“I hope this turns out all right,” Joan said, then hung up.

“What time is it in New York?” he asked Hedy.

“Eight AM.”

Stone called another number, one he knew well.

“Bacchetti,” Dino said.

“It’s Stone. Sorry to call you so early.”

“Don’t worry about it. Where are you?”

“At an autostrada service area east of Naples. My borrowed car has been stolen, along with my briefcase and luggage and my companion’s things, as well. I don’t know how to call the police in Italy.”

“I’ll deal with that. Where can they find you?”

“In Positano, at a hotel called Le Sirenuse, in a couple of hours. A car is on the way to pick us up. I need to file a report with the police for my insurance company.”

“I’ll take care of it. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“And the companion?”

“She’s fine, too.” Stone looked up; a young Italian man in a dark suit was standing there. “Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I am Fabrioso. Please call me Fabri. Are you ready to go to Positano?”

“We certainly are.”

“Where is your luggage?”

“I wish I knew.” He explained the situation, then they followed him to the car and got into the rear seat.

“To Le Sirenuse, correct?”

“Correct.”

They were on the autostrada for a few minutes, then got off at the exit for Sorrento. Soon they were driving very slowly along a narrow road cut into the mountainside to their left, with a vertical drop to the sea on the other side.

“This is spectacular,” Hedy said.

“Sorry about the road. It was built for goat carts, I think.”

A giant tour bus appeared from around a bend and nearly nudged them over the side of the cliff.

“Certainly wasn’t built for tour buses,” Hedy said.

They entered the village of Positano, which clung precariously to the mountainside, then turned down a street toward the sea. Shortly, they pulled into Le Sirenuse.

Stone gave Fabri fifty euros, then went to the front desk and registered.

“Your suite is ready, Mr. Barrington,” the desk clerk said, “and there are two gentlemen from the police waiting for you over there.” He nodded toward a sofa.

Stone went over and introduced himself to the two men. They spent an hour going over his story and filling out a form and listing everything lost. The desk clerk made a copy for Stone.

Stone thanked the policemen and followed the clerk to their suite, which was spacious, with a large terrace overlooking the village below them and the sea.

“This is absolutely spectacular,” Hedy said. “I’m glad you didn’t try to explain it to me.”

Stone glanced at his watch. “Dinner in an hour?”

“Fine.”

His cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. Did the cops show?”

“Thanks, they were waiting for us when we arrived at the hotel.”

“For what it’s worth, they think it’s a professional job. Not just anybody can get a Mercedes started without a key.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I will. Thanks again.” They both hung up.

“It was a professional job,” he said to Hedy.

7

They woke with sunlight pouring into the suite and had breakfast on the terrace. The day was comfortably warm.

“Shall we do some shopping?” Stone asked. “It’s on me. I’ll charge the insurance company.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had in years,” she said.

—

Stone went downstairs and inquired about transportation. The most sensible thing available was a small, four-wheeled electric car, much like a motorcycle, with tandem seating.

Hedy got into the backseat, and Stone drove.

“This is a lot better for these roads than a big Mercedes,” Hedy said.

“It’s more fun, too,” Stone replied, accelerating up the hill to the main road. In half an hour they were in Amalfi, which was more a city than a village, and sufficed as an elegant shopping mall. Stone walked into the Ermenegildo Zegna shop and found a lightweight blazer that fit him very well plus a couple of pairs of trousers, some shirts, and a small suitcase. Then he loosed Hedy upon half a dozen shops—Prada, Gucci, Ferragamo, and others.

They packed their things into their new suitcases, strapped them to the top of their vehicle, and drove back to Positano. As they turned off the main road and down the hill toward their hotel, Stone saw flashing blue lights and smoke rising. It took them a good half hour to make their way through the backed-up traffic to Le Sirenuse. In the forecourt of the hotel was the smoking ruin of a car that could barely be recognized as a Mercedes.

“Is that our car?” Hedy asked.

“I think it used to be,” Stone said. He took the car key from his pocket and pressed a button. The car beeped, and the lights flashed. “It’s ours.” He saw the hotel’s manager standing nearby and introduced himself. “I believe that’s the car that was stolen from us yesterday,” he said to the man. “Did anyone see how it got here?”

“A young man drove it into the forecourt, then got out and walked away, according to the doorman,” the man replied. “Have you offended someone?” he asked, with a flicker of incredulity.

“Not intentionally,” Stone said. “I’ve only been in Italy for two days.”

“You might see if any of your belongings can be recovered, before the firemen haul it away,” the man said. “The doorman managed to use a fire extinguisher on it before the firemen arrived.” He explained to the firemen that the car belonged to Stone, and he was allowed to approach it.

He removed his briefcase and Hedy’s purse from the rear seat: both were charred, but their contents seemed unharmed. Stone used his key to try to open the trunk. It worked. A bellman came and removed their luggage, which seemed unharmed.

Before they could get to their suite, the two policemen he had spoken to the day before were back; they checked things off the list of lost items that had been reported the day before and issued Stone a new police report. “Your insurance will be happy,” one of them said.

Upstairs, they unpacked their bags, and Stone transferred the contents of his ruined briefcase to a shopping bag. Realizing that he had neglected to call Marcel duBois the day before, he did so now.

Marcel reacted to the news of the loss of his car with equanimity. “I will notify my insurer,” he said.

“I think you should ask for a new car,” Stone suggested. “It would cost them less than restoring the present one.”

“Quite.”

“Marcel, do you think there is a connection between the theft and burning of the car and the burning of the hotel?”

“Possibly,” Marcel replied.

“Would you care to expand on that?”

“Not at the present time. When will you return to Rome?”

“Tomorrow, I suppose.”

“What time will you depart?”

“After lunch.”

“I will send another car for you.”

“We can rent one.”

“It will be safer if I send a car.”

Stone refrained from mentioning that there was evidence to contradict that statement. “All right,” he said.

They had lunch on their terrace, and Hedy surprised him by stripping naked and disporting herself on a chaise longue. “I forgot to buy a bikini,” she said.

“Who’s complaining?” He took off his clothes and joined her.

—

They awoke later in the afternoon when the sun was behind an awning and a cool breeze swept over them. They took a shower together, made love on the bed, and fell asleep again.

They went down to dinner at the hotel’s terrace restaurant. Another couple, apparently Italian, from their conversation, were seated at the next table, quite close to theirs.