Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(76)

“Yes, and she knows where you’ve been.”

Joan helped him out of the car. “I’m sure you’ll want to go right back to work,” she said, archly.

“What I’d like is to go straight to my own bed,” he replied.



* * *



—

He woke up in time for a hot supper served in bed by Helene. Still no word from Holly.



* * *



—

The following day a nurse turned up, liked the look of his wound, and bound it again.

“Do I still have to keep it in the sling?” he asked.

“A few more days.”

He made it a point to move around the house and not walk like a cripple.



* * *



—

By Election Day he felt normal, but the nurse still insisted on the sling. Fred took him to his local polling place, where he voted for Holly, then came home.

“What are you doing for dinner?” Joan asked.

“I’m dining at the Carlyle at nine,” he said, retrieving his pass from the safe.”

Joan handed him a gift box from Hermès. “Open this before you go.”



* * *



—

As evening came on he shaved, showered, and slowly dressed in his tuxedo. He seemed to have lost some weight, so he wore his red suspenders to keep his trousers in place. He had to take off the sling to get into his shirt, and he couldn’t reach high enough with his left hand to tie the bow, so he had to call Joan upstairs to do it for him.

She helped him into his waistcoat, then wound his Patek Philippe pocket watch, set and installed it, with its gold chain, in the waistcoat. She got him into his jacket and inspected him. “Good,” she said.

“I’ll need my sling.”

She opened the Hermès box to reveal a beautiful black-and-white silk sling, which she tied and hung around his neck. “There,” she said.

“Glorious!” He pecked her on the cheek.

“Do you ever wear that evening cape you had made?” she asked.

“Not once.”

“This might be a good night for the debut. You’ll look less like an invalid.”

“Good point.”

She draped the cape, which fell to just above his knees, around his shoulders and hooked the silken rope closure.

“Go get ’em. Fred is waiting for you at the curb; you don’t have to sneak in and out of the house anymore.” She hung his platinum pass around his neck, too. “So they won’t throw you out.”

Stone took the elevator downstairs and outside, where Fred was waiting with the Bentley. They drove up Madison Avenue and made the turn onto Seventy-sixth Street, then stopped at the side entrance to the Carlyle. He got out, went through the revolving doors, and entered the lobby, which was filled with people wearing pass cards around their necks.

A Secret Service agent frisked him with a wand. “She’s in 27 A,” he whispered to Stone.

“Thank you.” He walked to the elevator, where he was looked over again by other security men, then got into the elevator.

“Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” the operator said. “Twenty-seven?”

“Thank you, yes.”

The elevator sped upward and disgorged him on the twenty-seventh floor, where two Secret Service agents stood on either side of the door to Suite A. They knew him, so didn’t bother to frisk, then one opened the door for him. Holly stood before him in an emerald-green gown that set off her red hair, looking like a star from Hollywood’s golden years. She came toward him, arms out, then stopped. “Which arm?” she asked.

“The left,” he replied.

She reached for his right arm and placed her other hand on his cheek and kissed him. “Good evening,” she said.

“Can you help me out of this cape?” he asked.

She unhooked the closure and swept it away. “Beautiful sling,” she said.

“Joan supplied that.”

She led him to the sofa and sat him down in front of a glass of Knob Creek, then she sat down beside him and picked up a phone. “I don’t want to be disturbed until all four networks have called it,” she said, then hung up.

“How are you feeling?” Stone asked.

“Strangely calm, yet nervous,” she said, picking up her martini and taking a sip. “I expect to be calmer still after this goes down. Dinner is in fifteen minutes.”



* * *



—

They dined close to the windows, with the view of Manhattan to the south spread out before them. She cut his meat for him. They chatted like the old friends they were.

“How are Ham and Ginnie?” Stone asked of her father and his girl.

“Wonderful. They’ll join us later in the evening.” She sighed deeply. “I’m so glad this election is over. It’s been exhilarating, but exhausting.”

“I can imagine,” he said.

“No, you can’t. You would have to live through it.”

They demolished a large part of a porterhouse steak, with béarnaise sauce, new potatoes, and haricots verts, followed by crème br?lée. They ate slowly and it was after eleven by the time they moved to the sofa for a glass of port.