3 

AS STONE TOUCHED down at Santa Fe Airport and rolled out, he saw an unfamiliar SUV parked on the ramp. He taxied in and was directed to a parking spot near the car, where Ed Eagle was leaning against it.

Stone shut down, waited for chocks, then went down the boarding ladder and closed and locked the cabin door behind him.

Ed took Stone’s hand in his more massive one. “I’m glad to see you,” he said.

“What’s this?” Stone asked, indicating the car.

“It’s the new Bentley Bentayga,” Ed replied. “First one in Santa Fe.”

“What does Bentayga mean?”

“I’ve no idea. I’m not sure that Bentley does.”

A lineman put Stone’s luggage into the trunk, and both men got into the car.

“Very nice,” Stone said, fondling the quilted leather upholstery.

“Lots of legroom,” Ed replied. “A personal requirement.” He started the car and was let out of the gate.

“How’s Billy?”

“Placid, on the surface. Boiling underneath and deeply, deeply depressed.”

“That’s a dangerous combination with someone like Billy,” Stone observed. “What can we do about it?”

“I don’t know—a woman?”

“I think, at this stage, that would be both inappropriate and unadvisable.”

“She can be yours, then.”

“Who can be mine?”

“The friend of Susannah’s who’s invited to dinner tonight, name of Anastasia Bounine, said to be the great-great-granddaughter of Tsar Nicholas the Second and great-granddaughter of her namesake, the tsar’s only surviving daughter.”

“You’re kidding me,” Stone said.

“Maybe somebody up the line is kidding all of us, but that’s the scuttlebutt on the lady. Story is, the original Anastasia took up with General Sergei Pavlovich Bounine, who squired her around Paris trying to get her accepted by the tsar’s mother. They had a son, who had a son, et cetera, et cetera.”

“I thought Anastasia’s remains were found with the others in a well in Siberia, or someplace.”

“It’s said that one set of bones was missing, and the rest is history, sort of.”

“So you’ve fixed me up with a Russian? I can’t tell you the trouble I’ve had with Russians, Ed.”

“I know all about that, but you can rest easy. Ana, as she’s called, is third-generation French and came to this country as a small child. She’s indistinguishable from an American—or from a Frenchwoman, or a Russian, if she feels like it. Swears like a sailor, when she’s mad, and in three languages.”

“What does she do with herself when she’s not swearing?”

“She’s the queen—or should I say tsarina—of Santa Fe real estate. Year in, year out, she’s said to sell more houses than anybody else in town.”

“So the first thing she’s going to do is try to sell me a house.”

“Ana is more subtle than that,” Ed replied. “She’ll wait for you to bring it up.”

“She could grow old waiting for me to bring it up. Lately, I’ve been selling, not buying.”

“I know, I handled the presidential sale, remember?”

“Of course.” Stone had, in a complicated transaction, exchanged his Santa Fe house for the Presidents Lee’s Georgetown house, then donated that to the State Department as a residence for the secretary of state, Holly Barker, who was his old friend and lover.

“I never asked,” Ed said. “Why’d you do that deal?”

“When Kate Lee nominated Holly,” Stone said, “she was living in an apartment over an antiques shop. It was unsuitable for a secretary of state, who has to entertain a lot.”

Ed laughed. “I think you just wanted a comfortable place to screw a cabinet member.”

“A particular cabinet member,” Stone said.

“Why don’t you just marry her? It’d be cheaper.”

“Our lives are totally incompatible, except for short, intense periods when we find ourselves in the same city.”

“Whatever you say.” Ed pulled into his driveway, past a large stone eagle that identified the house, and a houseman in a white jacket came out and took Stone’s luggage.

“You’re in the big guest room,” Ed said.

“Is Billy in the guesthouse?”

“No, he prefers to be at the Inn of the Anasazi. We didn’t insist.”

Susannah threw her arms around Stone and kissed him on the ear. “Too long!” she said.

“You should come to New York more often,” Stone replied, kissing her back.

“Has Ed told you about your dinner partner this evening?”

“He has, and I’m terrified.”

“Well, I could put you next to Theo Raven, who’s in her eighties.”

“She sounds safer.”

“I didn’t want Billy to feel threatened,” Susannah said. “Come, let’s get a drink.”

•   •   •

THEY GOT A DRINK and watched the sky change colors as the day latened.

“Susannah,” Stone said, “what are you doing with yourself?”

“Polishing a screenplay,” she said. “I’ll be shopping it around soon.”

“In addition to writing and producing, will you direct and star?”

“Who else would hire me at my age?” Susannah was in her early forties. “Haven’t you heard that Hollywood doesn’t create desirable roles for women my age?”

“I have heard that, yes.”

“What I’d like to do is steal Billy Barnett away from your son. He’d take a huge load off my hands.”

“As he does for Peter,” Stone replied. “I don’t think Billy’s looking to make a move. He’s too well situated at Centurion. You’d better look farther afield.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Ed said. “Susannah has trust issues. She wouldn’t hire me to produce her pictures.”

“I wouldn’t hire you, my love, because you are ignorant of the process. I’m looking for someone with a track record, and yours is too much involved with getting guilty people off.”

“None of my clients are guilty,” Ed said, “just misunderstood.”

They were still arguing about that when Teddy arrived.