The Short Forever

he said. “Forget about all this, especially where you’re taking these people.”

                        “What people?” the driver asked. “Thanks, guv; good luck.” He handed Stone a card. “There’s my cellphone number, if you need me again.”

                        Lance slammed the door, and the cab took off. Stone went back inside the gallery.

                        “Now, will you tell me what happened?” Sarah asked.

                        “Lance’s friends Ali and Sheila have—had an antique shop in a market in the King’s Road. It was bombed a few minutes ago, and he’s concerned for their safety, and his own and Erica’s.”

                        Monica spoke up. “What has Lance gotten Erica into?”

                        “I don’t know the details,” Stone said. “I expect we’ll hear about it in due course, but they’ll be safe at James’s house, I’m sure.”

                        “Will the police be coming ’round?” Monica asked.

                        “No, I don’t think so.”

                        “That’s all I need, to have a lot of policemen crawling all over my gallery.”

                        “Monica, you are unconnected with all this,” Stone said. “In the extremely unlikely event that a policeman should drop by, just tell him everything you know, up to, but not including, the past ten minutes. You don’t know where Erica is, all right?”

                        “All right,” Monica said uncertainly.

                        “More likely than the police is that someone more . . . unofficial . . . might ask Erica’s and Lance’s whereabouts, and your answer should be the same. That’s very important.”

                        “All right,” Monica said. “And who would these unofficial people be?”

                        “Whoever bombed Ali and Sheila’s shop. And by the way, you’ve never heard of either of them.”

                        “That suits me just fine,” she replied. “I didn’t like the look of them. And Lance didn’t even introduce them.”

                        “I’d better phone James’s housekeeper and let them know that Lance is coming,” Sarah said. She picked up the phone on Monica’s desk and began dialing.

                        Monica took Stone aside. “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Is somebody going to throw a bomb through my gallery window?”

                        “Monica, really, you have nothing to be concerned about.”

                        “Should I call the police?”

                        “Certainly not; what would you tell them?”

                        “I don’t know; I could ask for protection, or something.”

                        “Protection from whom? You’re better off ignorant of this whole business. Practice being ignorant.”

                        “I always knew Lance would get Erica into some sort of trouble.”

                        “What made you think that?”

                        “Lance is always getting these mysterious phone calls on his cellphone, or going off to meet people in pubs or other odd places. He doesn’t have an office, like a normal businessman; he travels at odd times and on short notice, and Erica thinks this is all perfectly normal.”

                        “Lots of people do business out of their homes,” Stone said. “I, for one, and a lot of what you’ve just said would apply to me, too.”

                        Monica laughed. “I wouldn’t want you mixed up with her, either. Mixed up with me, on the other hand, would be different. When are we going to have that dinner?”

                        “I think we’d better postpone that indefinitely,” Stone said.

                        Sarah hung up the phone and joined them. “That woman—Mrs. Rivers, James’s housekeeper—is a pain in the ass; I’m going to fire her at the first opportunity.”

                        “What’s the problem?”

                        “She didn’t want them in the house, said Mr. James wouldn’t approve. I had to explain to her that she isn’t working for Mr. James anymore, she’s working for Miss Sarah, and she’d better get used to it in a hurry. I went over there yesterday to start cleaning out the place, and she behaved as if James were coming back momentarily, as if he’d been out of town on business. I’ve asked Julian Wainwright to write her a letter telling her that she’s now in my employ, but I suppose she hasn’t received it yet.”

                        “Relax,” Stone said. “All this will work itself out with time. I’m sure it won’t be hard to find another housekeeper, if Mrs. Rivers can’t accustom herself to her new circumstances.”

                        “I hope so,” Sarah replied.

                        Stone had a thought. “Monica, do you by any chance have a key to Lance and Erica’s house?”

                        “Why, yes,” Monica replied. “Why?”

                        “I think it might be a good idea for me to go over there and make sure everything is undisturbed.”

                        Monica went to her desk, opened a drawer, and handed Stone a set of keys. “There’s everything,” she said, “front door, garage across the road, even the wine cellar.”

                        “I’ll talk to you later,” Stone said to them both, and he headed for the street to find a taxi. He couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass. He left the gallery and, in the pouring rain, started looking for a taxi.

                 Chapter 32

                        STONE GOT OUT OF THE CAB AT THE bottom of Farm Street; he might as well have walked, he reflected, it had taken him so long to get a cab. The rain was still falling steadily, and the sky was unnaturally dark for the time of day. Lights were coming on in the houses of Farm Street.

                        He moved slowly up the little street, looking for men on foot or in cars. He did not want to encounter the two large men in the black car again, if he could help it. The street was empty of people, and all the parked cars were empty. With a final look around, Stone ran up the steps of the house and let himself in.

                        Grateful to be inside again, he stuck his umbrella into a stand to drain and hung his wet raincoat on a peg inside the door. The house was quite dark, with only minimal light coming through the windows from outside. Stone drew the curtains on the street-side windows and switched on the hall light to get his bearings, then switched it off again.

                        He had a brief look at the drawing room, switching the lights on and off again, then turned to the study, where he figured anything of interest to him would most likely be. He switched on a lamp on the desk, and the beautiful old paneling glowed in the light. There were many books, most of them bound in leather, and the desk seemed quite old, probably Georgian. Stone tried the drawers and found them unlocked. He sat down at the desk and began to go methodically through the drawers.

                        The contents were what might be expected in any prosperous home—bills, credit card statements in Erica’s name, but none in Lance’s. In a bottom drawer he found several months of bank statements, this time in Lance’s name. They were from The Scottish Highlands Bank, of which Stone had never heard, and he learned from examining them that Lance wrote very few checks. There were no canceled checks in the statement, but the printout identified each payee, and they were mostly for rent and household expenses. Those that weren’t were in larger amounts—five to ten thousand pounds—and were made payable to cash. Lance seemed to walk around with a lot of money in his pockets. All the deposits into the account were from wire transfers from two banks—one in the Cayman Islands and one in Switzerland. Lance would transfer twenty-five thousand pounds at a time into the account. These were substantial amounts, but not those of a multimillionaire; Lance, apart from his high-end address, seemed to live rather simply. There was no evidence of car ownership, clubs, or expensive purchases.

                        Erica’s credit card statements revealed mostly purchases of clothing and small household