Danielle Steel - The House

“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.