Holly’s actions.
Kelli Keane and Hamish McCallister lay, panting, in his bed. After her departure from Harry, at Hamish’s whispered invitation, Kelli had returned. It had taken them less than half an hour to complete the seduction ritual before leaping into bed, and now they were entirely satisfied with each other.
“So,” Kelli said, by way of conversation, “who are you reporting for?”
“A London paper and a travel magazine, neither of which you have ever heard.”
“And they sprang for a suite?”
“You are obsessed with the idea of a suite, aren’t you?”
“I’m obsessed with the idea of not having one.”
“Well, now you have half a suite for as long as we can put up with each other. And to answer your question, I have discovered that having private means greatly augments the pleasures of reporting for peanuts.”
“A rich journalist? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“All it takes is selecting the right parents. It also helps that, when they are inevitably divorced, proper support for the issue of the marriage is cemented into the final agreement.”
“Which side of your parentage was the rich one?”
“Both of them.”
“You are just sounding luckier and luckier,” Kelli said, sighing. “Are you married?”
“Certainly not! My principles would not allow me to be in bed with you, if I were. How about you?”
“Nope. Of course, I’ve been living with a very nice man in a very nice New York apartment for a year, but he isn’t here, is he?”
“Nicely rationalized,” Hamish replied.
Kelli smiled. “It was, wasn’t it? Is there any more of the champagne?”
Hamish leaned over the side of the bed and came back with half a bottle and their two glasses. “There you are,” he said, pouring.
Kelli sipped. “Ah, yes, champagne. I can never seem to get enough of it.”
“There are two more bottles in my fridge,” Hamish said, “courtesy of the management.”
Kelli looked over by the windows. “What happened to your steamer trunk?”
“I unpacked it, and a bellman took it away for storage until my departure.”
“What do you travel with that you need a trunk?”
“Habitually, four suits, a dinner jacket, tails on some occasions, a blazer, two tweed jackets, a dozen shirts and a dozen each of socks and underwear, six pairs of shoes, two hats, a jewelry box, a toiletries case, and enough neckties to choke a very large horse. Also, depending on the weather at my destination, a trench coat or an overcoat or both.”
“That explains the trunk,” Kelli said.
“I believe it does. The simple truth is, you can take as much luggage as you wish, anywhere in the world, as long as you are prepared to pay a baggage overcharge or bribe a ticket agent-and tip well.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Kelli said. “I’m always just trying to jam my carry-on into the overhead bin.”
“Poor darling, you must learn to be more extravagant, you’d be much happier.”
“I must learn to earn enough to be extravagant,” she replied.
“That is entirely unnecessary,” Hamish replied. “You must simply do a better job of choosing men.”
“I hate to say it, but you have a point,” Kelli said. “Take my present beau: he’s handsome, charming, well educated, well housed, and well employed, but he’s not rich-not until he comes into his inheritance, anyway-and that might require a wait of some years or, perhaps, murder.”
“He does have most of the qualifications.”
“What else must he have?”
“A generosity of spirit and an absence of parsimony.”
“Ah, well. How would you define an absence of parsimony?”
“Before a man can be generous with you, he must first be generous with himself. Then, if he is paying three thousand pounds for a Savile Row suit, two hundred for a Jermyn Street shirt, and two thousand a pair for shoes, he cannot, in good conscience, deprive his woman of similar accoutrements. He cannot travel in first class and expect her to occupy steerage.”
“Ah, so I should encourage him to dress more expensively and travel better?”
“Certainly. Then, as the night follows the day…”
“You’re an eminently sensible man, Hamish.”
“And of course, the frequency of and competency in sex must be sustained at a high level.”
“No objections there,” Kelli said. “More often, my men have been unable to keep up.”
Hamish laughed.
“I don’t suppose you would care to form a more lasting bond than a one-nighter in a grand hotel?”
“We can talk about that,” Hamish replied, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Excuse me, call of nature.”
Kelli looked around. “Where can I find a robe?”
“Closet,” Hamish replied, closing the bathroom door.
Kelli got out of bed and approached the closet, of which there were two. She chose the left and found herself staring at a steamer trunk.
Then there was singing coming from the bathroom, in a language she did not understand.
44
Herbie Fisher and his girl, Harp Connor, got off their airplane at LAX and hoofed it to baggage claim, where they found a small booth emblazoned with the name THE ARRINGTON. Minutes later they were ensconced in a Bentley, headed for the hotel.
Herbie called Stone Barrington’s cell number.
“Hello, Herb, welcome to L.A. Where are you?”
“On the way from the airport. Be there in, I don’t know, twenty minutes?”
“It’s going to take longer than that, pal. Getting through the front gate is going to take a while and may require a cavity search.”
“Are you serious?”
“Almost. We’ve got two presidents in residence. Come for dinner tonight?”
“Love to. How are we dressing?”
“We’re doing it New York style-wear a necktie. Oh, and there’s a secret guest of honor.”
“Who’s that?”
“Didn’t I just say it’s a secret? Drinks at seven. Ask your bellman to show you my cottage on the site map. See ya!” Stone hung up.
“We’re invited for dinner, and there’s a secret guest of honor,” Herbie said to Harp.
“Who?”
“Didn’t I just say it’s a secret? Listen, Stone managed to get us into the hotel on short notice, but it will be a room, not a suite, and it may be small.”
“I can live with that,” Harp replied. “I’m a simple woman. All I need is a closet, a bed, a bathtub, and a minibar.”
“I expect you’ll have all of that, and if there’s no minibar, there’s always room service. Oh, by the way, security will be severe at the gate, so expect, maybe, a cavity search.”
“Promises, promises.”
They were received at reception with apologies for the lack of more luxurious accommodations, then driven in an electric cart to their room, which had a very nice view of a stucco wall around someone else’s patio.
The bellman handed Herbie the key to the golf cart. “Compliments of Mr. Barrington,” he said.
