He felt he had done all he could for the moment, so he left the room above the restaurant and walked down to his chartered yacht; he was weary and aching, as if he had run several miles. He fell onto his bunk and slept.
A rapping on the hull woke him; a glance through the hatch showed him dusk outside. He poked his head up.
Allison was standing on the pontoon between their boats. "How you doing?" she asked.
"How you doing is a better question."
"I had a little cry; now I feel better. Come over and have some dinner with me?"
"Sure, I'd like that."
She held up a finger. "One condition: no talking about my problems; I've put them out of my mind until tomorrow."
"Agreed. Give me time for a shower? I've been asleep, and I'm a little groggy."
"I hate a groggy date," she replied. "See you in half an hour."
Stone hunted down his razor, then squeezed himself into the tiny head and turned on the cold-water shower.
In St. Marks, it wasn't all that cold.
He rapped on the deck of the big blue yacht and stepped aboard.
"Come on down," she called out from below.
Ston, walked down the companionway ladder,
which, on a yacht this size, was more a stairway. Allison was at work in the galley, and the saloon table had been set for two, side by side. Whatever she was wearing was mostly concealed by a large apron.
"Can you make a deCent martini?" she asked.
"I believe I can handle that."
"The bar's over there." She pointed. "Just open those cabinet doors."
Stone followed her instructions and found a hand some bar setup, nicely concealed. He found a cocktail shaker, two glasses, and ice cubes, then the gin and ver mouth. "You sound awfully cheerful," he said as he mixed the drinks. "I don't know how you do it."
"It's a gift," she said. "For my whole life, when faced with something awful, I do as much as I can, then I put it i ii out of my mind. I mean really right out of my mind. i!:
Then I find that the next day, things seem clearer."
"That's a great girl," he said.
"You can cultivate it if you work at it.".
He handed her a martini. "I'll start right now."
She was sauteing chicken breasts in a skillet on the four-burner gas range, which was large for a yacht.
"When did you find time to get to the grocery store?" he asked.
"I didn't. I provisioned in the Canaries, and I've got lots of cold storage here, plus a large freezer. There won't be a salad, though; sorry about that."
They clinked glasses. "Better times," Stone said.
"I'll drink to that." She took a swig of her martini. "Expert," she said.
"A misspent youth. I tended bar in a Greenwich Village joint one summer, during law school." He leaned against a galley cabinet and sipped his drink. "Tell me about you," he said.
"That's easy," she replied. "Born in a colonial village in Litchfield County, Connecticut, father a country lawyer, mother a volunteer for this and that; went to local private schools, then Mount Holyoke, in Massachusetts; did a graphics course at Pratt, in Brooklyn, worked as an assistant art director for an ad agency in Manhattan, met Paul, married Paul; lived ... well, lived. What about you?"
"Born and raised in the Village, father a cabinetmaker, mother a painter; NYU undergrad and law school. NYPD for fourteen years, eleven of them as a detective."
"Why'd you quit?"
"A very bad boy put a twenty-two slug in my knee, and the force quit me, gave me their very best pension.
the short version; I won't bore you with the long one, which involves a lot of department politics and a strange case I worked on. Anyway, once off the I crammed for the bar, and an old law school hooked me up with Woodman and Weld." "How much money do you make?" The bald question stopped him for. a moment, then recovered. "I made about six hundred thousand last he said. "My best year so far." "You're doing well, then." "By New York law firm standards that's only middling, but I have a lot more freedom than I would as a partner in a firm. I'm lucky that I can pick and choose my cases. If I want to bugger off to St. Marks for a week's sailing'I can manage it." She put an oily hand against his cheek. "But you got stood up, didn't you? Poor baby." "That's me." "Who is she?" "Name's Arrington Carter; she's a freelance writer." "And when the blizzard was over, what kept her in New York?" "She's writing a New Yorker profile of Vance Calder." "Ooooh, lucky girl." "I guess. She's known him for a while; matter of fact, she was his date the first time I met her." "And you won out over Vance Calder? You must be sensational in bed." He laughed. "You think that was it? I always thought it was my boyish charm." She gave him a bright smile. "That, too." She opened a sealed packet of smoked salmon and arranged the slices on two plates. "First course is almost ready," she said. "There's a bottle of white on the table; will you open it?"
