“And what do you do, Monica?” Stone asked.
“I have an art gallery, in Bruton Street.”
“Did you study art somewhere?”
“At Mount Holyoke, like Erica, only a few years ahead of her. I got a master’s in art history there, then went to work for Sotheby’s. Erica followed in my footsteps, but she lasted only until Lance spirited her away.”
“I heard that story at lunch,” Stone said. “How long have you lived in London?”
“Nearly ten years.”
Lance spoke up. “Long enough to acquire a pretentious accent.”
Monica and Erica both shot him searing glances. “Do you really find my accent pretentious, Lance?” Monica asked.
“Oh, very.”
“It seems that every time I speak to you, your accent has traveled a hundred miles farther to the east,” she said dryly.
Lance flushed a little.
Stone began to feel that all was not entirely well between Monica and Lance, or maybe, between Lance and anybody. “Lance, what made you ask if I’d done government work?”
“Just a hunch,” Lance said. “Perhaps there’s something a little bureaucratic about you.”
Stone laughed. “When I was on the public payroll, hardly anybody thought I was bureaucratic enough. I wasn’t thought of as a team player by the NYPD.”
“And why ever not?” Lance drawled.
“Because I wasn’t, I suppose. I tended to go my own way, something that’s never appreciated in large organizations.”
“I know what you mean,” Lance said.
“Oh? Are you employed by a large organization?”
“No, but I’ve had a taste of it,” Lance replied.
“And, I take it, you didn’t like the taste?”
“You might say that.”
“What, exactly, do you do?” Stone asked.
“I consult,” Lance replied.
“With whom do you consult, and about what?” Stone asked, glad to be the griller instead of the grillee.
“With a number of people about a number of things,” Lance replied. “Monica, will you pass the crisps, please?” Monica slid the little bowl of homemade potato chips toward him. He turned to Erica. “So, how was shopping today? Find anything?”
“Only a pen and some fruit,” Erica replied.
Stone was about to ignore the swift change of subject and return to the grilling when Lance looked at his watch.
“I think we’d better go along to dinner,” he said.
Everyone began to move toward the door, and Stone gave the waiter his room number for the check. He wondered if Bartholomew would bridle at the appearance of a Krug ‘66 on the bill.
Outside, they turned right into Mount Street, and Stone fell into step with Monica, behind Lance and Erica.