Worst Fears Realized

saving for an occasion, then went up to the kitchen and put the champagne on ice. At seven-thirty, he found some tissue paper, wrapped the two bottles, and put them into a small shopping bag. He dressed in some cavalry twill slacks, a cashmere turtleneck, soft kidloafers, and a light tweed jacket; then he opened his bedside drawer, took out a 9mm automatic pistol, placed it in the bag, and covered it with more tissue paper. He picked up the shopping bag and let himself out of the house.
    He looked up and down the street. There were a few people in the block, and he recognized two cops in a plain sedan across the street. He walked up to Third Avenue and hailed a cab, constantly checking behind him. It was what the perp would expect him to do.
    Stone got into the cab. “Here’s what I want you to do,” he said to the driver. “I want you to take a right on Fifty-ninth Street, go across the bridge, then make a U-turn, come back across the bridge, then take First Avenue up to Seventy-ninth, over to Fifth, and I’ll direct you from there. There’s an extra ten bucks in it if you don’t ask me why.”
    The driver gave an elaborate shrug, clapped a hand over his mouth, and, miraculously, did as he was asked. When they were on Fifth Avenue, Stone asked to be let out a block before Sarah’s building, tipped the driver extravagantly, and, shopping bag in hand, walked casually down the east side of Fifth Avenue. Traffic was heavy going downtown, and there were a lot of people on the street. He couldn’t spot anyone following him.
    Stone found the address, and the doorman opened the door for him. Inside was a desk, and two uniformed men stood behind it. The younger one, Stone noticed, was a little too large for his jacket, and there was a bulge under his left arm.

    “Yes sir?” the older man asked. He looked worried.
    “My name is Barrington,” Stone said. “I’m here to see Miss Buckminster.”
    The man picked up a phone, announced Stone, then told him he could go up.
    Stone recognized the elevator operator. “Evening, Andy,” he said when the door was shut. “The uniform suits you.”
    “Thanks a lot,” Anderson replied. “Maybe I should make a career change.”
    “Where’s Mick?”
    “Sitting out on the street—eating doughnuts, probably.”
    “I’m not surprised.”
    “You think the guy followed you?”
    “If he did, he’s good; I didn’t make him.”
    “I hope he did; I’d like a crack at him.”
    “May you get your wish.”
    “Here we are; sixteen, top floor.”
    The elevator doors opened, and Stone stepped into a private foyer. “Watch yourself, Andy,” he said, then he rang the doorbell.

12
    THE DOOR WAS OPENED BY A BUTLERdressed in a dark suit. “Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” he said. “My name is William; will you follow me, please?” He led the way down a long gallery hung with very good pictures, and they emerged into a large, handsome living room. “Please have a seat, sir,” William said. “Miss Buckminster will be with you in a moment; she’s in the kitchen. May I get you something to drink?”
    Stone handed him the shopping bag. “There’s a cold bottle of champagne in there,” he said, “and a bottle of red wine. If you would open the red and allow it to breathe, then bring us the champagne and a couple of glasses.”
    “Of course, Mr. Barrington,” William replied. He took the shopping bag and left the room.
    Stone walked slowly around the room, looking at the pictures; he had never seen such a collection in aprivate home. A Monet of water lilies covered most of one wall, and the smaller pictures were hung in rows, covering nearly every square foot of wall space. Stone recognized works by Picasso, Manet, Braque, David Hockney, and Lucian Freud. “My God,” he muttered to himself. “I wouldn’t want to be saddled with these people’s insurance premiums.” Next to the fireplace he was riveted by something that he recognized from his childhood: one of his mother’s paintings, of Washington Square Park. He stood before it, taking in the brushwork and the light. “You’re in good company, Mother,’ he said.
    “Stone!”
    He turned to see Sarah Buckminster walking toward him, dressed in tailored slacks and a silk blouse. She held out her arms to him, and he embraced and kissed her. She held him away from her and looked at him. “Dear God, the years have made you even more handsome.”
    Stone blushed. “And you are even more beautiful.”
    She turned