Chapter 1
Blake Gregory sat looking out his office window in New York, pondering the offer he had just been made to be the CEO of a new high-tech social media start-up in San Francisco. He’d had other offers before, in Boston and other cities, though none as enticing as this one, and he’d turned them down without hesitation. But this was different, it had several exciting twists. The company’s founders were two young men with golden track records who had made vast fortunes with their earlier ventures. As a result they had plenty of money to invest in their new start-up. Their previous companies had been based on simple concepts, and so was this one, combining the principles of a search engine with social media, and the potential growth rate was astronomical.
Blake was in high-tech venture capital, with an established, extremely respected firm. But the idea they had outlined made sense to him, and even made him want to join their team, although he had done well where he was, and a new company was never certain to succeed. But if it worked, he could see it making billions. There were possible pitfalls involved, but he thought they could be overcome in the developmental stage. The offer had come out of the blue, based on some business contacts he had and his professional reputation as a smart, forward-thinking analyst of new ventures, highly adept at assessing risk and how to get around it to create a successful business. They were offering him twice what he was making at the firm where he worked in New York. His future was secure where he was now, and he had been there for ten years and liked his co-workers. Everything was unknown about the situation at the start-up in San Francisco, including how he’d like the people he’d be working for. He knew they were gutsy, brilliant, and ruthless, and they always made big money. It was so damn tempting, although he wasn’t usually a risk taker. But the money was appealing, and so was the stock he’d own in the company when they went public, which was their goal.
It made him feel young again, thinking about doing something new and different. At forty-six, he had been on a safe, predictable path for a long time. Married, with three kids, he wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind. He couldn’t even imagine what his wife, Sybil, would say if he told her. They were both inveterate New Yorkers, loved the city, and had grown up there, as their kids had. Blake had never considered taking a job in another city, but he was now. If the start-up succeeded, he could make a fortune. It was going to be hard to turn down.
Sybil was thirty-nine years old, and had had a diversified career. She had been an art history major at Columbia, which was where she had met Blake, while he was at business school getting his MBA. She had been passionate about Frank Lloyd Wright, I. M. Pei, Frank Gehry, and all the avant-garde architects of modern times. She had gone back to Columbia to study architecture, after she married Blake and had kids, and then changed direction to pursue interior design, and had become a consultant to high-end furniture design firms, and she had created several pieces herself that had become iconic. She was a regular consultant to both MoMA and the Brooklyn Museum, advising them about their acquisitions of important pieces for their permanent collections, and curating shows for them. Everything she touched had a sleek, streamlined look to it, and in her nonexistent spare time, she was working on a book about the best of twentieth-century interior design, and her publisher was clamoring for it.
Blake was certain her book would be a success. She was a thorough, thoughtful writer, about the subjects she knew best. She wrote frequent articles for important interior design magazines and the New York Times design section, and was considered an expert in her field. Her personal favorite was mid-century modern, and anything designed earlier than 1950 was of less interest to her, but she wrote about all of it. Their two-story Tribeca loft apartment on North Moore, in an old textile warehouse, looked like the modern wing of a great museum. Every important designer was represented with pieces that could instantly be attributed to them by any expert. Sybil was, above all, very talented herself, and had a way of picking decisively what was new and chic. Blake didn’t always understand it, but readily admitted he liked the effect.
Sybil had a respect for other periods and enjoyed exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum, and they both loved the archaic turn-of-the-century elegance of the Frick Collection, but what made Sybil’s heart beat faster, what she was drawn to and created, was anything at the outer, forward edge of design. Their own apartment had a coolness to it, and a spare airy feeling. She had designed some of the furniture herself from a line she had created. Museums around the country asked her to curate exhibits for them. She almost never took on private decorating clients anymore, because she didn’t want to be limited by other people’s ideas and tastes. And the hub of all her creative activities was New York. Blake didn’t think it would be fair to ask her to move to San Francisco for him. Normally he wouldn’t have considered it, but the job he’d been offered was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He wondered if he could do it for a couple of years, but if the business was a success, he’d want to stay longer.
His kids wouldn’t welcome a move either. The offer in San Francisco had come the first week of school. Andrew had just started his senior year of high school, and would be applying to college that fall. Caroline was a junior, and firmly embedded in her life in New York. The prospect of moving at sixteen and seventeen would horrify them both. Only Charlie, their six-year-old, wouldn’t care where they lived, as long as he was with them. He had just started first grade.
