Part 25 (1/2)
Stone inspected the interior before getting into the car.
”Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” the uniformed driver said.
”Good evening.” The car pulled away from the curb. ”What kind of car is this?”
”It's a Daimler limousine, sir; made by Jaguar.”
”And to whom does it belong?”
”It belongs to the emba.s.sy, sir; they have a small fleet of them; this particular one is a.s.signed to the amba.s.sador, but since he's entertaining at home this evening, he didn't need it.”
”Are these cars common in London?”
”Oh, yes; many of the foreign emba.s.sies use them, as does the Royal Family.”
Stone relaxed a little; he wasn't being abducted again. ”Where is the amba.s.sador's residence?”
”In Regents Park, sir; do you know it?”
”No, this is my first trip to London in many years, and I never got to Regents Park the first time.”
”It's about a twenty-five-minute drive this time of day, sir.”
”You're English?”
”Welsh, sir; the emba.s.sy employs quite a lot of locals. Cheaper than bringing over Yanks, I expect.”
”I'm afraid I don't even know the amba.s.sador's name.”
”It's Sumner Wellington, sir; I'm told the name went down rather well with the Queen.”
”Oh, yes, of course; he owns a big communications company,” Stone said.
”That's correct, sir; it's said that American presidents always appoint very rich men to the Court of St. James, because they can afford to do all the necessary entertaining out of their own pockets. Amba.s.sador Wellington has paid for a complete renovation of the residence, as well.”
”Sounds like an expensive job.”
”I expect so, sir.”
”But Amba.s.sador Wellington can afford it.”
”Quite so, sir. You said you were in London once before?”
”Yes, as a student; I did a hitchhiking tour of Europe one summer, and I spent a week of it in London.”
”I expect your accommodations this time are somewhat better than on your last trip.”
”Oh, yes. I spent most nights at a youth hostel, and, on one occasion, I got back after curfew and was locked out, so I slept under a railway arch somewhere.”
”So the Connaught is a big step upwards.”
”You could say that.” The man was awfully chatty for a Brit, Stone thought, especially for a chauffeur. ”Are you the amba.s.sador's regular driver?”
”No, sir, I'm just a staff driver; I've driven the amba.s.sador on a few occasions, when his regular driver wasn't available.”
”Do you like him?”
”Yes, sir, I do; I find self-made Americans are much nicer to staff than the upper-cla.s.s British. Oh, we're in Regents Park, now.”
They were driving along a wide crescent of identical buildings, with the park on their left. After a turn or two, the car glided to a stop before the residence, a very large Georgian house.
A U.S. marine opened the rear door of the car.
”Mr. Barrington?” the driver said.
Stone stopped getting out of the car.
”I was asked to give you a message.”
”Yes?”
”If you recognize someone, be careful.”
”That's it?”
”Yes, sir; I'll be waiting when you're ready to leave; just give your name to the marine on duty.”
”See you later, then.”
”Yes, sir.”
Stone got out of the car and entered the house. In the huge foyer, there was a reception line that was moving slowly. Stone got into it, behind a very American-looking couple. He was short and pudgy; she was taller, very blonde, and expensive-looking.
”Hey,” the woman said.
”Good evening,” Stone replied.
”That's what I should have said, I guess; good evening.”
”Hey works for me,” Stone laughed.
She held out her hand. ”I'm Tiffany b.u.t.ts; this is my husband, Marvin.”
Stone shook their hands.
”We're from Fort Worth, Texas,” she said. ”Are you an American?”