Unintended Consequences - By Stuart Woods

60





Stone sat, too worn out even to get up and get himself a drink. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, a man was standing in the doorway. He hadn’t heard him approach.

He was small, perhaps five-five or -six, and wiry, with short, thick gray hair. He looked to be fiftyish, and he was wearing a well-fitted, three-piece tweed suit.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. His accent was Cockney.

“Good afternoon,” Stone replied. “Where did you come from?”

“Ms. Robertson escorted me from her office.”

“Ah, you’re here to deliver a gift from M’sieur duBois.”

“That is correct, sir. My name is Frederick Flicker.” He handed Stone a thick buff-colored envelope. “My credentials.”

“Credentials?” Stone asked.

“My particulars, Mr. Barrington. I would be grateful if you would peruse them. If you have any questions, I would be pleased to answer them.”

Stone opened the envelope and shook out a couple of sheets of paper and a binder holding many more pages.

“May I get you a glass of your bourbon while you’re reading them, sir?” Flicker nodded toward the bar.

“Yes, thank you,” Stone replied. “Fill a whiskey glass with ice, then fill it with bourbon.”

Flicker did as instructed, selecting the Knob Creek without being told.

Stone took a sip. “How did you know which bourbon?”

“Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

Stone set the papers in his lap. “Why don’t you just tell me about yourself, Mr. Flicker? I’m too tired to digest all this. And please sit down. Fix yourself a drink, first, if you like.”

“Thank you, sir, but no,” Flicker said. He sat down. “First, to business. I was born fifty years ago next month in London, the East End, within the sound of Bow Bells.”

“Which makes you a genuine Cockney, does it not?”

“Just so, sir,” Fred said in his genuine Cockney accent. “I was educated at the local grammar school but could not afford to attend university, so at seventeen I enlisted in the Royal Marines. I served thirty-two years in the Commando Brigade, retiring with the rank of regimental sergeant major. I fought in Northern Ireland, Iraq, and Afghanistan. And, since I understand you sometimes have security concerns, you should know I was twice the Royal Marines pistol champion.”

“That is an impressive record, Mr. Flicker.”

“I would be pleased, sir, if you would call me Fred.”

“Certainly, Fred.”

“After my retirement I was at loose ends, so I attended a renowned school for butlers in London, and after that, the Bentley chauffeurs’ training course, plus a course in high-performance and defensive driving. Then I was employed for a year by M’sieur duBois at his Paris home and office as second butler. I regret to say that I found my character and nature incompatible with those of the head butler, whom I thought insufferably French, with a profound disrespect for anything English, so I tendered my resignation ten days ago, leaving with a resounding recommendation from M’sieur duBois, which you will find in my file.”

“I see,” Stone said, and he thought he was beginning to. “Fred, am I to understand that you are a gift to me from M’sieur duBois?”

“Quite right, Mr. Barrington. M’sieur duBois has given you one year of my service, paid in advance. After that, we will see if we may reach an accommodation regarding the future.”

“Well,” said Stone, “welcome to my household, Fred.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fred said. “Might I begin by asking Ms. Robertson to give me a tour of the house and kitchens and to introduce me to the cook?”

“What a good idea,” Stone said.

“Oh, and I presume you have a wine cellar?”

“I do.”

“Then perhaps I should immediately cellar the dozen cases of very fine French wines that M’sieur duBois has also sent you. After all, wine is a living thing.” In Fred’s Cockney accent, this came out as “Woyne is a wivving fing.”

Stone laughed. “I don’t think M’sieur duBois was as impressed with our American wines as he pretended to be.”

“Perhaps not, sir. By the way, I am aware that my accent is impenetrable to many Americans. I can quite easily speak in BBC English or, if you wish, with more of an upper-class accent. Which would you prefer?”

“About halfway between your Cockney and your BBC, I should think.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Joan appeared at the door, apparently having been listening outside. “Fred, if you will come with me, we’ll get started.”

“Joan,” Stone said, “you can put Fred in the room at the rear of the fourth floor, overlooking the garden. Assuming we successfully complete the purchase of the house next door, you can arrange an apartment for him there.”

“What a good idea,” Joan said, “since the seller has already accepted your offer, which was fifteen percent below the asking price. We close on the fifteenth.”

“Very good,” Stone said.

Fred stood up. “You may keep my credentials and read them at your leisure,” he said to Stone, then he and Joan left the room.

Stone slowly finished his bourbon. “Dino,” he said aloud, to himself, “you are not going to believe this one.”

Then Joan appeared in the doorway, holding a package wrapped in brown paper, which seemed to be leaking. “Another gift arrived for you,” she said.

“What on earth is that?” Stone asked.

“Fifteen pounds of moose meat.”





AUTHOR’S NOTE




I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.

However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.

If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.

Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.

When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I never open them. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.

Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions, or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.

Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of Writer’s Market at any bookstore; that will tell you how.

Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, CA 98212-1825.

Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 445 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10022. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)

If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website, www.stuartwoods.com, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.

If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Sara Minnich at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.

A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.