Herbie began to protest, but Stone held up a hand like a traffic cop and then waved him back to his own table and the clutches of the perfidious Sheila.

Felicity watched him go. “Isn’t that the awful little twit who gave you so much trouble a couple of years ago?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What was in the carrier bag?”

“A million dollars in cash.”

“Oh.” There were sounds of the sweeping up of glass from the front of the room, and a waiter appeared.

“Would the lady like a drink?” he asked.

“Thank you,” Felicity said. “The lady would like a Rob Roy with ice.”

Dino came back through the front door, holstering his weapon. “Felicity!” he said. “I thought that was you getting out of the Rolls.”

“Hello, Dino,” Felicity said warmly, for a member of the British upper class. She allowed herself to be pecked on the cheek. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Dino said. “Sorry about the excitement; somebody put a couple rounds through the front window.”

“Of course,” Felicity replied.

Elaine came and stood by the table. “So,” she said, “who’s paying for the window?”

Stone jerked a thumb toward the rear of the room. “Herbie Fisher, and he’s got the cash on him.”

Elaine walked back to Herbie’s table and slapped him on the back of the head. Stone could not hear what she was saying to him, but Herbie dipped into Sheila’s handbag and came up with a thick slice of hundreds. Elaine tucked the money into her bosom without a word and moved on to the table of another regular.

“This has always been such an interesting place,” Felicity said, sipping her Rob Roy.

Stone gazed with heartfelt lust at her pale red hair, her unblemished skin, and her very English but nevertheless sexy clothes. “You make it even more interesting,” he said.

Felicity patted him on the cheek. “Aren’t you sweet.”

“See anything outside, Dino?” Stone asked.

“A van, headed downtown,” Dino replied. “I didn’t have a shot. I called it in.” He looked at the floor beside the table. “Where’s the million bucks?”

Felicity spoke up. “Do you mean that there was actually a million dollars in that carrier bag?”

“It was Stone’s retainer,” Dino explained. “Herbie Fisher wanted legal representation.”

Felicity regarded Stone with a curious glance. “And you declined? This is not the Stone I know.”

“So,” Stone said, changing the subject, “what brings you to town, Felicity?”

“Her Majesty’s service,” she replied.

“Oh, come on,” Stone said. “Give us a hint.”

“We are not in the ‘hint’ business,” she said.

“Of course you are,” Stone said. “Hints are what you do. I mean, you never come right out and say anything; you just hint.”

“You may have noticed that I have not hinted. What on earth do you mean by refusing a fee of a million dollars?”

“You do remember Herbie, don’t you?”

“How could I forget him?” she asked. “Asked to take a photograph of an assignation from a rooftop, he fell through a skylight and broke both of one my colleague’s legs, as I recall. Of course, my colleague was already dead, but that hardly matters in the circumstances, does it?”

“It does not,” Stone said, “but you have just illustrated why I didn’t take Herbie’s money. It would have bought me ten million dollars’ worth of trouble.”

“Quite.”

“Would you like some dinner?”

“Yes, please. I couldn’t eat what they gave me at the Saudi UN embassy. I believe it was goat or something very like it.”

Stone signaled for a menu, and she glanced at it.

“Order for me, would you?”

“You’re starved?”

“Ravenous.”

Stone turned to the waiter. “Bring her the osso buco with polenta and a bottle of the Chianti Classico,” Stone said to the waiter.

“That’s goat, isn’t it?” Felicity asked. “Or something very like it?”

“You know very well that it’s veal,” Stone said.

“If you say so.”

“Excuse me a minute,” Dino said, and then headed for the men’s room.

“He’s being discreet,” Stone said. “He knows you want to talk to me about something.”

Felicity polished off her Rob Roy. “I wish to engage you,” she said.

“I’d be delighted,” Stone said.

“Not in that capacity,” she said.

“In my capacity as an attorney?”

“In one or more of your capacities,” she replied, “although Her Majesty can’t compete with Mr. Fisher’s generosity.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we can do this one of two ways,” she replied. “At your hourly rate-two hundred dollars, isn’t it?”

“Five hundred,” Stone replied.

Felicity blinked.

“Everything has gone up,” Stone said.

“Apparently.”

“What was the other way we could do this?”

“I had in mind a more result-oriented arrangement,” Felicity said.

“What sort of result, and what sort of arrangement?”

“The result would be complete success, and the arrangement would be a payment of one hundred thousand dollars upon achieving it-to include all your expenses and any subcontractors you may require.”

“And what is the assignment?”

“The location and disposition of a weasel,” Felicity said.

“Have you tried the pet shops?”

“A weasel in the person of a disloyal former employee.”

“More information, please. What do you mean by ‘disposition’?”

“I mean putting him into my hands or those I may designate. You don’t have to kill him. I’m afraid that is all I can tell you until you have signed this,” she replied, removing a document from her briefcase.

Stone looked at the title. “The Official Secrets Act?”

“You read well.”

“Doesn’t this apply only to British subjects?”

“It applies to anyone who signs it,” she replied.

“Pounds,” Stone said. “Not dollars.”

Felicity uncapped a large fountain pen and handed it to Stone.

“I assume this is filled with blood,” Stone said.

“Yes, but not yours. Pounds, it is.”

Stone signed the document. “All right, tell me about it.”

Felicity’s osso buco arrived. “In the morning,” Felicity said, attacking the veal shank.

Felicity put down her fork, having demolished her osso buco and most of the bottle of Chianti. “That was superb,” she said. “Now let’s go to your house.”

“Delighted,” Stone replied. He had forgotten how blunt she could be.

“Would you be delighted to have me as your guest for an indeterminate period?” she asked. “I’m not speaking of years or even months, perhaps a week or two.”

“Absolutely delighted,” Stone said.

“Then let’s be off,” Felicity said.

As it turned out, “off” didn’t mean in a cab but in a large, somewhat elderly Rolls-Royce.

“Nice ride,” Stone said when they were settled into the leather rear compartment and on the way downtown to his home in Turtle Bay.

“That sounds like something one would say about a hunter,” Felicity replied, “meaning a horse.”

“I know what a hunter is,” Stone replied. “How did you acquire this transport?”

“It belongs to the British ambassador to the United Nations, who is, at the moment, in London being instructed. He has placed it at my disposal while he is away, and I represented him at the dinner earlier this evening.”

“When did you arrive in New York?”

“About an hour before the dinner,” she replied, “and I am quite shattered. I’ve been traveling since dawn this morning, London time.”

“Then we must put you right to bed,” Stone said.

She placed a hand on the inside of his thigh and squeezed lightly. “I should bloody well hope so.”

THE DRIVER UNLOADED her bags and, at Stone’s instruction, took them to the third floor in the elevator. A man emerged from a car behind them. “What are your instructions, ma’am?” he asked.

“Stone, this is Mr. Pickles, one of my security detail. He or one of his colleagues will be required to be in the house when I am here. Don’t worry-he will be quite invisible.”