“All right. I’ll be around here. Oh, let me give you a portable phone number, too.” Stone retrieved the phone from its charging cradle and read off the number, which was taped to the telephone.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, “and I’ll call the solicitor now.”
“All right; tell him I’ll wait to hear from him.” Stone hung up and went to retrieve the papers. The story was on the inside pages of both the Times and the Independent, and it was brief in each case. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary to Stone. The phone rang. The solicitor, he thought. “Hello?”
“Mr. Barrington, it’s Ted Cricket; Bobby Jones and I would like to come and see you, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, fine. When’s good for you?”
“How about six o’clock this evening at your hotel?”
“That’s good for me. I’ll see you both at six in the same place we met the first time.”
“Good, sir.” He hung up.
Stone hung up, too, and the phone rang immediately. “Hello?”
“Is that Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Julian Wainwright; I am solicitor for the estate of James Cutler.”
“Oh, yes, Sarah Buckminster said you’d call.”
“Miss Buckminster tells me you’ll be representing her in the matter of the Cutler estate. I’m a bit confused; you’re an American, are you?”
“That’s right, but I’m not representing her as an attorney, only as a friend. Sarah is very busy with making funeral arrangements at the moment, and she asked me to see you about the letter you sent her today.”
“All right, then; will sometime this afternoon be good?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Say, four o’clock?”
“That’s fine. I have your address.”
“I’ll see you at four, then.” He hung up.
Stone hung up, too, and sighed. How did he get roped into this?
16
THE SOLICITOR’S OFFICE WAS IN PONT Street, near Harrod’s, and Stone was on time. So was Julian Wainwright; Stone was shown immediately into his office.
“Been over here long?” Wainwright asked, showing him to a chair.
“Just a few days,” Stone said.
“Known Sarah long?”
“We knew each other when she lived in New York.”
“Forgive me, I’m just trying to understand why she sent you to receive this news.”
“I thought I explained that on the phone,” Stone said. “She’s busy making funeral arrangements, and, of course, she’s upset about the events of last weekend.”
“Ah, yes,” Wainwright said, shuffling some papers on his desk. “Well, I expect you’ll want to know the contents of James Cutler’s will.”