The rooms were of fine proportions, but more important to Ann, they were so arranged as to be easily subdivided into four attractive apartments. Some previous owner had made a halfhearted attempt to subdivide the house into two flats, installing a cheap gas cooker and primitive sink upstairs, but they could be removed. There would be at least one major expense: dividing the lower kitchen into two back-to-back modern kitchens and adding two kitchens upstairs. Miraculously, old James Hampton had been a devotee of modern plumbing, and each proposed quadrant of the house already had a bathroom. Three of the four units had fireplaces, and all would have bay windows in the living rooms.
In short, the more Ann thought about it, the more perfect an investment the house seemed to be.
She went to Gil Cooley, the bank manager who had found the Coulters’ small house, and laid out her proposal.
“Do you think it could work?” she asked him nervously. “Tell me the truth, Gil.”
Gil shrugged. “Hard to say, Ann. It sure looks good on paper. But the renovation is either going to take a lot of money—or a heck of a lot of work. Is your husband good at this sort of thing?”
Ann gave him a rueful glance. “Not particularly. But still, I think we can do it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have any problem putting a second mortgage on your house. Prices are soaring. Actually, Ann, I think you can do just about anything you set out to do. You’re a remarkable woman. You know I’ll do my best for you when your loan application comes through.”
He saw her to the door, then watched her walk off with a hint of regret on his face. He had fallen for Ann Coulter at their first meeting, but he knew from discreet inquiry that she was devoted to her husband and small daughter. Still, he would see to it that she got that loan even if he had to twist some important arms to do it.
Ann was so excited she couldn’t wait until Phillip got home to tell him what she hoped to do. Without hesitation she jumped onto a bus headed downtown.
The door of the law firm now read Newman, Newman, Brice & Gould. With a pang Ann realized it would never read “& Coulter.” Pushing it open, she asked the receptionist if she could see Mr. Coulter. “I hope he’s available,” Ann added. “He’s not in conference, is he?”
“I don’t think so,” the woman drawled, hiding a sly smile. No one conferred with Mr. Coulter. “Just a moment, please.”
As the receptionist rang Phillip’s desk, Ann perched nervously on the edge of the leather sofa. What would Phillip say? They never discussed Ann’s work, not even in a general discussion of the postwar housing boom.
“You can go on in,” the receptionist said, interrupting Ann’s thoughts. “End of the hall on the left.”
Ann had been to Phillip’s office only twice, both times during his first year at the firm. Although she knew that he had not been promoted, it was something of a shock for her to see that he was still working in the same dingy little cubbyhole.
He pushed back his chair the moment he saw Ann at the door. “Sweetheart—how nice to see you. Were you downtown?”
“Phillip, I need your thoughts on something. May I sit down?”
Ann told Phillip all about her plans for the Hampton house. By the time she finished, she could no longer hide her eager excitement. “So tell me what you think.”
Instead of answering, he rocked back and forth in his chair. Ann grew edgy wondering what he was thinking.
“Well, Ann,” the verdict finally came, “I think you should forget it.”
“Why?”
“Do you have any idea of the cost of repairs these days? Most of those old barns are riddled with dry rot and have leaky roofs and rusty plumbing. And then there’s the remodeling. Putting a kitchen in each unit would cost a fortune. Anyway, I don’t think those areas are going to come back as residential addresses. We’re not a country that believes in tradition.”
Seeing Ann’s growing disappointment, Phillip reached across the table to take her hand, but Ann kept them stubbornly in her lap. His gesture seemed patronizing somehow.
In a voice meant to be kindly but authoritative, Phillip said, “Ann, that kind of real estate is just too speculative for amateurs to dabble in. A lot of experts feel that the market is headed lower, and then where will you be? You won’t be able to rent the place or sell it. Look, I know how hard you’ve worked, and how much you’ve accomplished. But you’re trying to go too far too fast with this deal. It’s just too risky. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but that’s my honest opinion.”
Ann weighed her words carefully. “I am aware that there is some risk involved, Phillip, but also there could be a lot of potential gain. Actually, I’ve looked into it pretty thoroughly and it may not be quite as risky as you think. Most of the realtors I know predict an upturn by the first quarter of next year, as long as the government doesn’t tighten up on credit. The house is in good shape structurally, according to the inspector, and I’ve already found someone to do the remodeling. Nonunion.”
“Who?”
“Guido Verona.”
Phillip looked confused. “You mean Guido the grocery boy? Ann, you’ve got to be kidding!”
Frightened by his wife’s persistence, he got up and looked hard at her. His face was flushed. “Honey, can’t you see this deal is just too risky for us? Maybe real estate is your career, but it’s our mutual financial future you’re talking about.”
“I know, Phillip, but can’t you see that it’s a calculated risk? If we never take any chances, we’re never going to have any real security.”
“Look, Ann, you asked me for my advice, and I’ve given it to you.”
“But you’re wrong!” Ann burst out before she could stop herself. “All you’ve done is make doomsday predictions.”
“You didn’t really want my advice at all, did you, Ann?” Phillip said quietly. “You just wanted my blessing.”
“That’s not true, Phillip!”
“But you think the risk is worth taking. Isn’t that true?”
