The House (12 page)

They walked around for two hours, examining everything diligently, while Jeff made copious notes on a yellow pad, and Marie-Louise made terse comments. Sarah hated to admit it to herself, but she didn't like her. The female partner of the team looked like a huge pain in the neck to her. And even without subtitles, she sounded like a bitch. Marjorie didn't like her much either, she admitted to Sarah sotto voce when they reached the master suite, but she said they both did great work, and were an excellent team. Marie-Louise was just very difficult, and didn't seem like a happy person. Sarah could see she wasn't. But Jeff more than made up for it, with his warm, easy manner, and extensive explanations. He said the boiseries were exceptionally valuable, were probably early eighteenth century, and had been removed from a château somewhere in France, which caused a comment from Marie-Louise, this time in English.

“It's amazing how Americans stripped our country bare of treasures that should never have been let out of the country. They would never get away with it today.” She looked at Sarah as though she had been personally responsible for this travesty on French culture. All Sarah could do was nod and appear to agree with her. There was nothing else to say. The same was true of the floors, which were clearly far older than the house on Scott Street and had presumably been removed from a château in France and sent to the States. Jeff said he hoped that the heirs didn't try to strip the house of the parquet floors and boiseries in order to sell them separately, probably at Christie's or Sotheby's. He said they would go for a fortune, but he hoped they would stay here, which was Sarah's hope as well. It would have seemed a crime to her to cannibalize the house now, after it had survived intact for so long.

They sat down on the steps of the grand staircase at the end of their tour, and he gave Sarah an informal assessment. In his opinion, bringing the house up to modern code, electrically and otherwise, with copper plumbing, would cost a new owner close to a million dollars. If they cut corners but stayed within code, they might be able to do it for half as much, but it would be a major challenge. He wasn't overly worried by the dry rot on the windows and French doors, he said that was to be expected. He was surprised it wasn't far worse. He didn't know what was under the floors or behind the walls of course, but he and Marie-Louise had restored houses older than this in Europe. It was a lot of work, but certainly not impossible. And he added that he loved this kind of challenge. Marie-Louise didn't comment, or say a word.

Jeff said that putting in a kitchen wasn't a monumental task, and he agreed with Sarah and Marjorie about the location of a new kitchen on the main floor. He thought the entire basement should be stripped and turned into storage space. The elevator could be given modern workings, while preserving its original look. And the rest he thought should remain as it was. Craftsmen should be brought in to restore the wood, treat it, and oil it. The boiseries had to be handled with great care and precision. Everything else needed paint or varnish or polishing. The chandeliers were perfect and could be made to work again. There were a lot of details that could be played with and highlighted. Hidden lighting could be installed. It all depended on how much work and money a new owner wanted to put into it. The exterior was in good shape, and the house was well built. It needed a modern heating system. There was a vast range of things a new owner could do, depending on how much they wanted to spend, and how intent they were on showing off. He personally loved the bathrooms as they were. He thought they were beautiful, and integral to the house, as he put it. They could be redone with modern plumbing, without interfering with their current look.

“Essentially, you could spend as much money here as you want. A million dollars would work wonders here, and get everything where you'd want it to be. If someone wanted to be careful about it, you could probably do it for half of that, if the new owner was a nut like me and liked doing a lot of the work himself. If they wanted to drop two million here, they could, or even three, but it's not necessary. It's a rough guess, and I could work up some figures for you, to show a serious prospective buyer. For a million dollars, they could restore the house to everything it once was. And they could probably do it for half of that,” he reiterated, “if they knocked themselves out, keeping the costs down. It would take longer that way, but a project like this shouldn't be rushed anyway. It has to be done right, with great care, otherwise important details of the house will get damaged or broken, and no one would want that. I would recommend a small crew working here for six months to a year, loving owners who know what they're doing and want this as a project, and an honest architect who won't soak them. If they go to the wrong ones, it could cost them five million dollars, but that shouldn't happen. Marie-Louise and I restored two châteaux in France last year. We did both for under three hundred thousand in costs, and both houses were larger and older than this. It's easier to find the craftsmen there, but we have good resources in the Bay Area.” As he said it, he handed Sarah their card. “You can give a prospective buyer our names. We'd be happy to meet with them for a consultation, whether they want to hire us for the job or not. I love houses like this. I'd love to see someone really care enough to restore it and do it right. I'd be happy to do whatever I can to help. And Marie-Louise is a genius with the details. She's a perfectionist. Together we get the job done.” Marie-Louise smiled at him finally, as he said it. Sarah realized then that she was probably nicer than she looked. They were an interesting pair. Marie-Louise looked intelligent and capable, she just wasn't very warm. She seemed prickly and very French. Jeff was warm, easy, and friendly, and Sarah felt comfortable with him already. Working with Marie-Louise would be a challenge.

