“No, Stone. Peter is right. We’ll close on the full amount in a year.”
Stone nodded, but he had to wonder where Barton was going to come up with the nineteen million by Tuesday.
“Now, Barton,” Cavanaugh said, “the number?”
“Seventy million dollars,
but
I will make a donation to the Metropolitan of five million, upon close of the sale. And in any publicity, interviews or conversations about the sale, you will state that the secretary accounted for twenty-five million of the seventy million dollars you paid.”
Cavanaugh looked at Barton appraisingly for a long moment, then he said, “Agreed, upon the condition of inspection of the secretary by Julian and me.”
“When?”
“Julian and I are both coming to a dinner party at Abner Kramer’s house on Saturday night. I understand that you live nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Then we could inspect the piece that afternoon?”
“Yes, that’s agreeable. Stone and I will be at that dinner, too, and I would be very pleased if you and Julian and your wives or companions, if they are coming, would be my guests overnight or for the weekend, if you like.”
“Thank you, Barton, that would be most agreeable.”
“Then, Peter,” Barton said, “let’s fill in the blanks in that agreement in your pocket and get it signed.”
And they did so.
58
Stone and Barton stood on the sidewalk outside Mildred Strong’s house and watched the two men from the Met drive away.
“That was quite a performance,” Stone said.
“The performance of my life,” Barton said, mopping his brow. “I’m still sweating.”
“You can retire after this one,” Stone said.
“Oh, no. I’m going to copy a few of Mildred’s pieces while I still own them, and selling them should keep me busy for a few years.”
“Have you figured out what sort of deal Charlie Crow and Mildred made?”
“I think so, but we’ll know for sure on Saturday night.”
“Why is Ab Kramer collecting you, Cavanaugh and Whately at the same dinner party?”
“I think because he has something he wants to show us,” Barton said.
Before Stone could ask what, or how he was going to come up with nineteen million dollars, Barton shook his hand and drove away.
Stone arrived home, garaged his car and entered his office the back way. Joan immediately came into the office.
“There’s a Mr. Henry Kennerly to see you,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I believe that’s the gentleman who is accusing you of adultery with his wife?”
“I believe you’re right,” Stone said. “Wait until I buzz you, then show him in and stick around while I talk to him. I want a witness.”
“Whatever you say,” Joan replied, then went back to her desk.
Stone took off his jacket and tie and hung them up, then he opened his desk drawer and took out two rolls of quarters, putting a roll in each of the front pockets of his trousers. He buzzed Joan. She opened the door to Stone’s office and showed the man in, then stood next to the door.
Henry Kennerly was even bigger than Stone remembered from his sighting at Elaine’s. He was at least two inches taller than Stone and forty pounds heavier, and it wasn’t all fat. He had a longer reach, too, Stone observed. He had known people like Kennerly before, starting in the schoolyard: bigger than everybody else and meaner, and accustomed to pushing people around.
“Good morning, Mr. Kennerly,” Stone said. “Now kindly leave my offices at once. You are unwelcome here.”
Kennerly moved his right hand. There was a click, and a steel police baton telescoped to its full length.
Stone stood up, put his hands in his pockets and walked around his desk. “You’d better make your first swing count,” Stone said, “because you’re not going to get a second one. After that, I’m going to punish you for invading my offices and refusing to leave when asked, while my secretary calls the police.”
“I don’t care if she does,” Kennerly said. “I’m going to beat you to a pulp.”
“Thank you for that warning. Did you hear that, Joan?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“As soon as this is over call nine-one-one. And, Mr. Kennerly, if you don’t mind a little free legal advice, possession by a civilian of the baton you’re holding is a felony in New York City. You’ll be charged with aggravated assault.”
“It’ll be worth it,” Kennerly said, advancing. He was big, but not very fast, and his body language telegraphed his move. He swung the baton in a wide arc at Stone’s head.
Stone removed his hands from his pockets, stepped into the move and ducked as the thing whistled past him. With a roll of quarters in each hand, he swung twice, first straight into the man’s solar plexus. With Kennerly’s weight moving toward him, that brought him to his knees. Then Stone walked behind him and punched him in the back of the neck, and the big man fell forward onto his face, stunned.
