Seasons of the Heart (26 page)

It was Ann’s last thought of closing the agency. Evie had fully recovered, and Consuela was coming in every day and staying to start dinner. Even Phillip didn’t seem to expect his wife to change, and in fact, since Evie’s illness, went out of his way to be nice to Ann. It was as though he had finally stopped opposing her, and the result was that she found herself loving him with the same intensity that she had in those first, all-too-brief early days of their life together. More important, she liked him again. The only problem was that Ann totally misunderstood the reasons behind Phillip’s change of attitude. She thought he had become adjusted to her career; to her success. The truth was that he no longer cared.

When Evie was sick, he realized that his resentment of Ann’s achievements, his feelings of inadequacy, didn’t really matter. Only Evie was important, and all Phillip wanted to do was live with her in peace. If the way to achieve peace was to stop interfering in Ann’s life, then he would. He could even admit that he loved her and admired her.

As Phillip became more content, life for everyone in the Coulter household improved. And in the happier atmosphere Evie grew and flourished. She danced her way into high school: pretty, popular, and well-adjusted. She took ballet and piano lessons and talked endlessly on the phone.

Ann couldn’t have asked for more in a daughter. She rationed her time so as to give Evie the best of it. She bought tickets to the ballet, the symphony, and the theater, and even bought extra tickets so that if she couldn’t make it herself, Evie could go with a friend.

The only cause for sadness in these years was Simon’s increasing frailty. He suffered a series of small strokes which left him so weak that he couldn’t get out of bed. His speech was affected, he couldn’t feed himself, and the worst indignity was he became incontinent.

It was almost tragic that Simon’s mind remained as sharp as ever. He cursed his weakness, he hated being dependent, and for the first time in his life he became irritable and unreasonable. In the end Ann and Phillip were relieved when Dr. Stein said it was no longer safe for Simon to remain at home. They put him in a nursing home, and Phillip and Evie visited him several times a week. Even Ann, busy as she was, went once a week, and as the country moved into the booming sixties, Ann was busier than ever.

Shortly after Kennedy’s assassination, while the country was still in mourning, Ann received an unsolicited bid for the house on Marina Boulevard—$150,000. She didn’t need a crystal ball to see that America was entering on a new decade of expansion. She began to review the citywide real estate listings with exhaustive intensity. There were small office buildings available in the outlying districts, but she kept coming back to a particular downtown property on Post Street, between Grant and Kearny. It was an old building, in poor repair, eight stories, with storefronts below.

At first she balked at the $850,000 price tag. It was astronomical, considering what such buildings had gone for a few years before. But she had a clear profit of over $100,000 from the Marina Boulevard property. The real question was whether she could get financing. The sum was out of Gil Cooley’s league, and he had to take her to another bank, but in the end her solid balance sheet won the day. With the $100,000 down, the office building was hers.

Within a year she sold it for $1,250,000. With the profits, she bought another office building on Sansome Street for a little over a million. This time, five months later, she sold it for $1,750,000. Real estate was like wildfire, prices flaming higher and higher, and Ann continued to buy and sell at a frantic pace.

One day she discovered that she was a millionaire—and she continued to speculate. She never stopped to think whether a particular move was brilliant; she just followed her instinct. The first time she heard herself acclaimed as a real estate tycoon, she was amazed. All she had been after was a secure financial future for her family.

Yet, by December 1964, even Ann realized she was riding the crest of the wave. That morning, she had sold one of her buildings in the Potrero District for close to $1,500,000 and for the first time since she went into business, Ann wondered if it was time to spend some of her hard-won savings on her family and herself.

They still lived in the modest house on Bay Street, still drove secondhand cars, still shopped at the Emporium. She owned no jewels or furs. Of course Phillip didn’t seem to care about luxuries, but they might be fun, and Evie was old enough to appreciate living in a nicer neighborhood.

Ann was still mulling over the possibility of moving when once again fate stepped into her life.

There was a house she had been shown several years before. At the time she had thought that the couple who bought it were the luckiest people in the world. Now, miraculously, it was for sale again. Ann no sooner heard the price than she was on the phone to the agent.

