Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [24]
"Bushmills," Dillon said. "General Ferguson will be joining me, and we'll want a bottle of Cristal then."
"I'll see to it personally."
There weren't that many people in. It was too early for the evening rush, and a Monday evening anyway. Dillon accepted the Bushmills from Giuliano and waited. A moment later, Ferguson joined him.
"So--no sign of the opposition?"
"Not as yet. Champagne?"
"I suppose so."
Dillon nodded to Giuliano, who smiled and spoke to a waiter who brought the Cristal in a bucket. Giuliano opened the bottle, Ferguson did the tasting.
"Fine." He turned to Dillon. "I've had two phone calls with Tony Villiers. Let me tell you about them."
Afterwards, Dillon said, "Still nothing concrete. But Tony smells something, too. That's good enough for me."
Ferguson looked around. "Still no sign of her. You could be wrong, Sean."
"It's been known to happen. But not tonight, I think." He smiled. "I know what'll bring her."
He walked over to the pride of the bar, the extraordinary mirrored grand piano that had once belonged to Liberace, sat down, and lifted the lid. Giuliano came over with his glass of Cristal.
"All right with you?" Dillon asked.
"Of course. It's always a pleasure to hear you play. The pianist isn't in until eight."
Dillon started with a Gershwin melody, just as Harry and Billy Salter appeared at the bar entrance. Harry, who was into Savile Row suits that season, wore a navy blue chalk stripe, the kind of thing beloved of bank presidents. Billy wore an expensive-looking black bomber jacket and black slacks. They crossed to the bar and Ferguson said, "Good God, what are you rogues doing here?"
"My idea," Dillon called.
"And mine, General." Harry sat down. "Dillon's filled us in on everything."
"Damn you, Sean, that's totally out of order," Ferguson said.
"Come off it, General, as far as the Countess of Loch Dhu is concerned, we're in this together, the four of us, all tarred with the same brush."
"Dead right," Harry said. "So I'll have a glass of champagne with you and await events."
Dillon called. "Tell them about Tony Villiers."
"Oh, all right." And Ferguson did.
More people had come in, scattered around the room at various tables. Billy walked to the piano and leaned on it. Dillon was playing "A Foggy Day in London Town."
"I like that," Billy said. "'I was a stranger in the city.'"
"'Out of town were the people I knew.'" Dillon smiled. "You're looking good, Billy."
"Never mind the soft soap. What do you think she's playing at?"
"I've no idea. Why don't you ask her? She's just come in."
Billy turned and found Kate Rashid standing at the top of the steps, Rupert Dauncey beside her. She wore a black trouser suit, her hair tied back, a pair of very large diamond studs, and no other jewelry. Rupert wore a single-breasted navy blue blazer and gray slacks, a scarf at his neck.
Billy turned back. "Seeing her reminds me: There's something I always wanted to ask you, Dillon. You never married. Are you bent or something?"
Dillon spluttered and then started to laugh. When he was in control, he said, "It's simple, Billy. I'm always drawn to the wrong women."
"You mean the bad ones."
"And the Hannah Bernsteins of this world wouldn't touch me with a bargepole, not with my wicked past. Now if we could postpone this discussion of my sexual proclivity for a while, here she comes."
Kate Rashid approached and Billy went and stood behind his uncle. She passed the group at the table and moved to the piano. Rupert lit a cigarette.
"Very nice, Dillon," she said.
"I told you once before, Kate: Good barroom piano is all. I take it this is the famous Rupert Dauncey?"
"Of course. Rupert, the famous Sean Dillon."
They nodded, then Dillon shook a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros and put it in his mouth one-handed. Dauncey offered him a light and Dillon moved