The House (19 page)

“I guess I could call them with the offer myself on Monday. Or maybe fax it to them.” She couldn't see it being a problem, from everything they'd said at the meeting the week before, but who knew? Sarah didn't want to count on it until they agreed. “I'd better call the bank, too.” There was a possibility they would advance her the money until Stanley's bequest came through. She had excellent credit, and a long-standing relationship with her bank.

“Remember what I said to you?” Marjorie reminded her with a knowing tone in her voice. “Houses are like romance, Sarah. When you find the right one, you know it. You don't have to beg, plead, fight, or push. It just happens. And everything falls into place. I guess this is the one for you.”

“I honestly believe it is.” It felt meant to be.

“You know what, Sarah?” Marjorie said, happy for her. She was a nice woman, and she deserved this, if it was what she wanted. “I think this is the one for you, too. It just feels good.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, feeling calmer than she had in several minutes. This was the most exciting thing she had ever done in her life. And the scariest too.

Marjorie promised to come by with the offering papers the following morning. Sarah started her car and drove home. She had never felt calmer, more certain about anything, or happier, ever. She parked her car, walked up the front steps of her apartment building, and went inside with a broad smile. Twenty-forty Scott Street was beckoning to her on the horizon. She could hardly wait!

Chapter 10

Marjorie came by with
the papers on Sunday morning. They looked fine to Sarah, who signed them and handed them back to her. Marjorie gave Sarah a copy so she could send the offer by fax to Stanley's heirs from her office. It was all a little incestuous, since she was the attorney for the estate. But everything was aboveboard.

“You should call Jeff and Marie-Louise when they get back from Europe,” Marjorie reminded her. Sarah had already thought of it herself. She had said nothing to Phil when he called the night before. He had been shocked on Friday when she said she'd been looking at condos. He would think she'd lost her mind entirely if she told him that the next day she'd made an offer on a thirty-thousand-square-foot house.

She went out for breakfast by herself, read
The New York Times
, did the crossword puzzle, and went back to her apartment. When she got in, she looked for their card and decided to leave a message for Jeff Parker and Marie-Louise Fournier. She knew they were probably still in Europe, but when they got back, they could call her. She wanted to go through the house with them again, this time with a fine-tooth comb. Once the offer was accepted, if it was, she needed to start making lists of everything she'd have to do. The electrical and plumbing work would have to be handled by a contractor, but she was going to try and do a lot of the more menial manual work herself. She was going to need their help, and lots of advice. She hoped they wouldn't charge her a fortune for their services, but she had no other choice. She was flying blind.

She called their office number and waited for their machine to come on. Jeff had given her both their European and American cell phone numbers, but there was nothing they could do for her at this distance. It could wait until the offer was accepted, and they came back to San Francisco, so she could meet them again at the house. Sarah heard the machine come on, and then over it a male human voice. They both tried to talk over the machine, and then he told her to wait while he turned the machine off. He came back on the line a moment later, and Sarah tried again. She hadn't recognized the voice that answered.

“Hi, my name is Sarah Anderson, and I'm trying to leave a message for Jeff Parker and Marie-Louise Fournier for when they get back from Europe. Could you ask either of them to call me at my office, please?” She hoped it would be Jeff, and not his disagreeable French partner, but she was prepared to deal with whichever of them had the time to help her.

“Hi, Sarah. This is Jeff.” As he had before, he sounded easy going and warm.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Italy, or Paris.” She had lost track of their trip and where they were supposed to be at what time.

“I was. Marie-Louise is still there. I came back early. I had some work to do for a client. We were running behind.”

She took a breath and jumped right in. “I'm going to make an offer on the house.”

He sounded confused for a moment. “What house?”

“Twenty-forty Scott Street,” she said proudly, and this time at his end, he was stunned. Sarah could hear it if not see it.

“
That
house? Wow! There's a surprise, and a brave thing to do.” The way he said it was a little daunting. As though he thought she was crazy.

“Do you think I'm nuts to do it?”

