After a brief discussion with the bartender, Stone was rewarded with a glass of Knob Creek, selected from a dozen patriotic whiskeys among the embassy’s stock. This being U.S. territory, ice was not in short supply.

He did not know a soul present, except the ambassador, who held court at the far end of the hall, surrounded by half a dozen gentlemen. The room seemed short of women, until Stone felt a breeze at his back; he turned and a tall, fairly slim redhead in a knockout green dress came straight for him, as the butler hollered, “Miz Holly Barker, of New York City.”

Holly threw her arms around his neck, and he gave her a little spin while she cuddled there. “I thought you would be dead before I had a chance to come to your rescue,” she whispered in his ear.

“I stayed alive only for you,” Stone said. She felt warm and familiar in his arms. She was slimmer than the last time he had seen her, and she had at least six inches more of the red hair. “How good to see you in Paris! How long can I keep you here?”

“Well, if you should die, my instructions are to accompany your body back to New York, but until then, I am all yours. I’m staying at the embassy.”

“Not while I have a large hotel at my disposal.”

“Oh, can you get me into l’Arrington?”

“All the rooms are booked for the opening, but there is room in my bed.”

“I accept,” she said. “The better to guard you.”

“Well,” said a voice from behind them, “I see that either you two have met, or you are getting along way too well.”

Stone turned to find the ambassador standing there. “Madame Ambassador, how good to see you again. May I present Ms. Holly Barker?”

The two women shook hands. “Ah, yes,” the ambassador said, “yet another gift from Lance Cabot’s merry band.”

“I’ve never heard it described quite that way,” Holly said, “but I’m sure Lance would take it and be happy.”

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” the butler wailed, “dinner is served.”

A pair of mahogany doors opened at one side of the hall, and the group meandered among the half-dozen round tables, looking for their place cards. Stone found himself next to Holly; the ambassador, to his relief, after Mirabelle’s comments, was at another table.

A large slab of foie gras had already been delivered to each plate, and a waiter was pouring Mondavi Reserve wines from California. “Given the new California laws,” Holly said, “I’ll bet the foie gras is from New York State.”

Introductions were exchanged with their dinner partners, and everyone fell upon the food, hardly bothering to chat.

The second course arrived, and the waiter announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the main course is Georgia fried chicken, and it is customary to eat it with your fingers, so silverware has not been provided for this dish.”

The Europeans at the table made positive noises and dug in. Stone turned to Holly, who had a mouthful of chicken. “Why are you really in Paris?”

“Tell you later,” she mumbled. “God, this is perfect fried chicken!”

After only bones remained of the chicken, the butler came into the room. “M’lords, ladies, and gentlemen, please turn over your place cards, rise, and find your new seats.”

Everyone did so and learned that they now had new tables. Stone found his card two tables over, and the ambassador was waiting for him to his left.

“Ah, Mr. Barrington,” she said, “I’ve missed you. How was the fried chicken?”

“Superlative,” Stone cried, “and the pâté before it.”

“A gift from Governor Jerry Brown, of California,” she said. “Apparently, he has to get rid of a lot of it.” A hand squeezed his knee.

Uh-oh, he thought; how am I going to handle this?

But the ambassador was doing all the handling, and she was making progress up his thigh. Dessert came, announced to be blueberry pie from Maine, and at the first bite Stone flew into a fit of coughing. The hand was already at his zipper as he excused himself from the table, still coughing, and made his way to a men’s room.

He hoped to God she didn’t follow.

18

By the time Stone had returned to his table, dessert was gone, a small musical combo was playing, and everyone was dancing.

The ambassador took his hand from behind. “Dance with me,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. Stone took her in his arms, and they swirled to the music.

“Are you quite all right?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon, Linda, I inhaled some blueberry pie.”

The music changed to a slow ballad. She moved closer; being tall, her crotch met his. “Ah,” she said, “a response.”

“It would be caddish of me not to,” Stone said. He preferred this position to a hand under the tablecloth.

“We seem to be just the right relative heights,” she said, sounding a little drunk.

“I can’t complain,” he said, thrusting a little to please her.

“You are an attractive man,” she said.

“And you are an attractive woman.”

“Why don’t you stick around after the others leave?” she asked. “We can discuss our mutual attraction.”

“What a good idea,” Stone said. “Unfortunately, Ms. Barker seems to have Agency business to discuss, and she has preempted the remainder of my evening.”

“That is unfortunate,” she said. “Perhaps I should ring up Lance Cabot and have her recalled.”

Stone shook his head. “People would talk, and we can’t have that.”

She sighed. The music ended. “On another occasion, perhaps?”

“I would enjoy that.”

“I’ll see that you do,” she said, and was whisked away by another partner.

“May I have this dance?” Holly stepped into his arms. “What was that conversation about?”

“You. She suggested she might call Lance and get you yanked.”

“Jealous, is she? Then the stories I’ve heard about her must be true.”

“Oh? What have you heard?”

“That she was not unreasonably unhappy when she found herself a widow.”

“She struck me that way.”

“Would you like to hear what she’s said to be particularly good at?”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you are her superior.”

Holly laughed. “I’m sure of that, too. Is it too early for us to get out of here?”

“Nothing could please me more.”

“We’ll see about that,” Holly said.

Half an hour later Holly’s clothes were hung in his closet at l’Arrington, and she was demonstrating her superiority to the ambassador. Stone responded in kind, and so it went for the better part of an hour.

—

THEY AWOKE in each other’s arms and reengaged for half an hour before breakfast arrived. Holly ran for a robe before Stone opened the door to admit the room service waiter.

Shortly, they were sitting up in bed with eggs Benedict in their laps.

“So,” Stone said, “what got you to this side of the pond?”

“Well, Lance has been pestering me to take some time off.”

“Tell me, how many days have you not worked since he made you New York station chief?”

“Let’s see . . .”

“Not a one, correct?”

“I am ashamed to say you are correct. So finally, Lance ordered me to Paris to cover your ass.”

“What a wonderful human being Lance is!”

“Isn’t he? Well, maybe not. I think he just thought I’d work better if I got laid now and then.”

“He’s a smart human being, too.”

“I know I must be interrupting a liaison of some sort,” she said. “Is there someone under the bed?”

“No, there is not. However . . .”

“I thought so! Who is she?”

“Well, I had no idea you were going to turn up, or I would have been, in Tallulah Bankhead’s memorable words, ‘as pure as the driven slush.’”

“Perfectly put, in your case. Now, who is she?”

“She’s the daughter of the prefect of police and the sister of another highly placed Paris police commander.”

“So, you’re under constant surveillance?”