Barton shook his head. “Just something I ordered from a catalogue. It beeps in the house and barn when a car drives past the mailbox. Sort of a doorbell for automobiles.” He led them into the house and the study and offered them drinks.
“I think I’d rather have tea, if you can manage it,” Carla said.
“I’ll have bourbon in my tea,” Stone added.
Ten minutes later they were settled into comfortable furniture before a blazing fire.
“Carla, where do you live?” Barton asked.
“In New York City.”
“Where in New York City?”
“At the Carlyle Hotel. I sing there, in the Bemelmens Bar, four nights a week. Play the piano, too.”
“I’d love to hear you sometime.”
“I’d love for you to hear me sometime.”
“I have a piano.”
“Is it in tune?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m afraid I don’t play untuned pianos, and I sing only for money.”
“I’ll pay the Carlyle, then.”
“Good.”
Stone eased out of his chair, strolled to the other side of the study and inspected a set of leather-bound books. His ulterior motive realized, he was not needed on the other side of the room. He extracted a book, one of six in a leather-bound set. It was a signed first edition of Winston Churchill’s history of the Second World War. He wondered, philistine that he was, what that was worth at auction. He moved to a wall hung with pictures, close together. The nearest to him was a Western scene by Albert Bierstadt. He spotted two very fine landscapes from the Hudson River School. This was the wall of either a multimillionaire or a very shrewd collector who had been at it for a long time. He went on exploring, listening in occasionally on the conversation going on behind him.
“You appear to be of Scandinavian extraction,” Barton said.
“Half Swedish, half Sicilian.”
“What an interesting combination.”
“You have no idea.”
The conversation fell into a gap, and Stone returned to his seat.
“Is there a powder room nearby?” Carla asked Barton.
“Through that door, first left,” Barton replied.
Carla rose and left the room.
“Is she for me?” Barton asked.
“She is if you want her and she’s agreeable.”
“What have I done to deserve such a gift?”
“You’ll be getting me off a hook. She recently left a former, very powerful boyfriend who is a legal client of mine, in a manner of speaking, and if he catches me in her company, it might reflect badly on the firm to which I am counsel.”
“I’m happy to be of help,” Barton replied with a small smile.