Worst Fears Realized

the packages?”
    “Housewarming gifts,” she replied. “Open.”
    Stone opened the packages and found two beautiful oils, a Venetian scene and a landscape he didn’t recognize, with a Roman ruin prominently featured.
    “They’re beautiful,” he said, kissing her. “Where’s the landscape?”
    “Sicily, where else?”
    “They’re both wonderful. I’ll get some tools, and you can hang them for me.”
    Soon both paintings were displayed to good effect. Stone thought that with the walls no longer entirely bare and the lamps in place, it was looking a good deal more like home.
    Dolce walked around the place, looking at details. “I like it,” she said. “It’s very Connecticut, and in some ways, it’s very you.”
    “You’ll have to come often,” Stone said.
    “I intend to,” she replied. “Will you get my bag from the car and show me the upstairs?”
    Stone went out to the Ferrari and found a surprisingly small bag on the front seat. There was hardly anyplace else to put it in the car. He brought it inside and led her upstairs.
    “Oh,” she said, “lotsto do here. Nice closet space, though. We’ll have to find you some good wallpaper.” She unpacked her bag and hung up a dress. “That won’t need ironing,” she said.

    “Our host says it’s very casual.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Dolce laughed. “For men, maybe.”
    Stone slipped his arms around her and pulled her close.
    “My goodness,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “you’re ready, aren’t you?”
    “You betcha.”
    She broke away. “Well, you’re just going to have to wait; I have a lot of questions.” She led him downstairs, and when they had settled on the sofa, she began. “All right, now; a girl doesn’t like surprises; who’s the movie star?”
    “Vance Calder.”
    She nodded as if she had dinner with movie stars every evening. “And his wife is Arrington.”
    Stone blinked. “You’re way ahead of me.”
    “Get used to it,” she replied.
    “Ah, yes, I forgot about Mary Ann.”
    “A girl’s best friend is her sister; remember that.”
    “Believe me, I will.”
    “Now, who are the other guests?”
    “I’m not aware that there are any, but there could be.”
    “A girl likes to know what the competition will be like.”
    “Competition?”
    “The other women. But since you’re ignorant of these things, just tell me how Arrington is likely to dress.”
    “Jesus, how would I know that?”
    “Well, how did she dress for casual dinner parties when she was living with you?”

    “For casual parties? Well, simply, but elegantly, I suppose.”
    “You’re a gigantic help. I’ll just have to go middle of the road, I guess. Does she wear a lot of jewelry?”
    “Not a lot, as I recall.”
    “Yes, but she wasn’t married to Vance Calder then, was she?”
    “Well, no.”
    “Her jewelry box will be much better stocked by now. Did she get her figure back after the baby?”
    “I don’t know; I haven’t seen her since the baby.”
    “Well, she’s a Beverly Hills wife, now; I’ll assume the worst.”
    “That she’s fat?”
    “That’s she’s svelte and in top shape. What about her hair and nails?”
    “She has hair and nails.”
    “How much hair, dummy, and does she lacquer her nails?”
    “About as much hair as you, last time I saw her; she kept her nails long, but she seemed to paint them only on special occasions.”
    “Then they will be painted tonight,” Dolce said. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” She went out to the car and came back with a train case.
    Stone couldn’t imagine where she had stored it in the car.
    “There is a small trunk,” she said, reading his mind. “What time are we due there?”
    “At seven.”
    She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get started,” she said, heading up the stairs.

    “It’s only five o’clock,” Stone said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink or something?”
    “No time,” she said, disappearing up the stairs.
    After a moment, he heard the tub running.
    She came halfway back down the stairs. “You can have the bathroom at six-thirty,” she said. “I don’t want to see you up here before then.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Yes, signorina.”
    “You’re learning,” she said, vanishing up the stairs.

45
    AT SIX-THIRTY, STONE WENT UPSTAIRSand walked into the bedroom. The bath was empty, and Dolce was, apparently, in her dressing room. Stone shaved, showered, and dried his hair, and when he came out, Dolce had left