“I’ll look forward to it.” They kissed lightly, and Stone left her and returned to his own house.
The following morning, Stone had just reached his desk when Joan stuck her head into his office. “I think you’d better come and tell me what to do with all this,” she said, and was gone before he could ask.
He followed her out the front door to the street, where a number of wooden crates were being unloaded at the curb. “What is this?” he asked.
“You tell me,” Joan replied. “It seems to be wine. I hope to God you haven’t bought a lot of wine. Right now, you can’t afford wines that come in wooden crates.”
Stone took a closer look at the crates. Château Palmer, 1961; Beaune, Clos de Roi, 1959; La Tache, Domaine de Romanée-Conti, 1959; Le Montrachet, 1955. “Good God,” he said.
“How much did all this cost?” Joan demanded.
The truck driver handed him an envelope. “There’s a note,” he said. “Where do you want all this put?”
Stone opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of very fine stationery.
My dear Stone,
I hope you will do me the favor of taking some of Caleb’s wine off my hands. There is so much, I’ll never be able to finish it before… well, before I kick off, as they say. It should be drunk by someone who loves and appreciates it as much as you. Enjoy it in good health!
Mildred Strong
“Don’t worry, Joan; it’s a gift,” Stone said. “Show them where the cellar is, please, and just have them stack it up. Don’t take it out of the crates.” He counted as they moved the crates: There were eight of them, each among the twentieth century’s finest vintages.
Stone sat down to write to Mildred. Joan returned a few minutes later. She came into Stone’s office. “I know the names of some of those wines,” she said. “Shall I call Christie’s or Sotheby’s about auctioning it?”
“Don’t you dare,” Stone said. “I plan to drink every bottle of it.”
“You should live so long,”
“I should,” he said, handing her his note. “Would you mail this, please?”
“Sure, I will, but if you’re ever broke again, and you will be, if I know you, then you’ll have a way to raise money.”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Stone said. He picked up the phone and called Tatiana.
“Hello?”
“I hope it’s not too early to be calling,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been up since five.”
“Well, be sure to take a nap this afternoon, so you’ll be fresh when I come to take you to dinner.”
“Oh, that would be nice. What time?”
“Pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“Perfect. Where are we going, so I’ll know how to dress.”
“How about La Goulue?”
“I love it there. See you at seven-thirty. Will you come through the back door?”
“That’s the most convenient way.”
“I’ll leave the kitchen door open for you.”
“See you then.” He hung up. The phone rang, and Joan picked it up.