The Short Forever (Stone Barrington 8)

“Of course,” Stone replied, and hung up feeling guilty.

Seated at the corner table, with Arrington beside him, in the warm glow of the Connaught restaurant, Stone no longer felt guilty. The difficult past he and Arrington shared had receded; all he could think about was here and now.

“It’s so good to see you,” Arrington said.

“And you.”

“When I saw you in Palm Beach, you said you’d call me the next day. Why didn’t you?”

He had called her in the morning and a man had answered, so he had hung up. “You’ll recall the circumstances of the evening,” Stone said. “I had to make a stop at the local hospital, and they got me out of there early the next morning on Thad Shames’s jet.” It had been from the jet that he had called her. “By the time I got to New York and the drugs had worn off, you had left Palm Beach.” He was guessing that she had left.

“Yes, I left the next day,” she said. “Oh, by the way, here’s that list you asked for.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her purse.

Stone looked at the list: the Swedish ambassador and his wife; the Belgian chargé d’affaires and wife; the Israeli cultural attaché and wife; the German military attaché and wife; the Australian head of chancery and wife. “There’s no seating plan,” he said.

“Sorry, I couldn’t get that; some secretary had apparently shredded it, or something.”

It was a start, Stone thought; he’d have to go over this with Hedger.

“Why did you want the list?”

“There was a man at the table I recognized, but I couldn’t place him.”

“You know a lot of diplomats, do you?”

“No, he just looked very familiar. It’ll come to me.”

“You’re not losing brain cells, are you?”

He laughed. “Yes, but no more than usual.”

They had a drink and ordered dinner. Stone didn’t really care what he ate; he was happy just to be with her, with no strain, no conflict. Every time they had met during the past couple of years there had always been some problem that made the situation difficult.

“It’s so nice to be back in London,” Arrington said. “And I’ve always loved this room. Vance and I stayed here when we were in town, and we always had dinner here at least once.”

That didn’t improve the atmosphere much for Stone, but he let it pass.

“You’re looking very beautiful tonight,” he said, trying to get things back on track.

“You look pretty good yourself,” she said.

Mr. Chevalier suddenly appeared at the table and handed Stone a small envelope. “A message for you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.

“Thank you,” Stone replied. “Sorry about this,” he said to Arrington. He opened the envelope. On a sheet of the hotel’s stationery was written, I am in the hotel lounge; I must see you at once. It was signed by Detective Inspector Evelyn Throckmorton.

“Oh, shit,” Stone muttered.

“What is it?”

“There’s someone here I have to see for a moment. Please excuse me.”

“Not a woman, I hope,” Arrington said.

“Fear not.” He left the table and started toward the lounge. As he reached the central hallway, Monica appeared through the front doors.

“Hello, there,” she said, taking him by the shoulders and giving him a kiss on the lips.

Stone could see Throckmorton waiting impatiently in the lounge across the hallway. “Hello; I dropped Lance’s keys through your mail slot; did you get them?”