Built in 1922 by an eccentric millionaire, the house was a delicate off-white brick with a gray slate roof. In front of the French windows on the third floor were hand-wrought iron balconies which had been brought from a château near Versailles. The entrance was guarded by antique filigree iron gates, and the broad steps to the house were flanked by a pair of stone dogs.

When the door was opened by a Chinese houseboy, she handed him her business card and said, “I am Mrs. Coulter. Mr. Cook, the agent handling the house, is expecting me.”

The servant bowed her in and shut the door behind her as Ann stepped into the foyer. An oval Aubusson rug lay in the center of the room, whose floors were the same creamy marble as the entry stoop. The walls were rose-colored silk, and magnificent paintings lined the curving staircase. A stained-glass skylight flooded the foyer with brilliant hues.

“The elevator is this way,” the houseboy said, moving silently over to what appeared to be a closet.

As soon as they were inside, he touched a button and the grille moved back into place. Then the elevator rose to the third floor.

As it opened, Ann caught a glimpse of the Bay through the broad windows before the boy led her to the library where Don Cook was waiting. The elegant room was book-lined with a beautiful Louis XV marble fireplace.

“I’m Ann Coulter. You must be Donald Cook.”

Cook was pleased that the well-known realtor was apparently looking to buy the place herself. If half of what he had heard was true, she had the money.

“Let me take your coat,” he said. Then: “I know you must be anxious to see the interior. Why don’t we take a little tour before we start talking business?”

They went back down the hall to the foyer, then passed through an archway into the drawing room. It was a spacious, well-proportioned room, one entire wall of which had been replaced by glass doors opening onto a terrace which had the same spectacular view of the Bay as the windows on the landing.

“It’s—lovely,” exclaimed Ann, unable to be blasé.

Don Cook smiled. “You know that the house was extensively renovated. The current owners put the drawing room here to take advantage of the view, and installed the French doors and built the terrace. So it’s not absolutely in period.”

Ann shrugged, too thrilled to quibble. The doors and terrace only added to the beauty of the house. She stepped out and admired the white wrought-iron table and chairs.

As the two of them walked around, the plan of the renovations became apparent. The previous owners had gutted the third floor, which had originally contained maids’ quarters, and put the main living rooms there, because of the view. In addition to the drawing room and library, there was a master suite, and two more bedrooms, one of which could be Evie’s.

Below, on the second floor, was a dining room, sitting room, and kitchen. Much of the ground floor was now taken up by a two-car garage. However, the renovations had been beautifully done, preserving the magnificent foyer and virtually all of the architectural moldings and paneling, as well as the fireplace mantels, different in every room, and the Tiffany glass.

Ann wandered about in a dream. The house was perfect. She could move in without changing an ashtray. She came to a decision immediately.

“Mr. Cook, if my husband agrees, I am prepared to make a bid for the house, complete with furnishings. Two hundred thousand dollars—cash.”

Don Cook was taken aback. “Well, as you know, the house alone is being offered for one ninety-five. I can’t imagine that the owners will take two hundred thousand and include the furnishings. There are some priceless antiques here.”

“You may as well know that I’ve looked into the situation pretty carefully already. The owners are going through a nasty divorce, and the wife is anxious to get rid of the place. From what I hear, she will be glad to dispose of all reminders of the marriage. Now, two hundred thousand dollars may seem low, but I’m offering cash. Why don’t you see if the owners agree?”

“Yes … I’ll convey your offer to them,” Cook murmured uncertainly. Mrs. Coulter’s pretty face apparently concealed a steely determination as well as a sharp mind. But as Ann sat back in the comfortable, silk-covered armchair, she began to tremble. What if Phillip didn’t agree?

This time she didn’t make the mistake of rushing down to his office. She waited until they were going to bed that night before describing the house and explaining how they could afford it.

“Can you come with me to see it tomorrow before you go to work?” Ann finished.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Phillip said with an odd smile. “I’m sure I’ll love it, Ann. You never make a bad move. Why don’t you just go ahead and bid. If you get it I’ll look at it then.”