“No, I don't,” he said thoughtfully. “Not if you love the house.”

“I do,” she said, more calmly. “My great-grandfather built it.”

“Now
that
really is cool. I love things like that, that come full circle. It seems like the right order of things somehow. I hope you're ready to take on a big job,” he said, with a smile in his voice, and she laughed.

“I am. I hope you are, too. I need your help, and a lot of guidance and direction. I'm going to follow plan A.”

“Which one was that?”

“The one where you spend half a million to restore the house, do a lot of the work yourself, and watch every penny.”

“Oh, that one. I would do exactly the same thing in your shoes, particularly if my family owned the house originally.”

“The difference is that you're an architect. I'm an attorney. I know tax laws and property trusts inside out. I don't know beans about restoring a house, or even hammering a nail.”

“You'll learn. Most people who work on their houses have no idea what they're doing. You'll figure it out as you go, and if you make mistakes, you'll fix 'em.” He was very encouraging, and as friendly as he'd been before. Sarah was relieved that Marie-Louise wasn't there. She wouldn't have been nearly as pleasant as he.

“I'd like you to see the house again when you have time, if you're not too busy. You can charge me for it, of course. But I really need your advice about what to do first. Electrical, plumbing, wiring. I need some direction to get me started, and I'm going to need a lot of advice along the way.”

“That's what we're here for. What does your week look like? When do you want me to drop by? I don't think Marie-Louise will be back for a few more weeks. I know her when she gets together with her family in Paris. She delays her return day by day. I just factor in about three extra weeks. We can wait till she comes back, if you like, or I can start working with you myself.”

“To be honest, I'd rather not wait.”

“Okay by me,” he said easily. “Tell me about your week.”

“The usual insanity.” She was thinking about the meetings with clients that she remembered, and work she was still doing on the probate of Stanley's estate. She had to go to court on Tuesday morning for a probate hearing. It was going to be a pretty crazy week.

“Me too,” he said, glancing at his book. “I have an idea. Are you busy this afternoon?”

“No, but you are,” Sarah said, feeling guilty. “I assume you're not sitting there reading a book or watching TV.”

“No, but I got a lot done yesterday and this morning. I can take a few hours off now, if you want me to meet you at the house. Besides, now you're a client. This
is
work.”

“I'd love it.” She had nothing to do all afternoon. The house was already filling her days.

“Perfect. I'll meet you there in half an hour. Actually, do you want to grab a sandwich before we go? We can talk about your plans over lunch.”

“That works for me,” she said happily. She hadn't been this excited since she got into Harvard.

“I'll pick you up in ten minutes. Where do you live?” She gave him the address, and he rang her bell fifteen minutes later. She ran down the stairs to meet him, and climbed into the Jeep he had driven to pick her up.

“What happened to the Peugeot?” Sarah asked with interest.

“I'm not allowed to drive it.” He smiled at her, and they stopped at a deli on Fillmore Street for sandwiches and lemonade. Less than an hour after he picked her up, they were at the house Sarah hoped would be hers. With any luck, it would be. She warned him that it was not yet a done deal, and he smiled at her, unconcerned. “It will be. I feel it in my bones.”

“Me too,” she giggled, as she let them both into the house.

He took his work very seriously. He had brought two cameras, an industrial tape measure, a sketch pad, and a series of tools and implements to measure things, and check others out. He explained to her that the floors and boiseries would have to be protected while there was work being done in the house. He recommended two plumbing contractors for her to choose between, and three electricians whom he told her wouldn't charge a fortune. The arrangement Jeff suggested he make with her was an hourly fee, based on work he actually did, not a percentage of costs, to run the project. He said an hourly would be cheaper for her. He was being extremely reasonable, got under things, climbed over things, rattled things, knocked on walls, and checked wood, tile, and plaster.

“The house is amazingly sound, considering its age,” he said, after they'd spent an hour there. There was no question that the plumbing and electrical were a disaster, although he liked the fact that there were no visible leaks anywhere in the house, which he said was unheard of.

