Stone Barrington 36 - Scandalous Behavior by Stuart Woods Page B

rhythm.
    They flew across the Atlantic, and ATC vectored him to the GPS instrument approach. They touched down at dusk, ready to stretch their legs.
    Stan met them, towing a trailer for their luggage behind the Land Rover, and drove them to the house. They joined the kids and the Barnetts in the library for before-dinner drinks, then adjourned for Stone’s first dinner in his new dining room.
    Peter and Susan sat next to each other and talked animatedly about his upcoming film. He had completed a first draft of the script and was having the office make a copy for her to study and come up with ideas.
    They were back in the dining room for brandy and coffee when Stone’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He checked the caller ID and found it blocked. “Hello?”
    “It’s your neighbor across the river,” Felicity said.
    “Hang on.” Stone excused himself from the conversation, went to a corner of the room, and sank into a chair. “How are you? I was sorry not to see you at Charles’s big party.”
    “And I was sorry to miss it, but the Muddle East claimed that whole weekend. I understand he’s returning from his honeymoon early next week.”
    “I hope they had a good time,” Stone said.
    “I expect so.”
    Stone thought he detected something troubled in her voice. “Is there something you want to tell me, Felicity?”
    She took a deep breath. “Well, yes, there is. It appears that you’re going to have some less-than-desirable neighbors, unless we can do something about it.”
    “Neighbors where?”
    “Apparently, Sir Richard Curtis’s widow, next door to you, has been approached by estate agents and is considering selling the property. She had thought to sell it to an institutional buyer, like a school or perhaps even a nunnery.”
    “Of those choices I think I would prefer a nunnery for a neighbor,” Stone said. “At least they would live quietly.”
    “At the moment, that seems the most unlikely buyer,” Felicity said. “As it turned out, the estate agents she consulted had had a request in hand for several weeks from a different kind of organization, which now seems, to the agents, an ideal buyer.”
    “What kind of organization?”
    “A cult, I believe.”
    Stone sat up straight. “What is its name?”
    “The Chosen Few.”

23

    S tone froze. “What did you say?”
    “A cult, called the Chosen Few. Do you know them?”
    “Better than I’d like to,” Stone said. He explained about Peter’s film and the recent brushes with the group. “I read their leader’s FBI file—Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun—and it was not pretty.”
    “Perhaps I should speak to the Home Secretary about them,” Felicity said. “He might find them undesirable enough to keep them out of the country.”
    “What a good idea,” Stone said.
    “In the meantime, however, I think we should direct our attention to torpedoing any offer they might make for the Curtis estate. I know the widow, Glynnis. Perhaps I’ll give her a call and alert her to the nature of the Chosen Few.”
    “I would be very grateful if you could do that. Will you let me know her reaction?”
    “Certainly.”
    “I must go, now. Peter, Ben Bacchetti, and their entourage are staying here, and I have to let them entertain me.”
    “I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Good night.”
    “Good night.” Stone hung up.
    “Anything wrong, Dad?” Peter asked.
    “Not yet,” Stone replied.
    —
    S tone was finally able to lure Susan into the master suite for the night and for a late breakfast, as well. They were tired from their flight and had slept in.
    “I like your new beds,” she said.
    “You are welcome there anytime at all.”
    The phone rang. “Hello?”
    “Stone,” Felicity said, “I’ve spoken to Glynnis Curtis, and the news is not good. She learned after Richard’s death that he was not as well off as she had thought—bad investments, or something—and she feels that the only way she can secure her future is to sell the estate as soon as