Wild Card (Stone Barrington #49)(2)

“Yes, thank you,” Stone said, then waited for the click. “Felicity?”

“Yes, Stone,” she replied. “How are you?”

“I’m very well, thanks. Where are you?”

“I’ve just arrived at my house, back from dealing with the Muddle East”—which was what Felicity called any place east of the Mediterranean—“and my housekeeper told me there was a rumor that you were in residence, but keeping to yourself.”

“I am in residence,” Stone said. “My lady friend has been working feverishly on a book, but she’s just finished it, so why don’t you come for dinner?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Felicity said, “and I accept. I’ve been gone five weeks, and there isn’t anything in the house that’s thawed.”

“Drinks at seven?”

“Perfect, and who, may I ask, is this one?”

“Jamie Cox—I’ll introduce you.”

“I shall look forward to meeting her,” Felicity said. “May I bring someone? He owns a dinner jacket.”

“Of course. See you at the dock.” Stone hung up.

“Are we having a guest for dinner?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, does the name Dame Felicity Devonshire ring a distant bell?”

Jamie cupped a hand to her ear. “I believe I hear something. Intelligence, is it?”

“She’s director of MI6, the British foreign intelligence service.”

“Ah, yes, and how did you come to know her?”

“That memory is lost in the mists of time, but she’s my neighbor across the river. She’s bringing someone, but I forgot to ask who.”

“I love a surprise.”

“We’ll see about that. He’s probably one of her father’s contemporaries and will harrumph and bah a lot.”

“Oh, swell.”

“On the other hand, it’s black tie, and we can rely on Felicity to dress to kill, so you can have a shot at that, too.”

“I knew there was a reason I brought those dresses.”





2


Stone and Jamie met Felicity at the dock and took her lines. Her companion looked familiar, Stone thought. Jamie actually gasped when she saw him. He was a little taller and a little slimmer than Stone, and movie-star handsome. Stone hoped he wasn’t a little smarter, too. He introduced Jamie.

“Stone, Jamie, this is Craig Calvert,” Felicity said, with just a tiny note of pride in her voice.

Calvert was, of course, a British movie star, though Stone hadn’t seen him in anything. Calvert revealed spectacular dental work as he shook their hands, and his voice was a little deeper than Stone’s.

“How do you do?” Calvert said, rather formally, but he looked only at Jamie.

“We do very well, thank you,” Stone said, choosing his pronoun carefully as a small shot across his bow.

Felicity enveloped Stone in her buxom embrace, reinforced with a tiny pelvic thrust—to make sure he was paying attention. “How wonderful to see you,” she said, clinging for a moment.

Stone got everybody into the Range Rover, then drove the ninety seconds to the house, where the butler, Kevin, awaited them on the steps with the front door open. Half a minute later, Stone was playing bartender, pouring martinis for everyone but himself. He kept martinis and vodka gimlets premixed and in the freezer. And when he had poured himself a Knob Creek, he sat down and let Felicity take over the conversation, since not doing so would have been fruitless.

“Craig is about to begin shooting a grand new film at Pinewood,” she said. “He has been our guest at the office for a couple of days to soak up a little intelligence atmosphere.”

“I’ll bet Felicity made you sign the Official Secrets Act,” Stone said, mentioning the draconian document that hijacked the right of free speech on anything to do with intelligence.

“She did,” Calvert replied, “so I can’t even tell you where the men’s room is at MI6 without being jailed.”

“Fortunately, I know where the men’s room is,” Stone replied, in an attempt to restore a level playing field. “What’s your new film about?”

“A spy thriller, of course.”

“Are you playing the role of spy or spy catcher?”

“Both, as it happens. I should get paid twice.”

“I’m sure you’re worth every shilling,” Stone said.

“Stone,” Felicity interjected, unable to contain herself. “I understand that you and Jamie have been involved in a very big story in the States.”

“Jamie has been,” Stone said. “I’m just a bystander.”

“Not an innocent one, though,” Jamie added. “I just finished my book on the subject this afternoon and delivered the manuscript via e-mail.”

“Then congratulations,” Felicity said.

“I suppose you’ll have some time on your hands now. You should come up to Pinewood and see the fabulous sets that have been built there,” Calvert offered.

“I’d love to,” Jamie replied, with a little more enthusiasm than Stone would have liked.

“So would I,” Stone said. “May I come, too?”

“Of course,” Calvert said, with a little less enthusiasm than Stone would have liked. “We start principal photography a week from Monday, so any time before then, unless you’d like to be bored rigid by watching actors speak the same lines over and over.”