I wrote down the details.
“Have a good time,” Ian said. “It’ll be an experience you won’t forget.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I swear it’s not,” he said with a soft chuckle. “He’s an interesting fellow, an old-fashioned gentleman, and a bachelor, to boot. And his house is, hmm. Let’s just call it unusual.”
? ? ?
Edward Strathmore’s home in Belvedere was almost twenty miles from my place south of Market, across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County on a strip of land that jutted out into the San Francisco Bay.
Derek was adamant about driving me there and although I tried halfheartedly to talk him out of it, I was just as glad he insisted. We had just run into Grizzly Jones yesterday, so I had a feeling he was hovering nearby. As if there was a disturbance in the Force, I could feel him out there. He knew I worked at the studio. I had to believe he knew where I lived, too, and was waiting in the shadows to attack again.
That was too horrible a thought to dwell on, so I chose to ignore it. It helped to have my hunky boyfriend bodyguard along for the ride.
Once across the bridge, we wound our way through Marin and took the Tiburon turnoff. It was a roundabout journey to reach Mr. Strathmore’s opulent mansion on Belvedere’s westernmost promontory overlooking the Bay. We drove a hundred yards down the driveway until Derek pulled off to the side and came to a stop.
“It looks pink,” I said, staring at the huge stucco home clinging to the steep hillside.
“I think it’s a warm shade of beige,” Derek countered. “But the sunlight on this side of the house gives it a pinkish glow.”
The Strathmore home sat on a large piece of property that sloped all the way down to the Bay. It was a glorious example of the Mission Revival style that had been popular in the Bay Area since the 1920s. The style took its influence from the early California missions that had been built by the Spanish as they attempted to colonize and civilize the territory. It was epitomized by red tile roofs, arched windows, a bell tower, and often, as in this case, several balconies.
“Are you sure you don’t mind waiting?” I asked as Derek turned off the engine.
“Not at all.” He checked the dashboard clock. “I have a conference call starting in six minutes. It should last an hour, perhaps longer.”
“I shouldn’t be longer than that.”
“If the call ends early, I’ve got a briefcase full of work to do. I’m not going to drive off and leave you. I’ll be here waiting when you’re ready to go.”
“Thank you.” I leaned over and kissed him. “I love you.”
He pulled me back for a longer kiss. “I know.”
I was smiling as I shut the car door. For the longest time, I hadn’t been able to say those three little words without stumbling over them. It wasn’t him; it was me. I couldn’t trust my feelings after getting myself tangled up in a number of disastrous relationships in the past. But times had changed. Now the words rolled off my tongue with ease. Because they were true. I loved Derek so much. And I knew he loved me, too.
A little scattered by my thoughts, I strolled dreamily down the drive to a paved stone walkway that led to the oversized front door. From here, the house appeared to be only one story. It was still lovely, but not nearly as intimidating as the side view of the entire three-story mansion.
Before knocking on the front door, I took in the picturesque fountain and terraced garden that made up the front yard. Indigenous shrubs and flowers meandered up the hill, and old oaks and palm trees lined the top of the ridge. I stopped and breathed in the subtle scents of lavender, rosemary, and ocean breezes.
Pulling myself together, I rang the doorbell, and was immediately greeted by a jovial housekeeper. “Oh, Miss Wainwright, we’re so happy you found your way. Come in.”
“Thank you.” I glanced around the large, sunny foyer. “It was no problem finding the house.”
“Isn’t that nice?” She was a woman in her sixties and she wore a classic white uniform with a black apron and sturdy white shoes. She was almost the same height as me, but stockier, with wide shoulders and an impressive chest. Her blond hair was braided and wrapped around her head, and she was almost bursting with cheeriness. “Such fun to have you visit Mr. Edward.”
“Thank you. It’s lovely to be here.” She was so happy and welcoming, I felt instantly as ease.
“He’s waiting for you in the living room.” She held out her arm to indicate the direction. “Please go right in. May I bring you a refreshment? Coffee? Tea? Aperitif?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“If you want anything, anything at all, you just ring for me. I’m Mrs. Sweet.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sweet.”
She smiled brightly and bustled away.
I walked through the wide arched opening into the large, open living room and came to an abrupt stop.