Free Unintended Consequences by Stuart Woods Page B

superb food and a romantic atmosphere.”
    “A wonderful combination.”
    “What was it that Lance said about you being shot at?” Helga asked.
    “Not I—another of Lance’s friends. He’s just hoping I get shot at.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Lance likes giving orders, and I have a strong antiauthoritarian streak. I hate taking them, so I always make him persuade me. It annoys him.”
    “I’m impressed that he gave you a diplomatic passport,” she said.
    “So am I, now that you mention it. I’ve always wanted one. Now I can park anywhere.”
    She laughed. “That is to be wished.”
    “How did you become entangled with Lance?”
    “I met him at a dinner party two years ago, and he charmed me into sending him the occasional report.”
    “How often do you do that?”
    “Oh, a few times a year. I don’t want to bore him.”
    “Do you know how Lance persuaded me to help him this time?”
    “How?”
    “He threatened to send you back to Sweden.”
    She threw back her head and laughed. “That’s wonderful, but don’t worry, he can’t do that.”
    “I wish I had known that at the time.”
    Their first course arrived: a slab of foie gras, sautéed medium rare. Stone tried a slice. “Mmmmmm,” he breathed. “Just wonderful.”
    “Do you know you can’t have foie gras in California anymore?” she asked.
    “I knew that,” Stone replied. “I’m a partner in a business in Los Angeles, and we’re giving it away to our guests.”
    “What sort of business, a restaurant?”
    “A hotel called The Arrington, which has four restaurants.”
    She leaned forward. “This I have read about, I think. It is in Bel-Air, is it not?”
    “It is.”
    “And how do you come to be a partner?”
    “My late wife inherited the land from her late husband, and now my son’s trust leases it to the hotel company. I am his trustee, and I serve on the board of directors.”
    “Oh,” she said, looking disappointed, “this ruins my plan.”
    “What plan is that?”
    “I was going to persuade you to move to Paris by supplying you with a lovely apartment and lots of beautiful clothes.”
    “What a nice thought,” Stone said. “Being your kept man might be interesting.”
    “But you are too rich. I can’t afford you.”
    “We have a saying in America. ‘Why buy a cow when milk is so cheap?’ You see, you can have me for the price of a dinner at Tour d’Argent.”
    “You are right,” she said. “This is a much better arrangement.”
    “And I come with my own clothes.”
    She giggled. “I have just had a wonderful thought.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Since we both report to Lance from time to time, let’s each write a report about this evening—tell him everything we had to eat and everything we do to each other after dinner!”
    “What a wonderful idea! It will annoy him no end!”
    Then one of Tour d’Argent’s famous ducks was presented to them, beautifully prepared, then eviscerated at the table by a captain and served.
    “I can’t wait to tell Lance about this,” Stone said.
    “I can’t wait to tell him what we do after dinner,” she replied.

18
    S tone sat at the desk in Helga’s sitting room at the Plaza Athénée, using her computer and printer, naked. Helga’s report to Lance was beside him, and he consulted as he wrote. “You’re really going to say this?” he asked.
    “All of it. It will be good for Lance.”
    “Okay, I’m with you. Small differences: where you say you kept my attention through the night, I’m saying you kept me
at
attention.”
    “Perfect.”
    Stone printed the document, then they both put them into Plaza Athénée envelopes and addressed them to Lance. Helga hung over his shoulders, pinching his nipples. “Oh, no,” Stone said, “I’ll be late for lunch with Marcel.”
    “Are you going to his home?”
    “No, to his office.”
    “His city home is the top two floors of his office building. The one in the Bois is his country home—well, one of them.”
    Stone got