to run a small town. On the wall was a large electronic map with a small moving boat showing the current position of the yacht. Sliding glass doors opened from the master suite onto an outside veranda deck furnished with a chaise longue and a table with four chairs. A teak railing ran along the outside. On balmy days, it was Stanford’s custom to have breakfast on the veranda.
There were six guest staterooms, each with hand-painted silk panels, picture windows, and a bath with a Jacuzzi. The large library was done in koa wood.
The dining room could seat sixteen guests. A fully equipped fitness salon was on the lower deck. The yacht also contained a wine cellar and a theater that was ideal for running films. Harry Stanford had one of the world’s greatest libraries of pornographic movies. The furnishings throughout the vessel were exquisite, and the paintings would have made any museum proud.
‘Well, now you’ve seen most of it,’ Stanford told Sophia at the end of the tour. ‘I’ll show you the rest tomorrow.’
She was awed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s … it’s like a city!’
Harry Stanford smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘The steward will show you to your cabin. Make yourself comfortable. I have some work to do.’
Harry Stanford returned to his office and checked the electronic map on the wall for the location of the yacht. Blue Skies was in the Ligurian Sea, heading northeast. They won’t know where I’ve gone, Stanford thought. They’ll be waiting for me at JFK. When we get to Portofino, I’ll straighten everything out.
Thirty-five thousand feet in the air, the pilot of the 727 was getting new instructions. ‘Boeing eight nine five Papa, you are cleared directly to Delta India November upper route forty as filed.’
‘Roger. Boeing eight nine five Papa is cleared direct Dinard upper route forty as filed.’ He turned to the copilot. ‘All clear.’
The pilot stretched, got up, and walked to the cockpit door. He looked into the cabin.
‘How’s our passenger doing?’ the copilot asked.
‘He looks hungry to me.’
The Ligurian coast is the Italian Riviera, sweeping in a semicircle from the French-Italian border around to Genoa, and then continuing down to the Gulf of La Spezia. The beautiful long ribbon of coast and its sparkling waters contain the storied ports of Portofino, Vernazza, and beyond them Elba, Sardinia, and Corsica.
Blue Skies was approaching Portofino, which even from a distance was an impressive sight, its hillsides covered with olive trees, pines, cypresses and palms. Harry Stanford, Sophia, and Dmitri were on deck, studying the approaching coastline.
‘Have you been to Portofino often?’ Sophia asked.
‘A few times.’
‘Where is your main home?’
Too personal. ‘You’ll enjoy Portofino, Sophia. It’s really quite beautiful.’
Captain Vacarro approached them. ‘Will you be having lunch aboard, Signor Stanford?’
‘No, we’ll have lunch at the Splendido.’
‘Very good. And shall I be prepared to weigh anchor right after lunch?’
‘I think not. Let’s enjoy the beauty of the place.’
Captain Vacarro studied him, puzzled. One moment Harry Stanford was in a terrible hurry, and the next moment he seemed to have all the time in the world. And the radio shut down? Unheard of! Pazzo.
When Blue Skies dropped anchor in the outer harbor; Stanford, Sophia and Dmitri took the yacht’s launch ashore. The small seaport was charming, with a variety of amusing shops and outdoor trattorie lining the single road that led up to the hills. A dozen or so small fishing boats were pulled up onto the pebbled beach.
Stanford turned to Sophia. ‘We’ll be lunching at the hotel on top of the hill. There’s a lovely view from there.’ He nodded toward a taxi stopped beyond the docks. ‘Take a taxi up there, and I’ll meet you in a few minutes.’ He handed her some lire.
‘Very well, caro.’
His eyes followed her as she walked away; then he turned to Dmitri. ‘I have to make a call.’
But not from the ship, Dmitri thought.
The men went to the two phone booths at the side of the dock. Dmitri watched as Stanford stepped inside one of them, picked up the receiver, and inserted a token.
‘Operator, I would like to place a call to someone at the Union Bank of Switzerland in Geneva.’
A woman was approaching the second phone booth. Dmitri stepped in front of it, blocking her way.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I …’
‘I’m waiting for a call.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Oh.’ She glanced hopefully at the phone booth Stanford was in.
‘I wouldn’t wait,’ Dmitri grunted. ‘He’s going to be on the telephone for a long time.’
The woman shrugged and walked away.
‘Hello?’
Dmitri was watching Stanford speaking into the mouthpiece.
‘Peter? We have a little problem.’ Stanford closed the door to the booth. He was speaking very fast, and Dmitri could not hear what he was saying. At the end of the conversation, Stanford replaced the receiver and opened the door.
‘Is everything all right, Mr Stanford?’ Dmitri asked.
‘Let’s get some lunch.’
The Splendido is the crown jewel of Portofino, a hotel with a magnificent panoramic view of the emerald bay below. The hotel caters to the very rich, and jealously guards its reputation. Harry Stanford and Sophia had lunch out on the terrace.
‘Shall I order for you?’ Stanford asked. ‘They have some specialties here that I think you might enjoy.’
‘Please,’ Sophia said.
Stanford ordered the trenette al pesto, the local pasta, veal, and focaccia, the salted bread of the region.
‘And bring us a bottle of Schram Eighty-eight.’ He turned to Sophia. ‘It received a gold medal in the International Wine Challenge in London. I own the vineyard.’
She smiled. ‘You’re lucky.’
Luck had nothing to do with it. ‘I believe that man was meant to enjoy the gustatory delights that have been put on the earth.’ He took her hand in his. ‘And other delights, too.’
‘You’re an amazing man.’
