Woods, Stuart - Stone Barrington 39 - Sex, Lies & Serious Money by Woods Stuart

Author:Woods, Stuart [Woods, Stuart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-10-25T05:00:00+00:00

29

LAURENCE TOOK A DEEP BREATH and remembered to be British. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Have you any questions for me?”

“Yeah,” a sixty-year-old woman said, “what’s this horseshit about your being a schoolmaster at some upper-crust school in the U.K.?”

“Assistant schoolmaster, at Eton College, and the crust doesn’t get any more upper than that. I resigned yesterday, when your British counterparts made it impossible for me to return to a quiet academic life.”

“You blame the press?”

“Oh, yes, for everything. Always.” That got a laugh.

“What did you teach?”

“English literature and art history.”

“Why?”

“Because those are my subjects, just as maths and sciences might be another master’s.”

Someone else took over. “Where’d you go to college?”

“Magdalen College, Oxford.”

“Which one, Maudlin or Oxford University?”

“They are collocated.”

“What does that mean?”

“In the same place, one inside the other.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Google it. Next question?”

“Why did you buy this house?” She motioned at her surroundings.

“What? This house?”

“Yes.”

“I think Faith told you whose house this is. My only residence is in New York. I sold my Palm Beach house yesterday.”

“I thought that was your father’s place.”

“Until his death, four months ago.”

“Did he leave you any money?”

“He left me his house.”

“Now that you’re a billionaire, what are you going to do with it?”

“I’m a great deal less than a billionaire. Do your homework.”

“How are you going to spend it?”

“I think I’ll put about half of it into charitable trusts and piss away the rest.”

“Piss it away on what?”

“Anything I like.”

“Don’t you have a house in England?”

“My family does.”

“Who are your family?”

“People who don’t like to read about themselves in newspapers.”

The kid intruder spoke up. “Don’t you have an elaborate security system around this house?”

“You’ll have to ask Faith, it’s her house.”

“I have no idea!” Faith shouted. “I haven’t read the instructions yet.”

“Do you own a gun?” the kid asked.

“I’m an Englishman. We don’t own guns, except to kill birds and game.”

“How about a handgun?”

“We don’t own handguns. They’re for shooting people—our police frown on that.”

“Aren’t you an American, not a Brit?”

“I was born here, raised there.”

“So you’re a half-breed?”

“Sounds about right.”

“What’s your middle initial, B, stand for?”

“Bastard.” Another laugh.

“Are you related to Laurence Olivier?”

“No, not even when he was alive.”

“Then why is your name spelled like his?”

“It’s a mystery. Perhaps my mother was frightened by his Hamlet.”

“What Hamlet was that?”

“Stage or film, take your pick. Anybody got a real question?”

“What do you think of American women?”

“They terrify me.”

“Why?”

“Look at Faith—isn’t she terrifying?” Faith howled.

“Where are you going from here?”

“I’m already in California, so it’s an easy choice.”

“What do you like about California?”

“More places to get lost.”

“Why do you want to get lost?”

“So I won’t have to answer questions like this.”

“Where will home be?”

“Like the song says, ‘Any place I hang my hat.’ Except I don’t own a hat.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve got to go somewhere.”

“No, I plan to just dematerialize, as if I were on Star Trek. No one will ever see or hear from me again. I mean, what’s money for, if not to buy complete isolation.”

“How can a person live in complete isolation?”

“I’ll send out for pizza and Chinese.

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