Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

went downstairs and got their coats.
     
     
    Peter was back in ten minutes, and he came into the master suite.
    “You want to listen to Hattie’s recording?”
    “Sure,” Stone said. “Put it in the player over there.” He pointed. He tossed Peter the remote for the other side of the electric bed. “Get comfortable,” he said. Peter inserted the disc.
    The music started, and Stone turned up the volume to concert level.
     
     
    The two pieces finished, and they were both silent for a moment.
    “That was breathtaking,” Stone said after a moment.
    “It sure was.”
    “Did you know she was that good before today?”
    “I heard her improvise some stuff in a recital hall at school, but I’m astonished.”
    “Is she going to pursue a concert career?”
    “No, but she’s going to study composition at Juilliard this fall. She says she doesn’t want a career as a concert artist.”
    “I don’t blame her,” Stone said. “That’s quite a girl, Peter. Hang on to her, if you can.”
    “I wonder if Yale has a music school,” Peter said.

42
    S tone was in bed the following morning with the Sunday
    Times when Peter came into the room. “Good morning,
    Dad,” he said.
    “Good morning, Peter. Did you sleep well?”
    Peter looked a little sheepish. “Not all that well.”
    “Ah,” Stone said, “thinking about Hattie?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “Tell you what: Ben is off to Choate tomorrow morning; why don’t you and I and Ben and Dino have dinner at Elaine’s, and you can ask Hattie to join us.”
    “Terrific!” Peter said. “She’s never been to Elaine’s, and she wants to go.” He ran out of the room, then quickly returned. “I know that she usually has dinner with her parents on Sunday nights. May I ask them to join us, too?”
    “Of course,” Stone said. “Let me know how many to book for.”
    Peter ran out and returned in ten minutes. “Everybody’s aboard. There’ll be seven of us. I wish Mom were here.”
    “So do I.” As if on cue, the phone rang. “Hello?”
    “Hey, there,” Arrington said.
    “Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker; Peter’s here, too.” He pressed the button and Peter came and sat on the edge of the bed.
    “How’s the house coming along?” Stone asked.
    “Beautifully,” she replied, “if I do say so. I did a brilliant job of packing at the old house, and everything is going right into place. We’re hanging pictures tomorrow.”
    “Sounds wonderful,” Stone said. “Peter has a new friend.”
    “Yes, I do,” Peter said, then launched into a monologue about Hattie and how brilliant she was.
    “Whew!” Arrington said when he finally paused. “That’s the longest I ever heard anybody talk without taking a breath!”
    “She’s quite a girl,” Stone said.
    “Well, Peter, why don’t you ask her down for our housewarming? It’s next Saturday night. You can ask her folks’ permission at dinner tonight, and tell them they’re invited, too.”
    “That would be wonderful, Mom,” Peter said.
    “Come down on Friday, so we’ll have all of Saturday and Sunday together,” Arrington said. “You can fly back on Monday morning. Will the school let you do that?”
    “I pretty much make my own schedule,” Peter said.
    “Stone, you’d better take Peter to get a new tux. His old one isn’t going to fit. And don’t forget to get some riding clothes for yourself. I’ll have the perfect horse for you.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    “I can’t wait for you to see the house. It’s going to look like it’s always been here and we’ve always lived here. Architectural Digest is coming on Friday to photograph the place.”
    “Who’s doing your PR?” Stone asked.
    “I am. Paige Rense, the editor, is an old friend.”
    “Are they going to photograph us?” Stone asked.
    “No, just the house.”
    “When will the piece run?”
    “I don’t know; not for some time, I expect. They have a long lead time.”
    “Well, I suppose everything will be more settled by then.”
    “Mom,” Peter said, “I’ve got a new room upstairs.” He told her about his plans for his suite.
    “That sounds perfect for you, Peter. May I speak to Stone alone for a moment?”
    “Sure. Good-bye, Mom. I’ll see you on Friday.” He padded back to his own room.
    “Is he gone?” Arrington asked.
    “Yes, we’re alone.” Stone picked up the phone. “What’s up?”
    “There’s something I have to tell you about,” she said.
    “All right.”
    “Tim Rutledge will be