Stone went to the table, found a corkscrew, and opened a bottle of Beringer Private Reserve '94, then tasted it. "Excellent," he said. "Was Paul a connoisseur of wines?"
"Paul was more of a wino; I'm the authority." She handed him a bottle of red. "For the main course; might as well open it and let it breathe." "Dominus '87. Very nice." "You know wines?"
"Enough to stay out of trouble." He opened both bottles. She set the two plates of smoked salmon on the table and untied her apron. Underneath it she was dressed in a very short skirt and a white cotton blouse, unbuttoned and tied under her breasts.
Stone remembered that the first time he had seen her she'd been wearing that sort of blouse, tied that way.
They finished their smoked salmon, then she whipped up a chicken dish over rice, with a lovely sauce. They were both warm with the wine and laughing easily. Allison cleared the table, then pressed a button and it folded away electrically.
"Very slick."
"Glad you like it." She caught him looking at her breasts. "Any yachtsman should be able to deal with a simple square knot," she said, knocking back the last of her wine.
Uh-oh, Stone said to himself. But he had had nearly a bottle of wine on top of the martini, and he was feeling hurt by Arrington, feeling incautious, and feeling extremely attracted to Allison Manning. She went to a switch panel and lowered the lights; when she came back the knot in her shirt had been untied. She bent to kiss Stone, and her breasts fell free. "Let's forget about the attorney--client relationship for the night," she said. Stone had a decision to make, and it didn't take long. "It's forgotten," he said. She straddled his bare legs, and he found that there was nothing under the short skirt. He shucked off his shorts, and she pulled his polo shirt over his head. A tug at a zipper and a shrug of her shoulders, and they were both naked. "I don't think I can wait," Stone said. "I can't wait, either," she said, reaching down and slipping him into her. "We'll wait longer next time." They were both very quick and very together; they finished, clutching each other and smothering their cries in each other's flesh. When they had both stopped trembling, she stood up, took his hand, and led him toward the all cabin. "Now we can start working on the next time," she said, "and we can practice waiting."
CHAPTER
Stone woke not long after dawn as a shaft of new sunlight fell across his face; it had been a warm night, and they were both lying on top of the bed covers. She lay on her stomach with her head turned toward him, a strand of blond hair falling to a corner of her mouth and a tiny frown on her face', as if she were trying to figure out something about a dream. The frown lent her the innocence of a little girl. Stone didn't know what had motivated her to make love to him--maybe the realization that she might have no more than a week to live and the desire to make the most of it; or maybe she was just horny. For himself, he had been disappointed, angry, jealous, drunk, and, oh yes, horny. She was a client, of course, but he was a long way from the Ethics Committee of the New York State Bar Association, and he had never been any good at saying no to women. He reached over and lifted the strand of hair from her face, and, to his surprise, she smiled.
"I was just going to do that," she said.
"Glad to be of service," he replied.
Without opening her eyes, she reached for him and ran her hand down his body until it rested on his crotch. "Speaking of service," she said, "are you in a mood to render a little?"
"I am now," he replied, reaching over and running a finger lightly down the cleft between her cheeks.
She gave a little shudder and pulled herself on top of him.
He took her buttocks in both hands, and moved them up until her pelt was in his face, then began using his tongue lightly, teasing her until she became more insistent. She came easily, as she had been doing for most of the night, then she slid down his sweaty body and returned the favor, insisting on hanging on until he was entirely spent. Then she flopped down beside him, and they panted together, laughing. Shortly they were asleep again.
They were awakened by a sharp rapping on the hull. "Ahoy there, anyone aboard?" A female voice. "Jesus," Stone said, "what time is it?"
"Half past nine," she replied, checking the bulkhead clock. She raised herself on an elbow. "Who is it?" she called out.
"The New York Times," the voice replied. "If you're Allison Manning, I'd like to talk with you."
"I really don't think the Times should find us like this," Stone whispered.
