Unintended Consequences - By Stuart Woods

7





Stone and Helga stepped into the Maybach, the doors were closed by footmen, and the car moved away, its only noise being the crunch of gravel under the tires.

“Where would you like to go?” Stone asked.

“The Plaza Athénée Hotel, please,” she replied. “I have an apartment there.”

“What a coincidence,” Stone said, wondering if it actually was.

“You are at the hotel, too?”

“I am.”

“How convenient,” she said, placing a hand on his thigh.

Stone could not but agree. “How long have you known Marcel?”

“Since my divorce—about two years.”

“Was this evening typical of his style of entertaining?”

“Except for the presence of the Blaise, yes, entirely typical. Marcel once told me that as a young man starting out, he always desired the best he could afford, and now that he can afford anything he likes, the results are remarkable. Can you afford whatever you like?”

Stone laughed. “Yes, but my desires are more achievable than Marcel’s.”

“That is probably wise. One should not try to compete with Marcel—not in any way.”

“That’s good advice.”

“I was astonished that Marcel offered you the car this evening, and flabbergasted that he gave you that price. That can only mean that he places a very high value on your acquaintance. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“Helga,” Stone said, “I have been trying to figure that out all evening. I don’t even know why I was at the dinner.”

She looked at him oddly. “Have you and Marcel known each other long?”

“For less than a week,” Stone replied.

“I am surprised that Marcel went out of his way to put us together,” she said. “He indicated to me that he had a very high opinion of you, and that impressed me.”

The car came to a halt in front of their hotel.

“He has a high opinion of you, too,” Stone replied. “And if he wants so much for us to be together, it would be churlish of us to disappoint him.”

“Come with me,” Helga said, alighting from the car. She led him to an elevator he had not seen, one with only one button, which she pressed. The doors opened not into a hallway, but directly into a private vestibule, furnished with only an antique table and a very large floral display. She led him into a handsome drawing room, furnished with pieces clearly not from the hotel’s inventory, then into a bedroom, also beautifully decorated.

She stopped, turned to him, and touched her lips to his.

It was the first time, he reflected, that a woman had ever had to bend down to kiss him. As if reading his mind, she reached down and shed her shoes. That brought them exactly nose to nose. “There, is that better?” she asked.

“It’s perfect,” Stone said, kissing her again. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders; he caught it and tossed it onto a chair, then she pulled his bow tie loose and unbuttoned his collar.

“Do you think you can finish doing this while I step out for a moment?” she asked.

“I think I remember how,” Stone replied, working on his buttons. He watched her walk from the room, reaching behind her for a zipper, while he draped his dinner suit carefully over the chair and stood, waiting for her.

The lights dimmed, but not too much, and she came back into the room naked. Nothing like her since Anita Ekberg, Stone thought. They kissed again, and while he rubbed her nipples with the backs of his fingers, she reached down and took him in her hand.

“Ah, so you are glad to see me?” she said.

“It would appear so,” he replied.

They fell into bed, and the next hour would count among Stone’s fondest memories. Whatever two people could do, they did, holding nothing back.

• • •

Stone awoke alone in bed, completely disoriented. Not until she came into the room did it flood back. She was wearing a beautiful dressing gown, and she tossed a terry robe onto the bed for him. “Let’s not shock the room service waiter,” she said, leaning over and kissing him. “He’ll be here in a moment.”

Stone repaired to the bathroom for a quick shower and the use of a hotel toothbrush. He brushed his wet hair back and got into the robe, and when he arrived back in the bedroom, the waiter had come and gone, leaving a large tray table laden with breakfast. He sat down, and Helga served him eggs Benedict and champagne, a Krug ’90. He couldn’t bring himself to mix it with his orange juice.

“What does your day hold?” Helga asked.

“I have a dinner engagement,” he replied. “And I hope to get some work done.”

“How long will you be in Paris?”

“I don’t know, but probably not more than a few days.”

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?”

“Of course.”

“Tour d’Argent at eight o’clock?”

“Perfect.”

They finished breakfast, then returned to bed for another hour. Finally, Stone got into his tuxedo, kissed her, and returned to his suite.

It was after ten, and when he opened the door he found another envelope, addressed in the same calligraphy as before. It contained a brief note from Marcel:


Stone, it was a great pleasure to have you as my guest last evening. Enclosed are the pertinent documents for your car. My customs agent in New York will clear the car at JFK airport and deliver it to your home. It is my hope that you will enjoy it for many years to come.


Stone found an invoice among the papers. He wrote a check for $225,000, then e-mailed Joan to move the cash to his checking account. Then he wrote a note of thanks to Marcel for his hospitality and for the privilege of buying the car. He phoned down for a bellman and sealed the check in an envelope addressed to Marcel’s offices, as per the invoice. “Please have this delivered by messenger,” he said to the man, slipping him twenty euros along with the envelope.

Stone shaved and dressed in a tweed jacket and open-collared shirt, then left the hotel and walked for a while. It was a crisp autumn day with clear skies, a perfect time to be in Paris. The trees along the sidewalks were beginning to change their colors.

A car pulled up beside him, and a window rolled down. “Good morning,” Rick LaRose said. “Hop in.”

Stone got into the car. “Good morning.”

“I trust your evening continued to go well after the dinner,” LaRose said.

“It did indeed.”

“I have an appointment at Charvet. Will you come with me? I’ll need advice.”

“Sure,” Stone said. “Then I’ll buy you lunch.”