Read Online Stone Barrington 36 - Scandalous Behavior by Stuart Woods - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Woods
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Teterboro, New Jersey, which is just across the Hudson from New York City. None of our legs is more than about three hours, and we should be at my house in the late afternoon, tired and sleepy. We’ll have a good dinner at home, then I will ravish you, and we will sleep like puppies. How does that sound for a day?”
“It sounds just perfect,” she said.
13
S tone was barely awake at dawn, when Susan crept out of bed and went to the Lilac Room to order her breakfast. He had his eggs alone, then showered, shaved, dressed, and closed his suitcases. He and Susan met Sir Charles and Lady Bourne, as arranged, at the car, and Stan came with them to the airport to drive the car home.
Their flight to Le Bourget was short and uneventful, and they said goodbye there.
“Thank you very much for the offer of your house,” Charles said. “It is very kind of you.”
“Thank you for a very fine property and the opportunity to meet so many of your friends last evening,” Stone said.
Their car arrived, and the driver took their luggage. Stonegave Charles the address of the house, and they said goodbye, knowing that they probably would not meet again.
Then, with the airplane refueled, they took off in clear skies for Horta, in the Azores. Half an hour later they were at flight level 410—forty-one thousand feet—with a true airspeed of 430 knots and a ground speed of 410. Stone pointed to a dotted circle on the center screen of the panel. “This is the range ring,” he said to Susan. “It shows us how far we can fly and still have forty-five minutes of fuel left. As you can see, Horta is well within our range.”
“Wonderful. Is it possible to make calls on my cell from the airplane?”
“No, but we have a satellite phone.”
“May I make some business calls?”
“Of course. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the right rear seat. A table is built into the wall—pull up and out. The phone is across the aisle, built into the bulkhead. It’s just as if you were calling from another country.”
“I know all about that,” she said, taking off her seat belt.
Five minutes later he looked back and saw her talking on the phone and making notes on a pad resting on the foldout table.
He flew on, checking the range ring every few minutes, happy that his new airplane had the range to fly this route, rather than going north through Iceland, where there was the constant threat of bad weather outside the summer months.
They refueled at Horta, then continued on to St. John’s and, after refueling, to Teterboro, New Jersey, where the airplanewas based at Jet Aviation. They were met by U.S. Customs and cleared, then their luggage was taken on a cart to the front door of the FBO, where Stone’s factotum, Fred Flicker, awaited them with the car. Forty minutes later they were at home, then they got a good night’s sleep.
The following morning, Stone gave Susan a tour of the house, pointing out his mother’s paintings, then took her down to his office and introduced her to Joan, who had piled his mail and messages on his desk.
“I’d like to unpack, now,” Susan said, “and you seem to have enough to keep you busy here.”
“Phone down to the kitchen, and Helene will bring you some lunch, then meet me in my study for drinks at six,” he said, “and we’ll have dinner there.” She left, and Stone called Dino.
“You’re still alive?” Dino asked.
“You always ask me that, as if you expect a different outcome.”
“One of these days,” Dino said. “I hope your flight was uneventful.”
“We had a little weather at St. John’s and had to fly the instrument approach, but the rest was severe clear.”
“We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”
“We are: seven-thirty at Patroon?”
“See you then.”
Stone hung up and tackled his mail. Additional copies of the closing documents on the house had been sent from the London office, and he instructed Joan: “File these under Windward Hall.”
“It sounds just perfect,” she said.
13
S tone was barely awake at dawn, when Susan crept out of bed and went to the Lilac Room to order her breakfast. He had his eggs alone, then showered, shaved, dressed, and closed his suitcases. He and Susan met Sir Charles and Lady Bourne, as arranged, at the car, and Stan came with them to the airport to drive the car home.
Their flight to Le Bourget was short and uneventful, and they said goodbye there.
“Thank you very much for the offer of your house,” Charles said. “It is very kind of you.”
“Thank you for a very fine property and the opportunity to meet so many of your friends last evening,” Stone said.
Their car arrived, and the driver took their luggage. Stonegave Charles the address of the house, and they said goodbye, knowing that they probably would not meet again.
Then, with the airplane refueled, they took off in clear skies for Horta, in the Azores. Half an hour later they were at flight level 410—forty-one thousand feet—with a true airspeed of 430 knots and a ground speed of 410. Stone pointed to a dotted circle on the center screen of the panel. “This is the range ring,” he said to Susan. “It shows us how far we can fly and still have forty-five minutes of fuel left. As you can see, Horta is well within our range.”
“Wonderful. Is it possible to make calls on my cell from the airplane?”
“No, but we have a satellite phone.”
“May I make some business calls?”
“Of course. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the right rear seat. A table is built into the wall—pull up and out. The phone is across the aisle, built into the bulkhead. It’s just as if you were calling from another country.”
“I know all about that,” she said, taking off her seat belt.
Five minutes later he looked back and saw her talking on the phone and making notes on a pad resting on the foldout table.
He flew on, checking the range ring every few minutes, happy that his new airplane had the range to fly this route, rather than going north through Iceland, where there was the constant threat of bad weather outside the summer months.
They refueled at Horta, then continued on to St. John’s and, after refueling, to Teterboro, New Jersey, where the airplanewas based at Jet Aviation. They were met by U.S. Customs and cleared, then their luggage was taken on a cart to the front door of the FBO, where Stone’s factotum, Fred Flicker, awaited them with the car. Forty minutes later they were at home, then they got a good night’s sleep.
The following morning, Stone gave Susan a tour of the house, pointing out his mother’s paintings, then took her down to his office and introduced her to Joan, who had piled his mail and messages on his desk.
“I’d like to unpack, now,” Susan said, “and you seem to have enough to keep you busy here.”
“Phone down to the kitchen, and Helene will bring you some lunch, then meet me in my study for drinks at six,” he said, “and we’ll have dinner there.” She left, and Stone called Dino.
“You’re still alive?” Dino asked.
“You always ask me that, as if you expect a different outcome.”
“One of these days,” Dino said. “I hope your flight was uneventful.”
“We had a little weather at St. John’s and had to fly the instrument approach, but the rest was severe clear.”
“We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”
“We are: seven-thirty at Patroon?”
“See you then.”
Stone hung up and tackled his mail. Additional copies of the closing documents on the house had been sent from the London office, and he instructed Joan: “File these under Windward Hall.”
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