Felicity patted him on the cheek. “Aren’t you sweet.”

“See anything outside, Dino?” Stone asked.

“A van, headed downtown,” Dino replied. “I didn’t have a shot. I called it in.” He looked at the floor beside the table. “Where’s the million bucks?”

Felicity spoke up. “Do you mean that there was actually a million dollars in that carrier bag?”

“It was Stone’s retainer,” Dino explained. “Herbie Fisher wanted legal representation.”

Felicity regarded Stone with a curious glance. “And you declined? This is not the Stone I know.”

“So,” Stone said, changing the subject, “what brings you to town, Felicity?”

“Her Majesty’s service,” she replied.

“Oh, come on,” Stone said. “Give us a hint.”

“We are not in the ‘hint’ business,” she said.

“Of course you are,” Stone said. “Hints are what you do. I mean, you never come right out and say anything; you just hint.”

“You may have noticed that I have not hinted. What on earth do you mean by refusing a fee of a million dollars?”

“You do remember Herbie, don’t you?”

“How could I forget him?” she asked. “Asked to take a photograph of an assignation from a rooftop, he fell through a skylight and broke both of one my colleague’s legs, as I recall. Of course, my colleague was already dead, but that hardly matters in the circumstances, does it?”

“It does not,” Stone said, “but you have just illustrated why I didn’t take Herbie’s money. It would have bought me ten million dollars’ worth of trouble.”

“Quite.”

“Would you like some dinner?”

“Yes, please. I couldn’t eat what they gave me at the Saudi UN embassy. I believe it was goat or something very like it.”

Stone signaled for a menu, and she glanced at it.

“Order for me, would you?”

“You’re starved?”

“Ravenous.”

Stone turned to the waiter. “Bring her the osso buco with polenta and a bottle of the Chianti Classico,” Stone said to the waiter.