Ann put in her bid the next day and began to pray, but it was seventy-two hours before she heard from Mr. Cook, and those three days seemed like an eternity. The more she thought about the little jewel-box house, the more she wanted it.

As the days passed, Ann became almost frantic with worry, convinced that this time she had miscalculated, aimed too low. That house, with contents, was worth at least $250,000, probably much more. Someone else would snap it up. She had lost her chance.

Then, when she was ready to give up hope, the telephone rang.

“Ann Coulter speaking.”

“Mrs. Coulter, Donald Cook. I’ve spoken to the owners, and they have made a counteroffer. They’re willing to accept two hundred twenty-five thousand dollars in cash.”

Relief coursed through her. It didn’t matter what they demanded, she would pay it! Gripping the receiver tightly, Ann exclaimed, “That’s fine! I’m ready to sign the papers as soon as they’re ready.”

When Ann opened the door and Phillip and Evie walked into the soaring foyer, bathed in rosy light, Evie squealed, “Holy smokes, Mom, are we going to live
here?
”

Ann answered, a lilt in her voice, “I guess so, honey. I’m just hoping you and Daddy like it.”

She was watching Phillip closely, anxious to see what his reaction would be. Feeling her eyes on him, he looked over at her, a funny half-smile on his lips. “It’s magnificent.”

He began to wander about the foyer, taking in the marble floors and the silk-covered walls, the beautiful furniture with its faint smell of beeswax, the airy, swirling staircase. He had almost forgotten that he had been born in a house even more imposing than this one. For a moment, he felt he had been transported back to Sea Cliff. He was brought back to the present by Evie’s shout. “Oh, keen—an elevator! Does it really work?”

They all stepped in, and the elevator glided to the third floor.

As they walked into the drawing room, Phillip and Evie stopped short, overwhelmed by the view. It was even lovelier than it had been the day Ann had first seen it, the panorama of the Bay and the Golden Gate glittering brilliantly in the late afternoon sunshine.

“Isn’t it gorgeous, Phillip?” Ann whispered.

“Yes, honey.”

“Do you think you could be happy here?”

He looked at her. “As long as you are, Ann.”

“Well, of course I am. But don’t you think it’s the most wonderful piece of luck that we could actually buy it?”

“Yes, honey. I’m very proud of you.”

Ann remained calm. Phillip’s enthusiasm didn’t seem to quite match her own, but perhaps that was only natural. Women were usually interested in their homes more than men.

Evie’s enthusiasm, on the other hand, was all that Ann could have wished for. Just wait until her friends saw the house! “Which room will be mine, Mom?”

“I don’t know, honey—whichever you like. The blue room has twin four-posters, which would be nice when you have friends over to spend the night, but the white one has the big canopy bed with the organdy ruffles.”

Evie thought for a moment, then announced, “I’ll go look at them both again!”

She ran off down the hallway, and Ann and Phillip were left alone. She tried to divine what Phillip was really thinking. She wasn’t sure that he liked the house, despite his reassurances. All she wanted was for him to be happy here.

She took his hand and they slowly walked out onto the terrace. The short winter day was ending, and even as they watched, the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge began to twinkle.

We’re going to live here, with this view, every night of our lives, until it becomes as natural to us as Bay Street, Phillip thought. Too bad I wasn’t able to give her all this. Instead, she’s giving it to me.

He was careful to keep any trace of self-pity from his voice as he told her again how much he liked the house. After all, she deserved to live here. He was lucky to be along for the ride.

Ann tried to believe that Phillip meant what he said, and that he no longer cared whose money had bought the house, but she couldn’t help asking one last question.

“Phillip, you don’t mind that I bid on the house without asking you to see it?”

Phillip turned to her, smiling gently. “Ann, sweetheart, you always do what is best for us. How could I possibly mind that?”

T
HE DAY THEY MOVED
in, Ann felt that she would never ask anything more of life. Evie was happy, Phillip actually seemed content, and she herself came home from work with a sense of joy and renewal.