Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

the top floor. Stone switched on a hallway light, then they walked into a sunny room at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens. “Peter, I think you need more space for the things your mother is sending from Virginia, and I thought you might like these two rooms. The bedroom is over there,” he said, pointing.
    “This is nice,” Peter said. “Hattie, do you like it?”
    “Very much,” she replied. “You could make it beautiful.”
    “You’ll need some bookcases, and maybe a built-in desk for your computer station,” Stone said, pointing.
    “I can design those,” Peter said, “and we can get someone to build them.”
    “I know a good cabinetmaker,” Stone said. “He used to work for your grandfather. Make some drawings, and we’ll get him in for a look.”
    “Okay. Let me look around some more, then Hattie and I are going to watch my film together and make some notes for the score,” Peter said.
    “Good,” Stone said. “I’ll be right next door.” He hoped Peter got the message.
    Stone left them there and went down to the master suite, where he opened the Times and started on the Saturday crossword, always the toughest of the week.
     
     
    Kelli Keane got home to her little apartment on Third Avenue in the Seventies and immediately went to her computer. She opened a program that searched apartment buildings for the names of tenants or co-op owners, typed in Park Avenue and Sixty-third Street and the name Hattie Patrick. In a matter of seconds she had a hit at 576 Park, a prewar co-op building, and Hattie’s name appeared along with those of her parents, Sean and Margaret. She thought the name Sean Patrick sounded familiar, so she Googled him and got the Patrick Group, a hedge fund that, according to their website, managed more than fifty billion dollars. Wow! Kelli thought.
    For good measure she Googled Hattie and got more than she had expected. The girl was a star music student at Knickerbocker who had played piano recitals and earned good reviews at some of the city’s better venues. She had been the piano soloist a year before in a performance of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Concerto in F , with the New York Youth Orchestra at Carnegie Hall. Wow! again.
    Just on the off chance, she Googled Peter Barrington and got zip. She tried Peter Calder and got zip, too. It was as if the kid had recently arrived from another planet.
     
     
    Peter and Hattie sat on pillows on the floor at the foot of his bed and watched his film come to an end. Hattie now had a full set of notes.
    “I know what I want to write now,” she said to Peter. “What I’d like to do is to record a rough track on film to make sure I’ve got the cues right, then I’ll write some additional parts for cello, bass, and flute, and when I have the piano part perfectly recorded, we’ll dub in the other instruments.”
    “That sounds perfect,” Peter said. “How did you get so good at this so young?”
    “The same way you got good at filmmaking,” she said. “I studied, then practiced all the time and played with other musicians whenever I could.”
    “That’s not exactly how I got to be a filmmaker,” Peter said. “I just went to the movies a lot, then made a movie. What are you going to do after graduation?”
    “I’ve been accepted at Juilliard,” she said, “to study composition. I’m not really interested in a career as a concert artist; I want more freedom than that.” She reached into her handbag and handed Peter a disc. “Here’s a present for you.”
    Peter looked at the label. “ Rhapsody in Blue ? It’s one of my favorites. So is Concerto in F. Can I put it on now?”
    “No, it will just embarrass me,” Hattie said. “Listen to it when you’re alone.”
    “All right.”
    Stone knocked at the open door and came in. “Everything go well with the film?”
    “Yes, Dad,” Peter said. “Hattie’s got what she needs now to write the whole score. And she gave me this.” He handed Stone the disc.
    Stone read the label. “Carnegie Hall!” he said. “That’s very impressive.”
    Hattie turned pink.
    “She embarrasses easily,” Peter said. “She won’t even let me listen to it while’s she’s here.”
    “I’ve heard it before,” Hattie said, getting to her feet. “And now I think I have to get home and walk the dog. I take him to Central Park about this time every day, and he’ll be expecting me.”
    “I’ll walk you down and get you a cab,” Peter said.
    The two