Joan left the room.
Stone went to his desk, put the quarters in a drawer and took out his old NYPD handcuffs. He walked over to Kennerly, put a knee on his back to pin him in place and cuffed him.
Joan walked back into the office. “I saw it all,” she said. “The police are on their way.”
“Thank you, Joan,” Stone said. He sat down at his desk and called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone.”
“Hi.”
“You remember that gorgeous woman you met at dinner?”
“How could I forget? Oh, I’m sorry about Genevieve’s behavior. That’s been straightened out.”
“Thanks. Speaking of straightening out, the lady’s soon-to-be ex-husband, one Henry Kennerly, is lying on the floor of my office. He came in here, threatened to beat me to a pulp and assaulted me with a perfectly illegal police baton, which I think qualifies nicely as a deadly weapon. I disarmed him and cuffed him, and Joan has called nine-one-one, having witnessed the whole business. I just wanted you to know that he’ll be at the precinct soon, and I’ll come in later and sign the complaint.”
“I’ll fill it out for you. You want me to forge your signature?”
“Sure, why not, and I wouldn’t mind if it took a while to process him. See if you can house him with one or more persons he won’t feel very comfortable with; I want this to be an unforgettable experience for him.”
“Sure thing.”
“I know his lawyer’s name, because he had me served yesterday.” Stone gave him the name. “Call him when Mr. Kennerly feels well enough to ask for his attorney.”
“Will do.”
“See you at dinner?”
“I’ll be there.”
Stone hung up. Kennerly was stirring now, and swearing. A moment later Joan led two police officers into the room.
“This our guy?” one of them asked.
“That’s the assailant,” Stone replied. “I’d appreciate it if you’d use your cuffs and give me mine back.” He gave them an account of the incident, Joan backed it up, then the two cops recuffed Kennerly, stood him up and frog-marched him out of the room.
“I’ll get you for this!” Kennerly screamed on his way out.
“Please make note of that threat,” Stone called to the cops and got a thumbs-up in return.
Stone went back to his desk and called Tatiana.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Stone. Good news: Henry just came over here and took a swing at me with a club.”
“Oh, Stone, I’m so sorry. Are you badly hurt?”
“Not at all. I said it was good news. He’s on the way to the police station now, and I imagine it will be some hours before his attorney can bail him out. Call your lawyer and tell him to add assault with a deadly weapon to Henry’s list of misdeeds.”
“I will do so immediately.”
“I think your settlement problems will all be over before the weekend, to which I am greatly looking forward.”
“And I as well.”
“Pick you up Saturday morning at ten?”
“See you then.”
Stone hung up, feeling he had done a good day’s work.
59
On Saturday morning Stone collected first Tatiana from her home and then Carla from the Carlyle, and they headed north to Litchfield County.
The two women chatted amiably, which was good, as long as they weren’t chatting about him. He hated the thought of the two of them in the ladies’ room together.
“How much longer are you singing at the Carlyle?” Tatiana asked.
“I’ve just finished three months in the Bemelmens Bar,” Carla said, “and, after a few weeks’ rest and preparation, I’m moving into the Café Carlyle, across the hall, with a bigger backup group, and we’ll be there through New Year’s Eve.”
“That sounds like a wonderful step up,” Tatiana said.
“It certainly is a promotion, and the money’s better, too. And I’ll like having a six-piece group backing me, instead of just a bass player. The arrangements are being written now.”
They drove on, and the conversation fell away in favor of exclamations about the increasingly beautiful fall foliage as they headed north. Finally, they arrived at Barton’s house, and he came out the kitchen door to greet them.
“Stone, Peter Cavanaugh and Julian Whately will be staying over tonight — no women or companions along this time — so will you and Tatiana come over around six for a drink?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Peter will have the final contract ready for our signatures, and we’ll have plenty of witnesses. “I’d also like your help in showing them the mahogany secretary.”
“I’ll be glad to help.” Stone got Carla’s bags from the car, then he and Tatiana continued to his house.
“So,” Tatiana asked, “who will be at dinner tonight?”
