Bel-Air Dead (10 page)

“Arrington, you can afford anything your heart desires,” Stone replied. “By the way, I have the papers for your line of credit.” He opened the envelope and handed them to her.

“I think this is yours,” she said, handing back his partnership agreement. “And congratulations again.”

“Thank you; you helped make it possible.”

She glanced at the first page of the agreement. “A hundred million dollars!”

“You don’t have to borrow it all, just enough for the Champion deal and whatever else you want, like the airplane.”

“Do you have a pen?” She accepted one and signed the papers where Stone indicated.

Manolo came out with iced tea for both of them, and Stone handed him the partnership and line of credit agreements in the envelope, first writing the address on the outside. “Will you fax these, then FedEx the originals to New York, please, Manolo?”

“Of course, Mr. Stone.”

“I’ve been making some plans, Stone,” Arrington said. “Let me tell you about them.”

“I’d like to hear them.” He sat back and morphed into his listening lawyer mode.

19

Arrington brushed a strand of her blonde hair from her forehead and took a long drink of her iced tea. “I haven’t told you about this,” she said, “and you haven’t visited, so you haven’t seen it.”

“Seen what?”

“My house.”

“I recall your saying that you were thinking of building.”

“That was years ago. I went a little crazy after Vance’s death. I had never had access to huge amounts of money, and Vance was—how shall I put it?—prudent. I looked for a big house in Virginia and didn’t find anything I liked, so I decided to build the house to end all houses, and I did. Twenty thousand square feet of it.”

“Wow.”

“Well, yes. I hired an architect and an interior designer, and I went on a shopping spree all over the South to find just the right pieces to furnish it. The local gentry were peeved, because I was denuding the antique shops in the county and running the prices up on whatever was left, but eventually, I got it done.” She sighed. “Perhaps ‘overdone’ would be a better word.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t, and I don’t want you looking through old
Architectural Digest
s for the piece they did. So, for weeks now, I’ve been tagging pieces in the house, and I’m going to throw the biggest auction anybody in Virginia has ever seen. Sotheby’s is sending down an auctioneer. And—you won’t believe this—I’ve found a buyer for the house whose tastes are probably better than mine. I won’t get all my money out of the place, but I’ll get three-quarters of it and be happy to have it.”

“Where will you live?” Stone asked.

“At Champion Farms,” she said.

“I wasn’t aware there was a suitable house on the property.”

“There isn’t, but there used to be. It was contemporaneous with Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, but it was destroyed by fire in the 1920s. A researcher has been able to find the original plans in the Charlottesville library—no one even knew they were there. So, I’m going to re-create the place on the original spot. It’s wildly overgrown, but there are beautiful trees, including a neglected colonnade of old oaks to the house. I’ll replace the damaged and fallen trees.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“It’s going to take all my time for the next two years, and then I’ll be looking for another project to keep me busy. I’ve learned that I’m dangerous when I’m not busy.”

Stone laughed. “I can imagine.”

“There’s something else: I want to talk to you about Peter.”

“All right, perhaps it’s time you did.”

“Peter is fifteen, and he’s at Episcopal High School, in Alexandria ; it’s the best prep school in the South, on a level with the best New England preps. He is very, very bright, and he’s a grade ahead. He’s also very handsome, and tall for his age.” She retrieved a photograph from her purse and handed it to Stone. “For you.”

Stone stared at the boy—young man, really—and sighed. “He looks extraordinarily like my father.”

“I remember that photograph in your house,” she said. “Anyway, the school was reluctant to accept him at first, but then three of the senior faculty had a long lunch with him—I wasn’t present—and they were impressed with his maturity and seriousness, so they accepted him as a boarding student in the ninth grade. From what they’ve said about him so far, he’ll probably graduate in three years, maybe even two.”

“That’s breathtaking,” Stone said.

“I’m sure you were bright, too, Stone,” she said. “God knows he didn’t get it from me.”

“Now, now.”

Arrington reached into the large handbag resting next to her chair and handed Stone a thick envelope. “This is my will and the trust I set up for Peter. I’d like you and the people at Woodman & Weld to look it over and redraw it. My beneficiaries haven’t changed, but I’ll be interested to see if you think the trust needs work.”

