The Short Forever (Stone Barrington 8)

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

Their dinner arrived, and they talked less as they dined. Stone thought the food was sublime, as was the wine Mr. Chevalier had chosen for them. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at a menu here again,” Stone said.

“Stone, I never had a chance to ask you: Why are you in London?”

“A client asked me to come and look into something for him.”

“Something? What thing?”

“I can’t tell you that; client confidentiality.”

“Of course, I should have known. Is it one of those wonky investigation things you get into?”

“Sort of. Tell me, how do you know Monica and Erica Burroughs?”

“I’ve known Monica for years; she sells my work.”

“Of course, I knew that.”

“But I met Erica only recently, when she and Lance came over.”

“Do you know Lance well?”

“Not really, but he’s very nice.”

“What does he do?”

“Something mysterious; I could never figure it out.”

“Neither could I.”

They ate on, finishing with dessert and coffee.

“I think I’d like a brandy,” she said.

“Careful, you’re driving, and I hear they’re tough about that in this country. I want you to get home in one piece, and without getting arrested.”

“I can’t go home,” she said. “They’ll be waiting for me.”

“Can you go to a friend’s?”

“I can’t even leave the hotel; they’re bound to be waiting outside. I’ll stay with you.” Her foot rubbed against his leg under the table.

“No, you won’t,” Stone said. “First of all, you’re supposed to be in mourning.”

“I’m not a widow!”

“Near enough. Second, they have a photograph of us together; if you don’t leave the hotel, they’ll make a very big thing of that. What you have to do is, walk out of the hotel like a citizen, get into your car, and drive home. Ignore any questions or photographers, and lock your doors. Live your normal life, except stay out of men’s hotel suites. You can’t become a fugitive; they’ll go away eventually. Once the funeral is behind you, they’ll lose interest.”

“I hate this,” she said.

“It won’t last forever.”

“I mean, I hate not being able to sleep with you.”

“You’ve already done that, remember?”

She giggled. “I’ll bet you thought I was Monica.”