Foreign Affairs Read Free

on.”
    â€”
    A n hour later, after fighting Roman rush-hour traffic, they pulled up in front of the Hassler. Stone presented himself at the front desk.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Barrington. We got your call last night, and we’ve given you the only suite left in the hotel. Do you have any luggage?”
    â€œJust the lady’s,” Stone said, indicating his companion. “My luggage won’t be here until tomorrow. Do you think yourconcierge can find me a pair of boxer shorts, size 36, a pair of black socks, and a white shirt, size 16-35?”
    â€œCertainly, sir. There’s a shop in the hotel, and if they don’t have your sizes, I’ll send a boy down into the Via Condotti, where there are many shops. Let me show you to your suite.”
    The man led them to an elevator and to the top floor. He used a key in a door and ushered them into an enormous living room.
    â€œAre you sure this is all you have left?” Stone asked.
    â€œThis is our Presidential Suite San Pietro. It’s inadequate, I know, but I’m afraid it’s the best we can offer. We’re booked up for another ten days.”
    â€œWell, I’ll just have to make do, I guess.”
    â€œLook,” Hedy said, “there’s a second bedroom—my virtue is safe!”
    The man handed over a key. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
    â€œI’d like to have my clothes pressed, my laundry done, and my shoes polished. I have a board meeting at noon.”
    â€œCertainly. I’ll send up the valet.” He departed, a fifty-dollar bill in his pocket.
    â€œI’ve got to find a cash machine and get some euros,” Stone said, half to himself. “Excuse me, I have to get out of these clothes.”
    â€œAlready?” Hedy asked. “And I thought my virtue was safe.”
    Stone found a robe in his bathroom and stripped off everything. When he got back to the living room the doorbell wasringing. He gave his clothes to the valet, with instructions to press his suit, shine his shoes, and launder his other things.
    The man accepted the clothes and handed him a shopping bag. “See if these things are satisfactory,” he said.
    Stone inspected the contents. “Perfect.” He sent the man off with another of his fifties.
    Hedy had emerged from her bedroom in her own robe. “You overtip.”
    â€œHaven’t you ever heard of Ronald Reagan’s trickledown theory?”
    â€œYes, I’ve just never seen it in operation. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some sleep in a real bed.”
    â€œOf course. Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?”
    â€œI can refuse you nothing,” she said, closing the door behind her.
    â€œWe’ll see,” Stone called after her.
    The doorbell rang again, and an envelope was slid under the door. Stone opened it to find the agenda for his board meeting. There was only one item: “Consideration of a potential site for a new Arrington Hotel in Rome.” It was the first he’d heard of it.
    He went to his own bedroom and left a wakeup call for eleven AM . He had two hours to sleep, and he wasted no time becomingunconscious.

4
    S tone swam up out of a sound sleep and wondered where he was and what that unfamiliar sound meant. He followed it to a telephone. “Yes?” he croaked.
    â€œYour eleven o’clock call, Mr. Barrington.”
    â€œThank you.” He hung up and stared at the ceiling until his eyes were fully focused, then he got up and went into the large bathroom. Several toiletry items had been laid out, and he managed a shave followed by a shower that fully woke him. He went back to his room and changed into his new underwear, socks, and shirt, tied his tie, and slipped into his freshly pressed clothes. Quite presentable, he thought, gazing into the mirror.
    He went into the living room and saw it as if for the first time: beautiful paneling,