Worst Fears Realized

the room. He dressed in cream trousers, a brown-plaid shirt, a light tweed jacket, and tan alligator loafers, then went downstairs.
    Dolce was standing in front of the living room’s curved windows, her hands behind her back. She was wearing a simple, black-silk dress, moderately high heels, and a slender diamond necklace. A red cashmere sweater was thrown casually over her shoulders, matching her nail polish; her jet-black hair fell softly against the sweater. “Good evening,” she said.
    Stone was stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, he thought he had never seen such a beautiful woman. Her makeup was slight, almost nonexistent,and her eyes seemed even larger than usual. “Good evening, signorina,” he said. “You are very beautiful.”
    “And you are very observant,” she replied.
    “Would you like a drink before we go?”
    “It’s seven o’clock; let’s have one at our hosts’. People dine earlier in the country.”
    He gave her his arm, installed her in the Mercedes, and drove away.
    “It’s very beautiful here,” she said, as they turned past the spired white church on the Green.
    “Yes, it is.”
    “How did you happen to buy a house here?”
    “I came up for a weekend at the Mayflower Inn, which we’re just passing now—it’s up the hill, out of view—and it seemed like a good idea.”
    “Was it yours or Miss Buckminster’s?”
    “I believe Sarah first mentioned it, but the thought had crossed my mind before. Nobody I know, except Dino, spends the weekend in the city anymore.”
    “Quite right.”
    They drove down a winding road slowly, taking in the trees and flowers. Following Vance’s directions, they eventually came to an unmarked driveway with a closed gate. Stone reached out the window and rang the bell.
    “Yes?” a voice said.
    “My name is Barrington.”
    The gates swung open, and Stone proceeded up the winding drive, which was beautifully planted on both sides. They rounded a bend and, beyond a green lawn, sat a gray, shingled house with white trim and shutters. Stone parked near the front door, and theywalked up the steps, across a broad porch featuring rocking chairs, and rang the bell. A man in a white jacket answered the door and led them into a living room furnished with big sofas and lovely antiques. Vance Calder stood before the fireplace, a drink in his hand, wearing a blue blazer, white trousers, and a silk shirt, with an ascot tied at the neck. Stone was about to offer his hand, when Vance, ignoring him, walked toward his date.
    “Dolce!” he cried, taking her in his arms and hugging her. “What a delicious surprise! I had no idea you and Stone knew each other.”
    “We didn’t until recently,” Dolce replied. “How are you, Vance?”
    “Just wonderful! And how’s Eduardo?”
    “In good form.”
    Finally, Vance turned to Stone and shook his hand. “Stone, how good to see you; it’s been too long.”
    “It’s good to see you, too, Vance,” he managed to say through his surprise. “I had no idea you and Dolce knew each other.”
    Dolce spoke up. “Oh, Vance was my date at my sweet sixteen party,” she said. “And the best dancer there.”
    “I’ve known her father for a very long time,” Vance said. “We’ve done some business over the years. Arrington is putting the baby to bed; she’ll be down in a moment. Can we get you a drink?”
    The butler took their orders and came back with the drinks.
    At that moment, Arrington appeared on the stairs, carrying the baby. Somehow, Stone had not expectedthe infant, and he was a bit thrown by the sight of mother and child. Arrington came slowly down the stairs; she was wearing a white-silk dress, and with her blond hair, she was the visual antithesis of Dolce. She handed the baby to Vance and embraced Stone more warmly than he had anticipated.
    He caught a glimpse of Dolce’s face as they hugged; the eyes were daggers. “How are you, Arrington?” he whispered in her ear.
    “I’m all right,” she whispered back, then they broke their embrace.
    “Arrington,” Vance said, “I’d like you to meet Dolce Bianchi; she is the daughter of my old friend Eduardo Bianchi; you’ve heard me mention him.”
    “Of course,” Arrington said coolly, taking Dolce’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Dolce; it’s always good to see Vance’s old friends.”
    “Thank you, it’s good to be here,” Dolce replied.
    The two were looking each other up and down. Stone noticed that Arrington’s nails were,