“Stanley took pretty good care of it on the outside. He didn't want to live in the main part of the house, but he didn't want it to fall apart, either. He just put on a new roof.”

“He was smart. Water damage screws up everything, and sometimes leaks are hard to follow.” They were there till nearly six o'clock, and by the time they left, they were both using powerful flashlights. Sarah felt completely at home there. She'd had a fun afternoon going over everything with Jeff. And this was only the beginning. He had already filled one notebook with notes and sketches. “And there will be no charge for today,” he said as she locked the front door and he helped her into the Jeep.

“Are you kidding? We've been here for five hours.”

“It's Sunday. I had nothing better to do, and I enjoyed it. Today was a gift. I had so much fun, you should charge me. Your hourly rate is probably higher than mine,” he teased her. They seemed to be fairly comparable, given the prices he had quoted to her over the phone.

“I think it's a wash in that case.”

“Good. Do you have time for dinner, or are you busy? We could start going over my notes. I want to do some renderings for you tomorrow morning.” They were off and running.

“You're not sick of me yet?” She felt like a bit of a mooch, taking advantage of him, since she was planning to do some of the work herself. But he knew that, and didn't seem to mind. It had originally been his suggestion.

“I'd better not be sick of you, or the house. Or you of me. You're going to see a lot of me for the next six months, or longer, depending on how long it takes for us to finish. Sushi?” he asked as they drove off.

“Perfect.”

He took her to a sushi restaurant just off Union, and they continued talking about the house with energy and enthusiasm. He was going to be fun to work with. He obviously loved his profession, and the house she was buying was rapidly becoming his passion. It was like the projects he had done in Europe.

He dropped her back at her place just after eight-thirty, and promised to call her in the morning. The phone was ringing when she walked into her apartment.

“Where were you?” It was Phil. He sounded anxious.

“Just out eating sushi,” she said calmly.

“All day? I've been calling you since two o'clock. I brought the kids back early. You've been out all day. I've been leaving messages on your cell phone.” She hadn't checked her messages since noon. She'd been too busy on Scott Street.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd call me,” she said sincerely.

“I was going to take you to dinner.” He sounded piqued, and she teased him.

“On a Sunday? Now, there's a new twist.”

“I had pizza. I gave up on you at seven. Do you want me to come over?”

“Now?” She sounded surprised, and was filthy dirty. They'd been crawling around the house all day, even in the basement. The janitorial service had done a good job, but they'd gotten dusty anyway. There was still dirt in some of the remoter nooks and crannies.

“Are you busy?” Phil asked.

“No. I just look a mess. You can come over if you want. I'll hop in the shower.” He had the keys, and had for two years. She had nothing to hide from him. In spite of the inadequacy of their arrangement, from her perspective, she had always been faithful to him, and he to her. She couldn't help wondering why he was coming over. She was drying her hair, after the shower, when he walked into the apartment, frowning.

“What's with you?” he asked, looking worried. “You're out every time I call you. You went out for sushi. You never go to dinner alone. You went to a movie alone on Friday. And you've been looking at condos.” She smiled mysteriously as he said it. She was thinking about the house on Scott Street. “And you look weird.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, laughing at him. What did he expect? He left for a weekend with his kids, and didn't invite her. Maybe he thought she'd sit locked in the apartment all weekend waiting to see him the following weekend. Not this time, although it had happened before. “I was just keeping busy. And I decided not to buy a condo.”

“Well, at least that's normal. I was beginning to think you were seeing another guy or something.” She smiled at him and put her arms around him.

“Not for the moment,” she said honestly, “but one of these days, I will, if we don't start seeing more of each other.”

“For chrissake, Sarah, don't start that again.” He seemed nervous.

“I'm not. You asked me.”

“I just thought you were acting strange.” Stranger than he could ever dream of. And if she got the house, it was going to get a lot stranger. Now she could hardly wait to tell him. But she wanted to talk to her bank, and wait to hear from all the heirs first.