pressed, chalk-striped blue suit. The nap had cleared his head, and he was sure that, with one more good night’s sleep, he would be over the jet lag. The bar consisted of two oak-paneled rooms filled with comfortable sofas and chairs, one room with a small bar at one end. He had only just sat down when his dining companions arrived.
Erica had not lied; her friend was even more beautiful than she. “Stone,” Erica said, “may I introduce my sister, Monica? And this is Lance Cabot.”
Stone shook hands all around. Monica Burroughs was perhaps five-ten, nearly as slim as Erica, and had deep auburn hair and green eyes. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said, and he was not lying.
“Shall we have some champagne?” Lance asked. His voice was deep, and he seemed to have a mid-Atlantic accent. A waiter appeared and took the order. A moment later, they were sipping Krug ’66.
“I’m astonished to see this on a wine list,” Stone said.
“It isn’t on the list,” Lance replied. “It’s a secret, and I’m sure they have only a few bottles left. Erica tells me you’re a lawyer.”
“That’s correct.”
“And with Woodman and Weld?”
“I’m of counsel to the firm.”
“Not a partner?”
“No, most of my work for them is done outside the firm.”
Lance regarded him gravely. “It sounds as though you’re as much of a secret at Woodman and Weld as this wine is at the Connaught.”
“I’m not quite a secret,” Stone said.
“Like the champagne, I’m available on request.”
“Tell me, Stone,” Lance continued, “have you ever done government work of any kind?”
“I worked for the government of New York City as a police officer for many years.”
“Did you? Erica didn’t mention that. What sort of police officer?”
“Every sort, at one time or another. I began as a patrolman and finished as a homicide detective.”
“Finished rather young, didn’t you?”
“I was retired for medical reasons.”
“You look reasonably fit.”
“I took a bullet in the knee.”
“That’s very romantic.”
“I can assure you that, at the time, it was not in the least romantic, only painful.” Lance was grilling him, and Stone was determined to be polite about it.
“Lance,” Erica said, “you’re hogging Stone; we’d like to talk to him, too.”
Monica spoke up, and her accent was more than mid-Atlantic; it was quite English. “How does one recover from a bullet in the knee?” she asked, and she seemed fascinated.
“With surgery and therapy,” Stone said. “It doesn’t bother me much anymore. If it becomes troublesome again, I can have it replaced.”
“Ah, yes,” Monica said, “the modular approach to human anatomy. I suppose Lance will be having a new liver soon.”
Stone and Erica laughed; Lance pretended to.