Sybil was in Philadelphia for the day, consulting with a museum about a show they wanted her to curate in two years. He didn’t know if he’d tell her about the offer or even whether he should. Why upset her about a job he wasn’t going to take? But they wanted him to go to San Francisco and see them that week to discuss it further, and he was sorely tempted to. They’d been incredibly persistent. It was Monday, and he had already figured out that he could get away on Wednesday afternoon, and had moved some meetings to do it.
He was distracted, thinking about it, when Sybil walked into their apartment that night, her long blond hair pulled back tightly in a bun, and wearing a very severe but chic black suit. She looked every inch a New Yorker, and always did. She was a beautiful woman, and their daughter had her tall, lean, classic appearance. Both boys resembled Blake more clearly, with dark hair, dark eyes, and all-American athletic bodies. They loved sports and were good athletes.
“How’d it go?” Blake asked, as she smiled at him, put down her bag, and took off her shoes. It was a hot Indian summer day, and she’d left the house at six A.M. to catch the train and be in Philadelphia in time for her meeting. Their housekeeper had picked Charlie up at school, Caroline and Andy took the subway home at different hours. One of the things Sybil liked about her eclectic work life was her flexible schedule, so she could usually pick Charlie up. Charlie had come as a surprise to both of them, but after the initial shock and adjustment, they’d agreed that he was one of the best things that had ever happened to them. He was their easiest, most loving child, and always happy whatever he was doing. Both his older siblings enjoyed spending time with him too.
Two of the children were in their rooms by the time Sybil got home from Philadelphia. Andy and Caroline were doing homework, and Charlie was watching a movie on the flat-screen TV in his parents’ room. The children had had dinner, but Blake had waited for her. He followed her into the kitchen as she put out a salad and some cold chicken the housekeeper had left for them.
“I don’t think I’m going to curate their show,” she said as he poured her a glass of wine. “It’s coming over from Denmark. They really don’t need me to curate it, it looks incomplete to me, and they don’t want me adding to it. It’s been put together by a prestigious museum, so they want to keep it as it is. It’s not for me.” She turned down many of the opportunities she was offered. She was a purist about her work, and the periods and designers that interested her. “Besides, I need time to work on my book. I want to finish it in the next year.” She’d been working on it for two years. It was going to be almost a textbook of the best of modern design. “How was your day?” She looked at him with a smile. They liked meeting up in the evenings to share what they’d each done.
“Fine. I’m going to San Francisco on Wednesday,” he blurted out, realizing that he sounded insane. He looked startled himself, and had intended to introduce the subject more gracefully, but his nervousness about telling her had taken the upper hand.
“A new deal out there?” she asked and sipped her wine. He hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. And then he sighed and sat back in his chair. He never kept secrets from her. They were a team, and one that still worked well after eighteen years of marriage. There were few surprises in their life, and they both liked it that way. And they were still in love after almost two decades.
“I got an offer from a terrific start-up in San Francisco today,” he said in a low voice.
“You’re going to turn them down?” She knew the answer to the question, but asked anyway. He always did. He was content where he was, or so she thought.
“This one’s different. They’re putting a lot of money into it, the two guys starting it have an impeccable reputation, and it’s going to work and make everyone involved a fortune.” He seemed certain. She looked at him as he said it, and set her fork down on her plate.
“But it’s in San Francisco.” She might as well have said it was on Mars or Pluto. California was not part of their universe.
“I know, but they’re offering me twice what I’m making now and great stock options. If they win big with it, we’ll be set for life.” They both made a good living. They led a comfortable life, and had everything they wanted, and so did their kids. And neither of them had ever aspired to those leagues. “I’m not saying I’d make billions, but there is some very big money to be made on this deal, Syb. It’s not easy to turn down.”
“We can’t move to San Francisco,” she said simply. “I can’t, you can’t, and we can’t do that to the kids. Andrew is graduating this year.” Blake knew that all too well. He had thought of it all afternoon, with severe pangs of guilt for even considering the offer and not turning it down flat. He felt like the traitor in their midst.
“I’d like to just take a look so I can see what I’m declining,” he said, knowing it was a poor excuse to go out there. And she knew it too.
“What if you don’t want to turn it down?” she asked, looking worried.
“I’ll have to, but I should at least listen to them.” He knew that at forty-six, he wasn’t going to get another offer like this one, and that if he didn’t take it, he’d probably stay where he was for the rest of his career. There was nothing wrong with that, and his current job was respectable, but he wanted to be absolutely certain that declining it was the right thing to do, before he did.
“This sounds ominous,” Sybil said, as she put their dishes in the sink.
