That night Felicity and Mike stayed for dinner, and everyone was in a good mood, in the afterglow of their brush with the president. Almost everyone turned in early, tired from their cross-country travel.
Felicity left by the front door, then, half an hour later, parted the curtains of the master suite and stepped in from the patio.
“Haven’t we met somewhere before?” Stone said.
Felicity sat down on the bed, released a silk stocking from her garter belt, and rolled it down her beautiful leg. “Yes, and you know very well that the man you call Mike Freeman and I have met before, too.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Stone replied, pushing back the covers for her. He was already in bed, naked. “Who else on your side of the pond thinks he may have met Mike before?”
“I believe myself to be the only one. Of course, I’ve done everything I can to paper over that crack in the history of my service.”
Mike Freeman, when younger and under his original name, had been a rising star in MI-6, until an episode in his private life made him a target of people who wanted to see him dead. He built an identity for himself in the United States and was brought into Strategic Services by its founder, Jim Hackett. Stone and Felicity had both been instrumental in seeing that he was not exposed.
“I’ll tell Mike that,” Stone said.
“Please don’t, I’d rather that only you and I shared the details of that episode. There are still people in high places who would feel great resentment toward us, if they knew. Let sleeping dogs snore.”
Stone laughed. “My lips are zipped.”
Felicity went into the second bathroom with a small bag she had brought. Stone dimmed the lights and waited for her to emerge, naked, and get into bed with him.
She snuggled close. “One of these days I’m going to retire from the service, and when I do you are going to be in big, big trouble,” she said.
“I could use some of that kind of trouble,” Stone replied, turning to her and slipping a leg between hers, where he found her to be already wet. He kissed her eyes and her face, then bit her softly on a nipple. “I believe this is the start button?”
“Yes, and it’s in perfect working order,” she breathed. She pulled him on top of her and brought him inside her. “There,” she said, “that’s where you belong.”
And he remained there for some time.
Before dawn, Felicity dressed and slipped out onto the patio, then let herself out of the garden and strolled down the pathway to her nearby cottage, passing a Secret Service agent on the way. He gave her a little salute, but they did not speak.
It was eight hours later in London, so she called her office on her encoded cell phone.
“Aren’t you up very early?” her secretary asked.
“I couldn’t sleep-jet lag,” she lied, “so I thought I’d check in.”
“Do you want your messages?”
“Just e-mail them to me. I’d be interested to know, though, if there’s anything from GCHQ?”
“Nothing,” the woman replied.
“If they should call, get in touch with me without delay,” Felicity said. “And now, I’m going to try to get a couple of hours’ sleep.” She hung up, undressed, and was out as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Stone slept soundly until he heard voices from the living room. He showered and joined them for breakfast. “Everybody sleep well?” Stone asked.
“I was too excited to sleep well,” Hattie said. “I get to play on a movie sound track today.”
“That’s wonderful, Hattie. By the way, I’ve arranged for a hotel car to take the four of you to Centurion and wait to drive you back. The great bulk of the guests won’t arrive until the day after tomorrow, so they won’t need the car, and it will be faster to clear security on your return if you’re in the vehicle you left in.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Peter said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“No, thank you, Peter, I’ve had that tour, and I need to speak with my office about some things. I might even get some actual work done.”
After breakfast he called Joan. “Good morning from fantasy land,” he said to her.
“Is it absolutely wonderful?” she asked.
“Absolutely wonderful. Tomorrow the guests start arriving.”
“And the Immi Gotham concert?”
“That’s the day after tomorrow.”
“I would kill to be there.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be televised later. Any messages?”
“Bill Eggers and his wife will be with you tomorrow, and Herbie Fisher wants to talk to you. That’s it.”
“Okay, can you transfer me to Herbie?”
“Hang on.” There was a click, and Herbie’s secretary answered. “Mr. Fisher’s office.”
“It’s Stone.”
“Oh, yes, he wants to talk to you.”
Herbie came onto the phone. “Hey, Stone.”
“Good morning, Herb.”
“I’ve shunted some work out of the way, so Harp and I are coming out there. I’ve booked us into the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
“Great, Herb. I’ll check with the manager and see if there have been any cancellations.”
“Thanks, Stone. If you can do anything about the Immi Gotham concert, I’d appreciate that, too.”
“That may be one miracle I can’t work,” Stone said, “but I’ll try. What time are you due in?”
“Midafternoon tomorrow.”
“I’ll get back to you.” Stone hung up and called the hotel’s executive director, Morton Kaplan. “Good morning, Mort.”
“Good morning, Stone. I hope everything is all right with your cottage.”
“Everything is absolutely perfect. We had the president and first lady for drinks last evening, and your staff performed beautifully. I wanted to ask a favor, perhaps an impossible one.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I have a friend and associate at Woodman amp; Weld coming out tomorrow. He’s booked into the Beverly Hills, but if you should have a cancellation here…”
“Hold on a moment and I’ll take a look,” Kaplan said.
Stone heard the sound of a computer keyboard, then Kaplan came back.
“No cancellations, but we have some smaller rooms that are normally for the use of our guests’ air crews or secretaries, and I have one of those available.”
“Wonderful! I’m sure that will be just fine. His name is Herbert Fisher, and his companion’s name is Harp O’Connor.”
“I’ll get their names to the Secret Service for checking, but I’m sure there’ll be no problem. And if we should have a cancellation, I’ll try to improve Mr. Fisher’s accommodations.”
“One other thing: any chance of concert tickets?”
“We can put a couple more chairs in your box.”
“Perfect. Thanks so much, Mort.”
“Would you like your friends met at the airport?”
“Yes, they’re arriving at midafternoon. I’ll get you the flight number.”
“That won’t be necessary. There’ll be a little stand with the hotel’s name on it-tell him to go there, and they’ll have a car for them.”
“Wonderful!” He thanked Kaplan again, then hung up and called Herbie with the news.
“Thank you, Stone,” Herbie said. “Now Harp will think I’m a god.”