"Of course."
Stone left the bungalow and was about to get into Lou's limousine, when Charlene drove up in a convertible.
"Leaving without saying good-bye?" she called out.
Stone walked over to the car. "It's been a weird couple of days; I was going to call you from New York."
"I get to New York once in a while. Shall I call you?"
He gave her his card. "I'd be hurt, if you didn't," He leaned over and kissed her, then she drove away. Before she turned the corner, she waved, without looking back.
Stone got into the limo and settled into the deep-cushioned seat. He'd be home by bedtime.
Back in Turtle Bay, he let himself into the house. Joan had left for the day, but there was a note on the table in the foyer.
"A shipment arrived for you yesterday," she wrote. "It's in the living room. And there was an envelope delivered by messenger this morning."
Stone saw the envelope on the table and tucked it under his arm. He picked up his suitcases and started for the elevator, then he looked into the living room and set down the cases. Standing in the center of the living room was a clothes rack, and on it hung at least twenty suits. He walked into the room and looked around. On the floor were half a dozen large boxes filled with Vance Calder's Turnbull amp; Asser shirts and ties. Then he noticed a note pinned to one of the suits.
You would do me a great favor by accepting these. Or you can just send them to the Goodwill.
I love you, Arrington
His heart gave a little leap, but then he saw that the note was dated a week before their parting scene, and it sank again.
He'd think about this later. Right now, he was tired from the trip. He picked up the suitcases, got into the elevator, and rode up to the master suite. Once there, he unpacked, then undressed and got into a nightshirt. Then he remembered the envelope.
He sat down on the bed and opened it. There were some papers and a covering letter, in a neat hand, on Eduardo Bianchi's personal letterhead.
I thought you might like to have these. This ends the matter. I hope to see you soon.
Eduardo
Stone set the letter aside and looked at the papers. There were only two: One was the original of the marriage certificate he and Dolce had signed in Venice; the other was the page from the ledger they and their witnesses had signed in the mayor's office. These made up the whole record of his brief, disastrous marriage.
He took them to the fireplace, struck a match, and watched until they had been consumed. Then he got into bed, and with a profound sense of relief, tinged with sorrow, Stone fell asleep.
***