“Of course,” Stone said. “We’ll do that as a courtesy.”

“You’ll never make any money that way, Stone.”

“We’ll do all right.”

“You’ll see that I’ve appointed you Peter’s trustee. I didn’t tell you, because, I suppose, I felt invulnerable, but recently I had a brush with ovarian cancer. They caught it early, but I had to have my ovaries out, and now I’m on hormones. If I get sick again, I’ll give you as much notice as I can, but you could, possibly, find yourself being a father to your son.”

“That would be an honor,” Stone said.

“Considering that you’re his father, it’s more of a duty,” she said. “Maybe he’ll find that out one day, but I don’t want you to tell him. He’s Vance’s son to the world, and that will be an advantage to him, if you help him handle it properly.”

“I can see how it would be.”

“You’re going to have to keep it from him how rich he’s going to be.”

“I expect he may have already figured that out,” Stone said, “and if he hasn’t, the kids at his school are going to tell him.”

“I suppose you’re right. Then we’ll both have to do what we can to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground.”

“One way is not to give him control of his trust until he’s older,” Stone said, “perhaps at thirty-five.”

“That’s a very good idea, and one I’m happy to leave in your hands.”

“Thank you; I’ll try and do right by him.”

“I’d like to bring him to New York to see you,” she said.

“You’d both be very welcome; I’ll look forward to it.”

“Now,” she said, taking another sip of her iced tea, “what are we going to do about this Centurion business?”

“You want my recommendation?”

“Yes, please, and I’ll tell you up front, I’ll follow it. I’m not equipped to deal with this.”

“All right. First, I think that you should not sell your shares. In fact, I think you should buy more.”

“Why?”

“Because Centurion is giving you a better return on your investment that just about anything could. It’s extremely well run and profitable. Right now, you own a third of the shares. I think you should, over the next few years, increase your share to fifty-one percent.”

“My goodness!” Arrington said, sounding a little breathless. “I never thought of controlling the studio! Can I afford to buy that many more shares? Terrence Prince has run up the price, hasn’t he?”

“If we can get one or two owners on our side, that will kill the sale, and the price will go down. There may even be some who would prefer to sell to you at a lower price than to get into bed with Prince.”

“What do you think of him?” she asked.

“I think he’s a shark; maybe even a killer.”

“Then he’ll do just fine in the Virginia hunt country,” she said.

“I’d heard that he’d once bought a house there, then flipped it.”

“Now he’s bought another,” Arrington said. “I’ve sold him mine.”

“Prince is your buyer?”

“I think he bought the place as a way to get next to me and get my Centurion shares,” she said, laughing. “We closed yesterday.”

Stone began to laugh. “That’s wonderful.”

“You may have the pleasure of telling him I’m not budging, if you like.”

“Not yet; we still have to be sure we have a voting majority of the shares on our side.”

“I suppose so. Would you like to go to the Bel-Air party with me?”

“I’m already going with Mike Freeman, the CEO of Strategic Services, a client of mine, so you must join us.”

“I’d love to. Where’s Dino? Surely he’s here.”

“Out running around town,” Stone said. “Mike’s coming for drinks at six; Dino will be back by then.”

“Well, then,” she said, “I think I’ll go and have a nap. Care to join me?”

“Maybe later,” Stone said. “I want to read your estate documents.”

“Oh, all right.” She set down her iced tea, picked up her handbag, and walked toward the main house. Just before entering, she looked over her shoulder to be sure he was watching, then gave him a little smile.

20

Arrington excused herself to change for the Bel-Air Hotel party, and Stone changed clothes as well. Uncharacteristically, in L.A., he wore a suit and tie.

Mike Freeman arrived on time, and Stone sat him down by the pool and ordered drinks. “There’s someone joining us, if that’s all right,” Stone said.

“Of course,” Mike replied.

“Her name is Arrington Calder, an old friend and now my client.”

“Vance Calder’s widow?”

“Yes, and this is her house.”

“It’s extraordinary,” Mike said, looking around.

