“You own two apartments at 1010?”
“I do. When she moves back to her place, I’ll sell the one downstairs.”
“When is she scheduled to move back into her own place?”
“Three months ago,” Vanessa replied. “Maybe I can hurry the process a little.”
“How?”
She explained her plan.
* * *
—
The following morning, early, he phoned Betty.
“Hello, Stone,” she said without enthusiasm.
“Good morning, Betty. I’ve heard from Vanessa.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. We spoke on the phone, but she wouldn’t tell me where she’s moved. She asked me to speak to you and say that she’s going to put the 1010 apartment on the market today, so you should expect a Realtor to turn up with prospects.”
“That’s very inconvenient,” Betty said.
“Vanessa says that you have an apartment of your own, and it’s silly to keep money tied up at 1010. Surely your apartment can be moved into after six months.”
“There were delays.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to live with that. She’d like you to move immediately. She wants the furnishings for her new apartment.”
“I don’t really feel like moving,” Betty said.
“Then I’ll have to have you removed.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Betty, you’re a guest, not a tenant. You don’t have a lease. All I have to do is to have your things put in storage and change the locks.”
“Tell Vanessa I want to talk to her first.”
“She says she doesn’t want to speak with you, that everything she has to say was in her letter to you.”
“This is very unkind of her.”
“It was very kind of her to allow you to stay in her home for six months. The first prospective buyers will be there at one o’clock, and there will be others before the day is out. The Realtor has the key, and she’ll let herself in. Please ask the housekeeper to tidy up after you. Goodbye, Betty.” Stone hung up, and turned to Vanessa. “Why do you think this is going to work?”
“She won’t be able to live with Realtors and viewers prowling around the place. She has a thing about her privacy. She’ll go.”
52
Stone arrived at 1010 Fifth Avenue late in the afternoon, and was allowed access by the front-desk man. “Is Mrs. Baker in?” he asked.
“No, sir,” the man replied, “she moved out a lot of stuff this morning and said she wouldn’t be back.”
“Did she leave her key?”
“No, sir.”
Stone went upstairs and used Vanessa’s key to let himself in. “Hello?” he called.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice said, then the maid came into the foyer. “Hello, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Is Betty here?”
“No, sir. She moved out this morning, said she was going back to her own place. I’ve been cleaning all day, getting the place ready to be shown.”
“Please go on with your work,” Stone said, then he called Vanessa’s cell number.
“Hello?”
“I’m in. Are you upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“You can come down now. The maid is here cleaning.”
“I’ll be right there.” She hung up.
Stone took a look around the place: it seemed very clean and less cluttered with bric-a-brac.
Vanessa let herself in. “Brenda?” she called, and the maid came out of a bedroom and greeted her warmly. “You can go on cleaning,” Vanessa said. “There won’t be any buyers looking today. And, Brenda?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“My visit here is just between us. I don’t want Mother to know where I am or what I’m doing.”
“I understand, Ms. Baker.” She went back to work.
The house phone rang, and Vanessa picked it up. “Yes? Please send him right up.” She hung up. “It’s the locksmith.”
“Tell him what you want done,” Stone said. “I’ll have a seat in the library.”
He went into the room and found an interesting book.
* * *
—
An hour later, Vanessa came into the room and handed him some keys. “These are for you—both apartments; they’re marked. Brenda will start working upstairs tomorrow and will dust in here each day. I’ve called my Realtor, and she’ll be here in a few minutes. Her office is just around the corner. I’m expecting my decorator friend in an hour or so.”
“I’m happy here,” Stone said. “If there’s anything you want to take to my house, we’ll just put it in the trunk of the car.”
Stone went back to his reading. After a few minutes, he heard the house phone ring, and after that, the doorbell. Vanessa came into the library with a middle-aged woman in a Chanel suit. “Stone, this is Margot Goodale, my Realtor. Margot, this is my friend Stone Barrington. He’s also my attorney and can speak for me.” They left the room.
Finally, Vanessa came back alone and made them both a drink. Margot says we’ll ask six million nine and take six and a half.”
“That’s what Peter paid for the penthouse,” Stone replied.
Vanessa sat down in a neighboring chair. “Somehow I feel I’ve crossed a river in my life,” she said. “Mother is out of my hair, now, and I want to keep it that way.”
“I’ll do what I can to help,” Stone said, “and I’m happy to have you stay on with me as long as you like.”
“I’m going to take you up on that,” Vanessa said. “I’d rather be there than in London or L.A. right now.”
“Good. I take it from your earlier conversation that you want me to represent you?”
“I’d like that very much.”
“I’m pretty much in the advice business these days,” Stone said. “When you have a need for actual legal work, like selling this apartment, I have a small group of lawyers at Woodman & Weld who handle that sort of thing. It’s run by another partner, Herbert Fisher; you’ll meet him eventually. If I’m ever out of touch, call my secretary, Joan, and she’ll connect you with Herb.”