“Well—yes, I guess I do.”
“Well, then, why did you bother to ask me?”
“Maybe we should talk more about this later,” Ann said, picking up her pocketbook.
Phillip nodded without speaking and watched her go.
Sinking back in his chair, he ran his hand through his hair. He was torn by emotions he didn’t understand. On the one hand he had some perfectly legitimate objections to Ann’s scheme. On the other hand, those objections had nothing to do with his decision to say no. The real reason he hated the idea was that it was hers.
If Ann had only understood Phillip’s terror, she might have been able to empathize with him. Instead, walking to the bus stop, she was aware only of a burning frustration. Phillip hadn’t even seemed to listen to her. All he’d done was make her lose confidence. Maybe he was right and she was making a big mistake. Phillip was a lawyer, after all….
All that evening, her fears and doubts mounted. At one point she was almost ready to go into the living room and tell him that she had changed her mind, but something made her remain silent. She was a good agent and she had learned a lot about the real estate market. It was just as likely that her analysis was right and Phillip’s was wrong.
The next morning over breakfast, Phillip’s face was set. Ann was sure that he was still determined to oppose her. But, unexpectedly, as he was getting ready to leave, he paused and said briefly, “Go ahead with the deal, Ann. Just bring home the papers when they’re ready and tell me where to sign.”
“Thank you, Phillip!” Ann exclaimed. Then, quickly, she added, “Of course, I still don’t know if I’ll get the loan.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You’ll get it. You know you will.” Turning, he went out the door.
There was an agonizing wait while the bank processed Ann’s loan application. She knew that there were a number of factors against it. The Coulters had owned their house for such a short time. Phillip’s salary was relatively low, and banks were loath to grant
loans based on a woman’s contribution to the family income.
Ann was right to be anxious. If it hadn’t been for Gil Cooley, her petition would have been denied. Gil didn’t refute the guidelines, he simply made an exception. He had armed himself with a raft of defensive arguments—Ann Coulter was well known to him professionally and personally, her husband was an attorney, albeit rather poorly remunerated; the Coulters were an old San Francisco family, the essence of stability—but none of them proved necessary. Since Gilbert Cooley was normally so cautious, no one seriously thought to question his judgment.
Ann’s heart almost stopped later that day when the secretary told her that Gil was on the phone.
“Tell me quickly,” she cried. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
Ann couldn’t speak. “Oh, Gil!” she finally said. “Thank you!”
“It was the least I could do for you, Ann,” he said quietly. “Good luck.”
Phillip took the news calmly. “Congratulations, Ann. I just hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew.”
Ann refused to let his pessimism affect her attitude. She was going to succeed if she had to plumb, wire, and plaster the whole of Hampton House herself.
The loan included $1,500 over the purchase price, earmarked for renovation. Ann had already calculated the cost of the appliances and building materials, and as she had told Phillip, she had found a nonunion contractor. Guido Verona worked for his uncle, who owned a large Italian grocery. Ann had discovered him when his uncle bragged to Ann about Guido building a new storeroom practically for cost. “That Guido. He know everything.”
Ann had been doubtful, but when she talked to Guido, she discovered that he spoke English fairly fluently and that he really was handy, not only at carpentry but at plumbing and electrical work too. Already he had a brisk business and someday soon he planned to get a contractor’s license.
When she asked Guido if he’d work on Hampton House, he looked over the property and then quoted her a price which was so low, she protested.
“When you buy more buildings, I want you to come to me.” He gave his rare, slow smile. “Then I’ll charge you more.”
Guido was a find. He worked ten hours a day, his brawny arms making short work of the massive renovation. Of course, neither of them knew much about restoring old Victorians, but Guido proved to be a genius at ferreting out cheap period materials. Sometimes he even got them free at wrecking operations.
Ann did most of the painting and wallpapering. Every afternoon after finishing work she rushed over to the house. Even when she was exhausted, she doggedly pushed herself to keep going, knowing that every week the property stood vacant, they were losing money.
She said as much to Phillip when he complained that she hadn’t cooked dinner in a month.
“Well, if you can’t handle it, that’s your fault, Ann. I told you you were biting off more than you could chew.”
“It’s only for a little while, Phillip. I’m sorry about dinner, but as soon as we’re through with the renovations, I’ll make it up to you all.”
Working together constantly, she and Guido soon became close friends, despite the differences in their backgrounds. He had a wealth of common sense, and unconsciously Ann began to depend on his judgment. With Guido’s help and unstinting approval, she began to feel that she could do anything she set her mind to.
As the weeks passed, Ann noticed with surprise that the young Italian, with his dark liquid eyes and smooth olive skin, was even more handsome than she had thought when they first met. When he lifted a stack of lumber, the strong muscles of his back rippled underneath his thin T-shirt. Yet despite his muscularity, his body was lean in the close-fitting Levi’s he usually wore, and he moved with the unconscious grace of an athlete.
One day he looked up and saw her watching him. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. When she raised her eyes, she saw his slow smile. “You are quitting already?”
She had jumped up quickly. “No, no.”
One Friday evening, Ann had gone over to work on the house after dinner. Ann was surprised to find Guido still there.
