Lucid Intervals (2010)

already have been cut.
    “Tell me,” Lady Pemberton said, once she had secured him in a corner. “What, as you Americans say, do you do?”
    “I’m an attorney at law,” Stone replied, “and that is not a secret.”
    “Solicitor or barrister?” she asked.
    “In the United States attorneys frequently do both.”
    “Oh, of course. I knew that.”
    “Some attorneys specialize in trial work, while others never see the inside of a courtroom,” he said.
    “And are you with a big, grand firm of lawyers?”
    “I am of counsel to such a firm,” Stone said, “but I make my offices in my home.”
    “How very convenient,” she said, flashing brilliant dental work. “Then you’re often at home in the afternoons?”
    “Often,” he replied.
    “How nice. I am frequently at loose ends in the afternoons,” she said, taking his arm in such a way that his elbow rubbed against one of her stunning breasts.
    “May I have my gentleman back now, please?” Felicity said, stepping up and taking the other arm. “There’s someone I’d like him to meet.”
    For a moment, Stone thought a tug-of-war would ensue with him as the rope.
    “If you must,” Lady Pemberton said. “We’ll catch up later, Mr. Barrington.”
    Felicity towed Stone to the other end of the room.
    “Nick of time,” Stone said quietly.
    “Yes, you’d have been upstairs with her in another moment,” Felicity said through a fixed smile that she bestowed upon everyone she passed.
    They came to a tall, slender man of about sixty who wore a Royal Navy formal uniform with much gold trim and who stood ramrod straight, sipping whiskey neat from a tumbler. “Stone,” Felicity said, “may I present Admiral Sir Ian Weston? Sir Ian, this is my friend Stone Barrington.”
    “Howjado,” the admiral said.
    “Very well, thank you,” Stone replied.
    “Did they fob that fucking awful bubbly off on you?” the admiral asked. Stone nodded. “They’ve got a proper bar over there with a decent single malt.”
    “Oh, I’m quite happy with the Champagne,” Stone said. “I’m not often served Krug.”
    “He’s pouring the Krug, is he? Must be somebody important here. Wonder who?”
    “I was wondering the same thing, Sir Ian,” Felicity said. “Sir Ian is the ambassador’s naval attaché,” she explained to Stone. She looked around the room. “I’ll bet it’s that American couple over there,” she said.
    “Could be,” the admiral replied.
    Stone followed her gaze until it alighted on Bill Eggers and his wife, Suzanne. He laughed. “That gentleman is the managing partner of the law firm to which I am of counsel,” he said, “and I’m not certain anyone in diplomatic circles would consider him important enough for Krug.”
    “Oh,” Felicity said. “And whom do we have here?” she asked, looking toward the door, where the butler was about to announce a portly man and his elegant wife.
    “Lord and Lady Wight,” the butler intoned.
    “What a coincidence,” Stone said.
    “Yesss,” Felicity drawled.

20
    S tone had not set eyes on Lord and Lady Wight since he had been a guest in their country home a few years before. Wight had been the subject of an investigation by the House of Lords at the time, and the supposition was that he might be stripped of his peerage and perhaps even go to prison. Stone and one of their daughters, Sarah, a painter and sculptor, had been close then.
    The Wights spotted Stone and came over. “Barrington, isn’t it?” Wight asked.
    “It is, your lordship,” Stone replied. “Your ladyship, it’s good to see you again.”
    “And you, Mr. Barrington,” she replied. “Sarah still speaks of you.”
    “That’s kind of her,” Stone replied. “May I present Dame Felicity Devonshire?”
    “Howjado,” Wight replied.
    “So nice,” echoed his wife. Both of them looked right through her, having no idea who she was.
    “How do you do, Lord Wight, Lady Wight,” Felicity said. Then, turning to him, “I believe you knew my father.”
    Wight looked at her blankly for a moment, then the penny dropped. “Why of course,” he said. “You remember General Sir Giles Devonshire, my dear.”
    “Of course I do,” Lady Wight replied. “Such a dear man. How is he?”
    “Deceased,” Felicity replied. “Last year.”
    “Saw the obit in the Telegraph ,” Wight replied. “So very sorry.”
    “Thank you,” Felicity said.
    Wight narrowed his eyes in thought. “I believe he had a sort of second career after