“I’m not saying I’ll take it, Syb. I just want to have a look. Maybe I could do it for a couple of years,” he said, trying to find a solution to a problem she didn’t want them to have.
“They won’t let you do that. And we need to let Caro and Andy finish school here for the next two years.” He knew that declining the start-up in San Francisco was probably a sacrifice he would have to make, but it was harder than he’d expected it to be.
“I’ll just be out there Wednesday to Friday, and back on the weekend,” he said quietly, but there was a look in his eye she’d never seen before and didn’t like. He was thinking of himself and not of them.
“Why am I not reassured? You can’t be serious about this, Blake.” Her mouth was set in a thin line and she looked tense.
“It could set us up for the future. I’m never going to make that kind of money here.”
“We don’t need more than what we have,” she said firmly. “We have a great apartment and a good life.” She had never been greedy and was satisfied with what they both made.
“This isn’t just about money. It’s exciting to be part of something new. This could be groundbreaking. I’m sorry, Syb. I just want to check it out. Do you hate me for that?” He loved her and didn’t want to screw up their marriage, but he knew it would gnaw at him forever if he didn’t talk to the people in San Francisco now. He had promised to fly out before asking her.
“I couldn’t hate you…except if you move us out of New York,” she said and laughed. She wasn’t angry at him, but she was afraid. “Just promise me you won’t go crazy out there and accept the job before we talk.”
“Of course not.” He put an arm around her and they found Charlie asleep on their bed with the TV on when they walked into their bedroom. Blake carried him to his own room, Sybil changed him into his pajamas, and he never woke up.
They said good night to Caroline and Andy, and after they turned off the lights, Sybil lay in bed, thinking about what Blake had said. She hoped this was just one of those moments when an idea looks enticing for a few minutes and then reality sets in, and you know it’s not for you. She couldn’t see any of them living in San Francisco, and didn’t want to. And even if the job sounded exciting to him now, she was sure they’d all be miserable if they left New York for him. It was the last thing she wanted to do, even for the man she loved. They couldn’t do it to their kids. And she didn’t want a bicoastal marriage, where they flew to see each other on weekends. There was just no way it could work for them. Their life in New York was perfect the way it was. Blake agreed with her, but the opportunity he’d been offered in San Francisco was one of a kind.
Blake had left for the office before Sybil took Charlie to school, and by the time she got back to the apartment and sat down at her desk in her home office, she had decided not to worry about it. Blake had never been impulsive, he was a sensible person, and he loved New York too. He’d always been happy in his current job in venture capital, evaluating new deals. She was sure that once he got to San Francisco for the meeting, he’d figure out that the start-up wasn’t for him, no matter how glamorous it seemed. Just like her, he was a New Yorker to the core, and he wouldn’t want to disrupt their kids, or her. She decided it was better to let him go out to California and see for himself than to put her foot down and have a fit. He’d come to his senses on his own. She was sure of it.
They had a peaceful evening that night, and didn’t talk about it again. She didn’t want to argue with him and he didn’t bring the subject up. He went to the airport straight from the office on Wednesday. He called her before his flight to tell her he loved her and say goodbye, and he thanked her for being a good sport about him going to San Francisco to take a look.
“You might as well see it before you turn it down,” she said calmly, and Blake sounded relieved. Sybil knew that no matter how much they offered him, they wouldn’t be able to lure him away from New York. He was a creature of habit and liked his job.
“That’s what I think too. Tell the kids I love them. I’ll be back late Friday night.” He would be catching the last plane out of San Francisco, and he knew that with the time difference she’d be asleep when he got home. His plane was due to land at JFK at two A.M. Even if it was late, he preferred it to spending another night away from her. They were going to the Hamptons that weekend, to a house they rented for a month in the summer and on occasional weekends. The weather had been so good they wanted to take advantage of it one last time, and the kids wanted to go too. They were looking forward to it, and so was Blake.
With the time difference in his favor, Blake met the two men founding the start-up for a late dinner at his hotel on Wednesday night. They were on fire. Both were younger than he was by a dozen years, and had impressive track records and histories. He knew they were originally geeks and had become brilliant businessmen. Both were Harvard MBAs. They were idea men who liked starting companies, selling them, and moving on. They wanted him to run the company while they developed the concept to its fullest until they sold it or it went public, whichever was most lucrative. They had all the money they needed to make it a success, and listening to their plans was as thrilling as he’d feared it would be, once he knew who was involved.