“You shouldn’t be here Friday night, for goodness sake! You need to go out, have a little social life. I don’t mean to work you into the ground.”
“It’s okay,” he replied. “I want to fix the fireplace before I go.”
“Still clogged, huh?”
They worked together in companionable silence for a while. Then Guido called out, “Ann—the one-pound hammer, please? If I fix the damper, it will be finished, I think.”
Ann was using the hammer to pry up the baseboard molding. As she crossed the room she tripped over a two-by-four. She tried to save herself, but her legs, cramped from stooping, moved too slowly.
She heard Guido call, “Ann!” as she fell. Then there was a sharp blow to her head. When she regained consciousness, Guido was holding her, murmuring, “Cara mia. Anna, cara mia. Speak to me!”
Ann allowed herself to lie without moving in his arms for a moment. Then she opened her eyes and saw his face, drawn with concern, close to hers.
“Guido?” she whispered.
“Anna—you can speak! Grazie a Dio!”
She nodded weakly. Her forehead throbbed horribly, but somehow she didn’t mind the pain. It was so delicious just to lie there. She knew she should try to get up, but Guido’s arms were so strong, so gentle. And she was so tired.
When Guido spoke again, his voice was so soft that it was a mere breath: “Anna … cara.”
When he kissed her lightly on the mouth, she made no effort to resist.
He drew back and looked at her, his eyes roving hungrily over her delicate features. It had been torture for him working near her and not being able to touch her—not being permitted to make her happy.
He kissed her again, this time more urgently, moving his lips over hers in a kiss so sensual that Ann’s desire flared into life. It was beautiful and exciting—yet frightening at the same time. She knew she had to stop before she did something she’d regret. And she didn’t want to hurt Guido.
Gently, she placed her hand on his chest, pushing him away.
He didn’t seem offended. As she tried to get up, he placed a supporting arm behind her and helped her to her feet. Regaining her balance, she moved to the window and stood staring out at the rainy gray night. All day, the city had been blanketed with fog, and toward evening it had been replaced by a heavy, monotonous downpour. Through the rain, a halo glowed steadily around a streetlight. But none of it registered. The dripping of the rain emphasized the very stillness of the room, and she was intensely aware of Guido as he came up behind her. Feeling his warm breath on her neck, Ann knew that he was about to embrace her. And then, as his arms slipped around her waist, she closed her eyes and leaned back, unable to help herself.
Slowly he turned her around, and they faced each other.
“Cara mia,” he said softly. “Anna, I love you and I want you. You don’t know what hell it is for me to be so close and not tell you. You love me too, Anna. Tell me that you do,” he commanded softly, cupping her chin in his hand and pressing hard against her.
Ann wanted him—wanted him badly, but she knew that afterward she would have to go home to Phillip and Evie, and she knew she couldn’t go through with it.
“Guido, we can’t do this—”
Guido interrupted her roughly. “Anna, I see it in your eyes. I feel it in your lips. You love me too.”
“Maybe I do. But don’t you see? It’s impossible. There are other people in my life whom I would hurt badly.”
“But you do not love your husband,” he accused. “You live with him, but you do not love him. That is a sin!”
Ann was sorry she hadn’t stopped him sooner. She should have recognized his growing interest. He was a man, after all—kind, warm, tender—but a man nonetheless. She was grateful for his love. It was wonderful to know that she was still capable of arousing desire, even though it could never be cons
ummated.
“Guido, I think that we must try to forget that this ever happened. I’m not sure whether I’m happy or sad about it … a little of both, maybe. But I want so much for us to be friends. I need you in my life. Do you think that’s still possible?”
Hearing Ann’s plea in a voice that revealed her loneliness and frustration, Guido was torn. It was difficult to imagine repressing his feelings; at this moment he wanted her, wanted her so much that his body ached. But Guido was also a true romantic, and he knew he couldn’t let down any woman who trusted and needed him the way this one obviously did.
He took her hands and said, “I will be your good friend, Anna. May I kiss you just one more time?”
“Yes, Guido. You may.” As he held her close, Ann wondered where she had found the strength to say no.
That night, Ann lay in the bed she shared with her husband, thinking of Guido. She had done the right thing, the only thing, but just for tonight she allowed herself to fantasize about what might have been.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
FINALLY, THE DAY CAME when the house was finished. Guido had painted the outside white. Red geraniums and blue lobelia bloomed in the newly planted beds. Each apartment had its own green door with a shiny brass knocker.
Simon, Phillip, and Evie all came over to look, and Ann waited nervously for their verdict as they inspected the gleaming floors and woodwork, the dark-patterned wallpaper, the newly cleaned fireplaces, and the small but efficient kitchens. Simon was unstinting in his praise. “It’s amazing, Ann. You did all this for fifteen hundred dollars?”
“Well, it cost just a bit more. About seventeen hundred, to be exact.” She glanced at Phillip apprehensively.
The truth of the matter was that it would have been nearly three thousand dollars, except that in the end Guido refused to take any payment at all. “No, cara mia,” he had said a little sadly. “There is so little I can do for you. I will not take money from you.”
Seasons of the Heart Page 17