“So is Arrington,” Stone said.

She chose that moment to appear, wearing a white silk pajama suit, so Stone didn’t have to continue the description. He introduced the two.

Dino trotted past them. “I’ll change and be with you shortly,” he said, disappearing into the guesthouse.

“Mike,” Stone said, “Arrington is thinking of buying herself a jet, and I hope you can advise her, having had some experience yourself along those lines.”

“Of course,” Mike said. “We often advise clients on jet purchases. What will be your typical mission, Arrington?”

“Mission?”

“What sort of travel will you be doing?”

“Well,” she said, “I’m based near Charlottesville, Virginia, and I sometimes travel to L.A., Dallas, Miami, other cities.”

“Would you like to fly internationally?”

“Yes, to Europe.”

“How about the Far East?”

“I don’t go there very often.”

“If you don’t need to fly regularly nonstop to Tokyo or Hong Kong, you’ll save a great deal of money on an airplane by giving up range.”

“Then let’s save some money.”

Mike raised a finger. “You know, a client sent me a brochure on an airplane last week to ask my opinion. I think it’s in my briefcase. It’s a Gulfstream Three, known as a G-III. It might be just the thing.”

“Why didn’t your client buy it?” she asked.

“Because of the Far East travel; he decided he needed a longer-range airplane.”

“Would this G-III get me to London, nonstop?”

“Yes, and to anywhere else in Europe,” Mike said. “It’s three years old, but very low time—less than a thousand hours, as I recall. It was owned by an elderly couple, but he died recently, and his widow is not well enough to travel anymore. It has a very nice custom interior, and it’s based in Burbank. I can arrange for you to see it, if you like.”

“I’d like that very much,” Arrington said. “Will you show it to me?”

“Of course,” Mike said. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got out his cell phone and stepped away. He was back in a few minutes. “May I pick you up at ten tomorrow morning?” he asked Arrington.

“Perfect.”

“This is a very good time to buy an airplane,” he said, “and a bad time to sell. When those three automobile executives each flew alone to Washington in their private jets to beg for money from the government, that knocked the bottom out of the market for jet airplanes. Since then, the recession has slowed aircraft sales badly, and although things are picking up again, they’re not where they were a couple of years ago. Airplanes of the size and quality of the G-III are a particularly good buy.”

“I’ll bring my checkbook,” Arrington said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Mike replied, chuckling. “Buying an airplane is a bit like buying a house: a title search has to be done and financing arranged. Then the logbooks have to be gone over and a pre-purchase inspection completed, and insurance obtained. I can help with all that.”

“I expect Arrington will make it a cash purchase,” Stone said, “so that should shorten the process.”

“This particular G-III has been on a Gulfstream maintenance program since new,” Mike said, “so that will help, too.”

Dino came out of the guesthouse in his best Armani suit. “Ready when you are,” he said.

Manolo had brought around Vance Calder’s Bentley Arnage, and Stone drove them to the Bel-Air Hotel, two minutes away.

As they walked across the bridge from the parking lot over the little creek that ran through the property, they saw that the lawns were full of people, drinking champagne and looking happy. From the top of the bridge, Stone spotted Terrence Prince, surrounded by a knot of people.

“There’s the purchaser of your Virginia house,” Stone said to Arrington. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Why not?” Arrington replied.

Stone led his group toward Prince, snagging champagne glasses along the way. Stone and Prince shook hands, and he made the introductions. Carolyn Blaine was among Prince’s group.

“I’m very happy to meet you,” Prince said to Arrington, shaking her hand. “I have a thousand questions to ask you about your house.”

“It’s your house now,” Arrington replied, “but I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, including about the colony of raccoons in the attic and the bat infestation in the cellar.”

Prince looked startled, then laughed. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said. “I understand you’re about to take ownership of Virginia Champion Farms.”

“That is so,” she replied, “and I’m going to build a house there.”

“Tell me about it,” Prince said, cutting her out of the group like a sheepdog at work.

Mike was talking to someone he knew, and Carolyn drew Stone aside. “So,” she said, “when can I tell Prince about the Calder property?”