“Marjorie told me that you and your wife are leaving for Venice tomorrow,” Sarah said as they walked slowly through the main floor on the way out. They had been there for more than two hours. It was after five o'clock.

“We are.” He smiled pleasantly at Sarah. He liked her devotion to the project, and her obvious deep respect for her late client's house.

Sarah wanted to get as much information as she could for his heirs, and be realistic about it, although she doubted they'd want to do the work. They would get a much better price for the house ultimately if they made some modern improvements, but she also knew that they probably wouldn't want to be bothered. All she could do was offer them the information. What they did about it was up to them. She had no decisions to make here. Her orders were to come from them.

“We'll be in Italy for two weeks,” Jeff explained to her. “You can call our European cell phone if you need to. I'll give you our number. We'll be at the conference in Venice for a week, then a few days in Portofino to relax. And we'll spend the last few days with Marie-Louise's family in Paris. And by the way,” he said casually, “we're not married. We're partners in every sense of the word.” He smiled at Marie-Louise as he said it, and she looked suddenly mischievous and very sexy. “But my associate here doesn't believe in marriage. She thinks it's a Puritan institution, and corrupts a good relationship. She must be right, because we've been together for a long time.” They exchanged a smile.

“Much longer than I expected,” Marie-Louise said succinctly. “I thought it was a summer romance, and then he dragged me here, against my will. I'm a prisoner in this city,” she said, rolling her eyes, and he laughed at her. He had heard it all for years. He didn't seem bothered by it. They seemed to like working together, although Sarah thought he had a much easier manner with clients than she did. She was incredibly abrasive, to the point of being rude.

“She's been trying to talk me into moving to Paris since she got here. But I grew up here and I like it. Paris is too much of a big city for me, and so is New York. I'm a California boy, and Marie-Louise will never admit it, but she likes it here a lot of the time. Especially in winter, when it's so cold and gray in Paris.”

“Don't be so sure!” she was quick to respond. “One of these days I'm going to surprise you, and move back to Paris.” It sounded more like a threat than a warning to Sarah. But Jeff let the sharpness of her words roll off his back.

“We have a great house in Potrero Hill, which I restored myself, before it was fashionable to be there. Ours was the only decent house on the block for years. Now it's gotten very ‘in,’ and there are a lot of beautiful houses around us. I did all the work myself, with my own hands. I love that house,” he said proudly.

“It's not as nice as the one in Paris,” Marie-Louise said primly. “Our house there is in the Seventh. I did that one myself. I stay there every summer, while Jeff insists on freezing in the fog here. I hate the summers in San Francisco.” They were admittedly cold and foggy. She definitely had not made a commitment to life in San Francisco, and made it sound as though she was still planning to go back. Jeff didn't look worried. He probably knew they were empty threats. Although Sarah thought it was interesting that after fourteen years together, they still weren't married. Marie-Louise looked extremely independent. But in his own way, so was Jeff. She complained a lot, but never pulled him off his path.

Sarah thanked them both for their consultation and his honest assessment of what a restoration could cost her clients. There was a broad range, depending on what a new owner would want, how far they'd want to take it, and how much work they were willing to do themselves. All she could do was relay the information to the heirs.