Allison grabbed a robe and left the cabin, while
Stone lay low. He could hear her climbing the companionway ladder, then the two voices.
"I'm afraid I overslept," Allison was saying. "Could I meet you over at the Shipwright's Arms in half an hour?"
"I'm Hilary Kramer," the woman said. "I'd really like to see your yacht."
"Maybe later in the day," Allison said. "It's a mess right now."
"All right," the woman said, sounding disappointed. "I'll meet you over there in half an hour."
Allison came back to the after cabin. "The New York Times! That I wasn't expecting."
"I don't know how she could have gotten here so soon," Stone said. "I wasn't expecting anybody until tomorrow, late this afternoon at the earliest. I'm certainly glad she didn't arrive at dawn."
Allison burst out laughing. "That would have made quite a story, wouldn't it?"
"I hope I can sneak over to my boat without being seen."
"You'd better start sneaking."
"I'll be there when you talk to her. Just be yourself, tell your story just as you told it at the coroner's inquest."
"I don't know any other way to tell it," Allison replied.
Stone, showered and dressed, got to the Shipwright's Arms a little before Allison. He walked over to the table where the woman was drinking coffee. "Good morning," he said, "I'm Stone Barrington, Allison Manning's attorney." He stuck out his hand.
"Hilary Kramer," she replied, shaking his hand. "Your name is familiar." Stone shrugged. "I'm a New York lawyer; I was down here on a sailing charter when Allison sailed into the harbor. I helped her at the coroner's inquest and... well, ever since." He sat down. "How did you hear about all this?" "I was vacationing on Antigua, right next door; the story moved last night on the AP wire and the paper called me late; I got a little plane over here this morning." "Sorry to interrupt your vacation," Stone said. "You won't interrupt it for long, believe me. I'll file something before noon, then I'll be back on my beach." Stone looked up. "Here comes Allison," he said. "She's 4:ute," Kramer said. "How did you know I was here?" "My boat is moored next to Allison's; I heard talking." He stood up. "Good morning, Allison; I think you've already met Hilary Kramer from the Times." "I did," Allison said, sitting down. She waved at Thomas, who had appeared at the bar. "Can I have some coffee? You, too, Stone?" "I've already had some," he lied, "but a second cup wouldn't hurt." "Make it for two," Allison called. Before the coffee arrived, Hilary Kramer was deep into her interview. She covered all the ground, most of it better than had been done at the coroner's inquest. "So what's your legal position now?" she asked finally. "Stone can explain it better than I," Allison said, "but as I understand it, they could hang me as early as next week."
Kramer turned to Stone. "They want to hang her?" Stone nodded gravely.
"And what do you think are their chances of doing that?"
"Off the record, I think that will depend greatly on what the press has to say about this. If enough pressure can be brought to bear in the media, her chances will improve a lot."
"Why is the government doing this, with so little incriminating evidence?" Kramer demanded.
"Still off the record, there is a body of opinion that holds that Sir Winston Sutherland, the Minister of
Justice, has an ax to grind."
"What sort of ax?"
"You've got me. Why don't you ask Sir Winston?"
Thomas, who had returned with a fresh pot of coffee, piped up, "Be glad to lend you my car," he said.
"Thank you very much," she replied. "Is there a phone here? I'd like to call Sir Winston's office for an appointment."
"I think you'd have a much better chance of seeing him if you'd just show up at Government House," Thomas said.
"You might get more if he's a little off-balance," Stone chipped in.
Kramer looked around the table at all of them. "Look, this is not some sort of elaborate practical joke, is it?"
"I wish it were," Stone said. "And before you go, I think I should enlighten you a little about the system of justice as it exists on St. Marks--all off the record, of course. If you should quote me, it might react to Allison's detriment."
"Sure, off the record. Shoot."
When he had finished, her mouth was hanging open. "Is there someplace I can get a room for the night?" she asked, finally.
Thomas spoke up. "I have some rooms upstairs," he said. "We had some cancellations because of the snowstorm in New York."
"Great," she said. "Can I borrow that car now?" "Sure."
"And where can I pick up a toothbrush?"
"There are shops all around Government House." "I'd like to call my office, too."