disappeared from your life until midday tomorrow. Don’t try to find me.”
Stone went down to the garage, pulled the cover off the Blaise, the French sports car he had bought a year before, and backed it out of the garage. Ann was standing under the awning of her building with a couple of small bags when he arrived. He pressed the trunk button, and the doorman set her luggage inside, then he pressed the button that opened the gullwing door on the passenger side, and she got in. And offered him a kiss.
“Good God, what is this machine?”
“It’s a Blaise.”
“Aha! I read about it in the Times last year. It made quite a splash at the auto show.”
“It did. I bought it from my friend Marcel duBois, who is its builder.”
“Is he the same friend who gave you Fred?”
“He is.” Stone drove up Madison, took a left on East Sixty-sixth Street, crossed Central Park, and soon they were across the Harlem River Bridge and on the Sawmill River Parkway. He tuned in some jazz on the satellite radio and pressed the map button on the huge glass display screen and selected the address of the Connecticut house. The route appeared on the screen. “That’s where we’re going,” he said.
“Washington? I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never been.”
“It’s the prettiest village in Connecticut, bar none.” He pressed a button on the steering wheel and said, “Set the temperature at sixty-eight degrees and the fan on auto.” The number appeared on the screen, and cool air came into the cabin.
“Does it drive itself?” she asked.
“Almost. If there’s an obstruction in the road, like a deer or a wreck, it will stop us faster and more smoothly than I could, but otherwise, it leaves the driving to me, which is more fun.”
There was the sound of a cell phone ringing, and Ann dug it out of her purse. “Hello? Hi, boss.”
“Hi, Kate,” Stone shouted.
“Yes, he’s driving us up to Connecticut. I’ll be in the office by noon tomorrow.” She covered the phone. “She says hi back. Yes, I have. I’ll e-mail my draft to you, and you can send back your changes and I’ll incorporate them and send you a final draft. We’ll do our best to have a good time. Bye.” She hung up and pressed some keys to send the e-mail.
“I guess I should have expected that,” Stone said.
“I’m away, but I’m not out of touch. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.”
“Do what you have to do, I’ll adapt.”
“That’s sweet of you, but it would be nice if I didn’t have to talk to anybody from the campaign, even Kate, for a few hours.”
“Then switch off your phone.”
“I can’t do that. I’d run the risk of seeing something about the campaign on TV that I don’t already know.”
“God forbid.”
“That’s how you operate in these circumstances. You have to know everything before some reporter asks you about it.” Her phone rang. “Hello, Chris. I’m taking the day off, can it wait until tomorrow? And I’ll want to know who else is on. You’re sweet.” She hung up. “Chris Matthews. He wants me on his Sunday show next week.”
“I haven’t seen you on TV yet.”
“I try not to appear too often. I wait until I have something important to say.”
“A good policy. What will you say next weekend? Has something important happened?”
“Something will. And just about everything is important at this stage of the game.”
An hour and a half later they pulled into Stone’s driveway and came to a stop in front of the cottage.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Thank you.” He took their bags inside and upstairs, and she followed.
“How about a nap before dinner?” she asked, kissing him.
“You talked me into it,” Stone replied, working on his buttons.
They dined at the West Street Grill, in Litchfield, and they both saw people they knew.
“So we’re an item now,” Ann said.
“Willy-nilly.”
“Okay by me,” she said.
Then they went home and took another nap.
21
Early light was filtering through the blinds in Stone’s Connecticut bedroom when, suddenly, “The Stars and Stripes Forever” filled the room at high volume.
Stone sat up in bed, his hands over his ears. Ann Keaton slept soundly beside him, undisturbed. He shook her. “Ann, turn off your cell phone.”
“Huh?” she said sleepily, then she sat up and looked at him dumbly. “What?”
Stone pointed at the bedside table. “Your cell phone!”
Ann took some serious-looking plugs from her ears. “Oh!” She picked up the phone. “Hello?”
Stone collapsed onto the bed, his ears ringing.
“What? Who