“Thank you.” He hung up and stared at the ceiling until his eyes were fully focused, then he got up and went into the large bathroom. Several toiletry items had been laid out, and he managed a shave followed by a shower that fully woke him. He went back to his room and changed into his new underwear, socks, and shirt, tied his tie, and slipped into his freshly pressed clothes. Quite presentable, he thought, gazing into the mirror.

He went into the living room and saw it as if for the first time: beautiful paneling, exquisite fabrics, and a large painting over the sofa. He walked out onto his terrace and got the full effect of the Roman sunshine and spring air, then he went and sat at his desk, forgetting for a moment that his briefcase and laptop were en route. He took his iPhone off the hotel’s charger and checked his e-mail. One from Dino.

I hope the service was as good in Rome as it was in New York.

Not nearly as good, Stone replied, and I thank you again.

The others could wait.

Hedy’s bedroom door was ajar; he peeked inside, and saw only a large lump in the bed. He closed it and left the suite, putting the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob.

He walked down the hall, found the meeting room, and walked in. Half a dozen men and two women were seated around the conference table. The man at the head of the table, his friend Marcel duBois, rose to greet him.

“Ah, Stone, I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice.”

“You have no idea,” Stone said, embracing him.

“Please have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair next to his, “and we will start.”

Stone sat down.

“Our purpose for being here,” Marcel said, “is to discuss and inspect a potential site for an Arrington Hotel in Rome.” He stood and flipped back a page on an easel to reveal a map of Rome. “This,” he said, pointing to a red dot, “is the Hassler Villa Medici. This,” he said, pointing to a blue dot a short distance away, “is our site. Just the other side of the church next door, on the edge of the Borghese Gardens.”

There was a murmur of approval from the group.

“Marcel,” a woman said, “how on earth did you manage such a site?”

“Approval had been given to another hotel group to build there, but there were difficulties that could not be resolved. We have the opportunity to buy a hundred-year lease on the land, and there is already planning approval, in principle, for a hotel of two hundred rooms and eight stories.”

“What difficulties?” someone asked. “Why would any self-respecting group let go of such a property?”

“You will recall that, until recently, we were in a terrible recession, and Europe has not recovered nearly so quickly as the United States. At a time when others are retrenching, the Arrington Group has the resources to invest.”

Stone knew that the resources mentioned were Marcel’s, inherited from his father and greatly increased by the son, and his own, inherited from his late wife, Arrington Calder Barrington, and her late husband, the film star Vance Calder, and swollen by a burgeoning stock market.

Marcel mentioned the price.

“Move to buy it,” Stone said reflexively.

“Second,” someone called out.

“Yea,” everyone else shouted.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Marcel said, “you have made my job easy. Shall we adjourn to the site and inspect it?”

—

Ten minutes and a short walk later they were surveying the view over Rome from the hilltop of the Borghese Gardens.

“You will have to imagine, ladies and gentlemen,” Marcel said, “the view from our rooftop restaurant, which will be as good as that of the Hassler.”

Everyone turned and looked at the half-built skeleton of the abandoned project.

“Our architects tell me that we can utilize all of the previous structure, with some judicious additions.”

“Marcel, this is brilliant,” someone said.

“Thank you so much. Now shall we adjourn to the Hassler for some lunch?”

The group returned to the hotel, where a convivial luncheon ran on until mid-afternoon.

As the party broke up, Stone pulled Marcel aside. “You mentioned that the previous group had ‘difficulties.’ What were they?”

“Financial, mostly,” Marcel said, avoiding Stone’s eye.

“And what are you not telling me?”

“I can tell you that those difficulties have been resolved as a result of our purchase. Now all that remains is for each of us to deposit a very large sum of cash in the Arrington account, and we’re off.” He handed Stone a letter that was a formal request for Stone’s investment.

Stone looked at his watch. “It’s early in New York. Is today soon enough?”

Marcel squeezed his arm. “I knew I could rely on your support, my good friend.”

—

Stone returned to his suite, faxed the letter to Joan with an approval to transfer the money, then found Hedy camped on the living room sofa, drinking coffee. “I’m glad to see you awake,” he said, joining her and pouring himself some coffee.

“Awake is too strong a word, but the coffee is helping,” she replied. “How did your board meeting go?”

“Swimmingly. We approved the purchase of a property quite near here for the construction of a new Arrington.”

“I’ve visited the Arrington in L.A., but not the one in Paris. Will the new Rome Arrington meet their standards?”

“We have a Frenchman in charge who has impeccable taste and unlimited resources. He will devote himself to that task, and all I will have to do is enjoy it when it’s done.” He looked at his watch. “Can you be ready for dinner at seven-thirty?”

“Probably. Will an LBD do?”

“A Little Black Dress will be fine.”

—

She reappeared in the living room wearing a quite spectacular LBD and very beautiful jewelry. He escorted her down the hall to the restaurant, which was on the same floor. Shortly they were seated at a table with a view, in the distance, of St. Peter’s Basilica. A moon hung over the city, and the drinks were good. They had just finished their first course when Hedy pointed past him. “What’s that?” she asked.

He turned and followed her finger. Just past the church a bright light was burning. “Something appears to be on fire,” Stone said.

5

After an excellent dinner, Stone signed the bill and stood up. “Do you mind if we take a short walk?” he asked Hedy.

“Not at all.”

They took the elevator downstairs and walked past the church, where they found the smoking ruin of the half-built hotel that Stone, with Marcel, had just bought. A single fire truck was spraying water on the smoking ruin, and Marcel was standing alone, disconsolately watching.

Stone approached and introduced Marcel and Hedy. “What happened?” he asked.

“It burned down.”

“Do we know why?”

Marcel shook his head. “There’s a bright side, though.”

“And what would that be?”

“We can rebuild immediately. All we have to do is to occupy the same footprint. The architects will like that, since they won’t be stuck with the previous floor plans.”

“Whose insurance is going to cover this?”

“The previous owner’s. We’re not due to close until the day after tomorrow. They should clear the lot, as well. If you’ll excuse me, I want to go and speak to the architects in New York. We have the construction company lined up, but I want to see if we can start them with the plans we have.” Marcel shook hands and got into his car, and Stone and Hedy started back to the Hassler.

“Why only one fire truck?” she asked.

“I don’t know—that would have been a three-alarm fire in New York.”