Lucid Intervals (2010)

care of you,” she replied. “Let her know if you’d like some dinner.” She returned to the cockpit and closed the door behind her.
    Nancy returned. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.
    “I’d like a glass of Champagne,” Felicity said, “and a telephone.”
    “Certainly,” Nancy said, and she brought both.
    Felicity was still on the phone when Stone went aft to the private cabin, removed his jacket, loosened his tie and quickly fell asleep on one of the compact beds.

59
    A s soon as the airplane rolled to a full stop and the engines were cut off, Nancy had the door open. Stone and Felicity, freshly showered and dressed, came forward to where Captain Suzanne Alley awaited them at the stairs. She handed Stone a card.
    “Please call me when you know your return plans, and we’ll be ready,” she said.
    Stone thanked her, and slipped the card into his pocket. He and Felicity descended to a waiting Bentley Arnage and were driven away.
    “Do you want to tell me what you’re going to do?” Stone asked.
    “No,” Felicity replied. “If I recount my plan to you, just hearing it might cause me to . . . What’s the American expression? Chicken out?”
    “That’s it,” Stone said. “Come to think of it, I’d rather not know.”
    As they approached the airport gate, Stone saw a television van with an antenna on top and two other cars waiting there, and they fell in behind the Bentley.
    The driver lowered the glass partition and asked, “Excuse me, madam, to what address would you like to be driven?”
    “To Number Ten Downing Street, please,” Felicity replied.
    Stone looked at her askance, but she said nothing.
     
     
     
    AT NUMBER TEN the prime minister’s secretary knocked on the door of the Cabinet Room.
    “Come!” a voice growled.
    The man opened the door and stepped in. “Please excuse me, Prime Minister,” he said, “but we’ve had rather an odd report from Blackbush Airport.”
    “What is it?”
    “A Treasury officer, who was arriving there by aeroplane, called to say that he is certain that he saw Dame Felicity Devonshire alight from a jet and get into a chauffeured car.”
    The PM’s eyebrows shot up. “And where did she go?”
    “The man is following in his own car, and he says her car was met at the gate by several members of the media, and she seems to be headed for Whitehall, should arrive in about twenty minutes.”
    “Call the foreign minister and the home secretary and tell them I want them here now and to use the rear entrance, through the garden.”
    “Yes, Prime Minister.”
     
     
     
    THE BENTLEY DROVE past Buckingham Palace and down the Mall, through Admiralty Arch and past Trafalgar Square to Whitehall, where it came to a barrier at the entrance to Downing Street. Felicity put down her window and offered her identification to the policeman on guard there. “They’re with me,” she said, hooking a thumb in the direction of her media escort.
    They pulled up in front of Number Ten, and another police officer opened the rear door.
    “Just a moment,” Felicity said to Stone. “Let’s let our friends get into position.”
    Half a minute later, cameras were pointed at the Bentley, and Felicity got out, signaling to Stone to follow. Lights were switched on.
    “Dame Felicity,” a woman with a microphone said, “what is the occasion of your visit to Number Ten today?”
    “I’m here at the invitation of the prime minister,” Felicity said, “and I’m sure he’ll tell me when I am inside.” She brushed past the cameras with Stone in tow and flashed her identification to the policeman guarding the front door. “The gentleman is with me,” she said. He rapped sharply on the door, and it was opened wide. The PM’s private secretary was waiting in the foyer.
    “Good morning, Dame Felicity,” he said. “The prime minister is expecting you in the Cabinet Room.”
    Felicity didn’t even slow down, and another minion barely got the door open for her in time. She swept into the Cabinet Room with Stone close behind. Three men sat at the long table, and they stood as she entered.
    “Good morning, Prime Minister,” she said, ignoring the other two. “May I present Mr. Stone Barrington, of the New York law firm of Woodman and Weld, who is present as my legal adviser. And as my witness.”
    The three faces fell a bit as Stone pulled out a chair for Felicity, then took one for himself.
    “Prime Minister,” Felicity said, “would you prefer the foreign