She wished them both a good trip to Venice, Portofino, and Paris, and a few minutes later Marie-Louise and Jeff drove off in an ancient Peugeot that Marie-Louise said she had brought from France. She said as they got into it that she didn't trust American cars. “Or anything else!” Jeff added, and they all laughed.

“She's a piece of work, isn't she?” Sarah commented to Marjorie, as they walked back to their cars.

“She's hard to work with, but she's good at what she does. She has great taste and a lot of style. She treats him like dirt, and he seems to love it. That's always the way, isn't it? The bitches always get the great guys.” Sarah laughed at the comment. She hated to admit it, but it seemed to be true a lot of the time. “He's a hunk, isn't he?” Marjorie said admiringly, and Sarah smiled.

“I don't know if I'd call him that.” Phil was a hunk, in her eyes. Jeff wasn't. But he seemed like a nice man. “But he's a very nice guy, and he seems to know his stuff.” He obviously had a passion for old houses, and loved his work.

“They both do. They complement each other. Sweet and sour. It seems to work. At home and in the office. Although I think they've had their ups and downs. Every now and then she gets fed up, and goes back to France. She left him for a year once, while he was working on a big project I referred to him. But she always comes back, and he takes her back when she does. I guess he's crazy about her, and she knows she's got a good thing. He's solid as a rock. It's too bad they never got married. He'd be great with kids, though she doesn't look like the motherly type to me.”

“Maybe they will someday,” Sarah said, thinking of Phil. Their weekend was due to begin in a few hours. This part of the week was her reward for all the hard work she did at her law firm.

“Who knows what makes people's relationships work,” Marjorie said philosophically, and then wished Sarah luck with Stanley's heirs on Monday.

“I'll let you know what they decide, after the meeting.” They were obviously going to sell the house—the only question was in what condition, restored or not, and to what extent. Sarah would have loved to oversee the project, but she knew there was almost no chance of that. They weren't likely to want to spend a million dollars to restore Stanley's house, or even half that, and then wait six months or a year to sell it. She was sure that on Monday she'd be telling Marjorie to put it on the market as is.

Sarah said good-bye to her, and drove home, to get ready for Phil. She changed her sheets and made the bed, and then collapsed onto the couch with a stack of work she had brought home from the office. It was seven o'clock when her phone rang. It was Phil, calling from the gym. He sounded awful.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. He sounded sick.

“Yeah. We settled the case today. I can't tell you how pissed off I am. We got buried by opposing counsel. My fucking client got caught with his pants down a few times too often. There was no other choice.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart.” She knew how he hated to give up. It must have been a really rotten case for him to do that. Usually, he battled to the bitter end. “What time are you coming over?” She was looking forward to seeing him. It had been an interesting week for her, particularly dealing with Stanley's house. She still hadn't had time to tell him much about it. He'd been too absorbed in his depositions. They had hardly spoken to each other all week. And whenever they did, he was too busy to talk.

“I'm not coming over tonight,” he said bluntly, and Sarah was shocked. He very rarely canceled a weekend night completely, except if he was sick.

“You're not?” She had been excited about seeing him, as she always was.

“I'm not. I'm in a shit mood, and I don't want to see anyone. I'll feel better tomorrow.” She was instantly disappointed when he said it, and wished he'd make the effort to come over anyway. It might cheer him up.

“Why don't you just come here after the gym and chill out? We can order takeout, and I'll give you a massage.” She sounded hopeful, and tried to be convincing.

“No, thanks. I'll call you tomorrow. I'm going to stay here for a few hours. I may play some squash, and get my aggression out. I'd be lousy company tonight.”

He sounded like it, but she was upset not to see him anyway. She had seen him in black moods before, and he wasn't fun to be around. But it would have been nicer having him there, even in a rotten mood, than not seeing him at all. Relationships weren't just about seeing each other on good days. She expected to share bad days with him, too. But he was adamant about staying at his own place that night. She tried to talk him into it, but he cut her off. “Just forget it, Sarah. I'll call you in the morning. Have a good night.” He had hardly ever done that in four years. But when Phil was upset, the whole world stopped, and he wanted to get off.