“The four of us, plus Peter Cavanaugh, director of the Metropolitan Museum, and his furniture expert, Julian Whately,” Stone said. “Then there’ll be our hosts, Abner Kramer and his wife, and, I suspect, Mr. and Mrs. Charlie Crow.”
“Oh, God,” Tatiana said. “I have to deal with them again?”
“I think they’re going to have very little to say this evening. The subject is going to be furniture, which is a little out of Charlie’s line.”
“Do we have time for a, ah, nap before cocktails?”
“Oh, yes, plenty of time.”
They arrived at the house; he gave her a quick tour, then took their luggage upstairs. In a moment, they were in each other’s arms.
Darkness came early, since they were back on standard time, and the night was chilly but bright, with many stars and a waning but still bright moon. The moonlight glittered on the lake as they drove along its shores to Barton’s little peninsula.
Everyone else had gathered in the study for drinks by the time they arrived, and a roaring fire had taken the chill from the air. They were given drinks and fell to talking, mostly about furniture.
“Barton,” Peter Cavanaugh asked, “what do you think Ab Kramer has in mind for this evening?”
“I think he plans to impress us, especially you and Julian.”
“Has he bought something new?”
“He has a Goddard-Townsend mahogany desk and bookcase,” Barton replied, “one almost as nice as your new one.”
“Oh? Two popping up at once?”
“Well, not exactly, since Ab’s secretary is a fake.”
“How do you know that?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Because I made it myself, in my workshop.”
“Really? Does Ab know it’s a fake?”
“Well, since he didn’t buy it from me, I don’t know what provenance the seller offered him. He’ll be looking for approval from you and Julian, so please, don’t puncture his balloon and his ego. I think he’ll be happy, if you’re just noncommittal.”
“As you wish, Barton. Now, are you ready to show us the real thing?”
“Of course. Let’s go out to the barn, and bring your drinks.” Barton lead them out through the kitchen door to the barn, unlocked its massive door and showed everyone inside.
“This is quite a barn,” Cavanaugh said, looking around.
“Yes, we’ve done a lot of good work here. Stone, will you give me a hand, please?”
Barton and Stone unlocked the large cabinet, removed the false back wall and rolled out the Goddard-Townsend secretary on its dolly into a carefully designed pool of light, then stepped away.
Cavanaugh and Whately circled the piece slowly, taking it all in, then Cavanaugh stood back while Whately circled it again with a pocket flashlight and a small magnifying glass.
Stone stood next to Carla, who was watching everything with interest. “I believe I know your secret,” Stone said to her.
She looked at him appraisingly. “Secret?”
“I thought Peter Cavanaugh came up with seventy million dollars awfully quickly.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Carla said.
“Of course you would, since you got Eduardo to put up the money.”
“
Shhhh
,” she whispered. “How did you know?”
“I’ve known Eduardo for some years, as you well know, and I know that he’s on the board of the Metropolitan and one of its most generous contributors for special projects.”
“Don’t you tell Barton,” she hissed.
“I won’t, if you’ll tell me how much Eduardo committed to.”
“Eighty million,” she whispered, “and don’t you tell Barton that, either.”
“I promise,” Stone said.
Finally, Whately came and stood beside Cavanaugh, and Stone found himself holding his breath.
“Magnificent,” Whately said, “and in absolutely outstanding condition, the result, no doubt, of having been in one house since it was made.”
Cavanaugh clapped Whately on the back. “My judgment, precisely,” he said. He turned to the others and raised his glass. “A toast,” he said, “to the good eye and prescient judgment of the Met’s friend, Barton Cabot, not to mention his perfect timing in acquiring Mildred Strong’s collection. May we always be friends and colleagues.”
Stone took a large swig of his drink, greatly relieved. They went back into the house, Stone read the contract, and it was duly signed and witnessed.
They trooped over to Ab Kramer’s place, Cavanaugh and Whately in Stone’s car, since Barton was driving his usual van. This was the first time Stone had approached the house through the front gate, and the landscaping and well-lighted exterior made the place all the more impressive.
They were received on the front steps by Abner Kramer and his beautiful wife, and hands were shaken all around. They were led inside to an entrance hall, where Charlie Crow and his blonde bombshell awaited them. A butler took their coats, and they were led into the living room for cocktails.