He couldn’t sleep that night, and had a breakfast meeting the next day with the half dozen people who headed up various departments. They were all innovative men and women who’d had successful roles in other companies. The two founders wanted only stars involved, and considered that Blake could be one as CEO, and they liked that he had both feet on the ground. Their business plan was almost flawless, and the opportunity to make a vast amount of money was immense, especially for Blake, as CEO, with the stock options and participation they were offering him.
He sat in on meetings all day, and met with the two founders again before dinner to discuss his impressions, and they were pleased with what they heard. He added balance to the team, and he had a solid financial point of view. The meetings on Friday were even better. He liked the working environment as well. They were occupying a remodeled warehouse south of Market that had been made into offices, and they already had a fleet of young people working for them, full of dynamic ideas and energy. It was invigorating and exciting just being there, compared to what he did every day, although the concepts weren’t entirely unfamiliar to him. Undeniably there was risk, but everyone involved seemed sensible and experienced. They were a surprisingly cohesive group, and Blake fit right in. They renewed their offer to him before he left, more convinced than ever that he was the right man for the job, and he was too. They had managed to dissipate all his reservations about it in two days. He sat staring into space, lost in thought, and wide awake for most of the flight back to New York. It was the best forty-eight hours he had spent at work in years. He felt like a new man.
Blake walked into their apartment in Tribeca at three A.M., and Sybil was sound asleep. He kissed the top of her head on the pillow and she didn’t stir.
He looked tired and serious when he walked into the kitchen on Saturday morning. They were all packed for the weekend and ready to leave, and Sybil purposely didn’t ask him what had happened in San Francisco until they were settled into the rented house in the Hamptons, and the kids had gone outside to play on the beach. They were sitting on the deck, watching them, when Sybil turned to him, as he searched for the right words to tell her what he knew she didn’t want to hear.
“How did it go?” she asked him, seeming tense.
“I’d be insane to turn it down,” he said, in a raw, husky voice. “I’ve never had an opportunity like it before. And I probably won’t again.” He told her precisely what kind of money he could make if he signed on with them, before they got going and eventually went public, or sold out to someone like Google, who could conceivably want to buy them out in time.
“Life is about more than money,” she chided him. “Since when is that the big motivator for you? You can’t give up our whole life for that.” But she could see the longing in his eyes. He’d never looked like that about a job before. She knew it wasn’t about money, but about doing something exciting and new. It was thrilling. This could be very big for him, and ultimately for them if it was a huge success. That wasn’t negligible. Where the job was located didn’t matter to him, for the first time in his career.
“It’s different when you’re talking about these kinds of amounts, Syb,” he said softly. “Couldn’t you base yourself in San Francisco for a few years? You could write there, and work on your book, and send your articles in from anywhere. And you could fly back to work with the museums and curate shows, and meet your clients in New York.” He was trying to make suggestions that would work for her, but it was like trying to climb a glass wall. He got no traction from her.
“And spend my life on planes, with three kids at home,” she commented and looked shocked by his question, and the fact that he would even consider it, for any of them. She could see he was evaluating the offer seriously. She could understand why, but it was going to disrupt their lives beyond belief. She couldn’t do that to the children or herself. It wouldn’t be fair.
The kids came back to the house then for something to eat, and they shelved the discussion until that night, and picked it up again when Andrew and Caroline went out to see friends, and Charlie was asleep in the room next to theirs.
“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but the kids would adjust,” Blake insisted. “They’ll make new friends, and Andy is leaving after this year anyway. The offer won’t wait. If I don’t take it, they’ll make a proposal to someone else. They need someone now.” He sounded desperate, and she felt sorry for him, but more so for herself and their kids. She could see how badly Blake wanted to do it, but it was in direct conflict with everyone else’s needs.
“And they have earthquakes there,” she reminded him, clutching at straws to deter him, and feeling selfish when she did.
“They haven’t had a really big one in over a hundred years,” he said, laughing at her. But she was as stubborn as he was.
“Then they’re overdue. Besides, there was a fairly big one in 1989.”
“They’re not going to have an earthquake just because we move out there,” he said, pulled her into his arms, and forgot about the job in San Francisco for the rest of the night. And the next day they went back to the city, with nothing resolved between them. Neither of them was angry, but it was important to both of them.
They went back and forth arguing about it for several days, neither convincing the other, and she finally realized that he would never forgive her if he turned it down. It would remain a bitter pill stuck in his throat forever, more so than for her if she moved to San Francisco for him. She wasn’t happy about it, but she also knew that he was right that at his age a chance like this wouldn’t come again. And the money was a certain incentive for both of them in the end, if they and their children would truly be secure for life if it really took off. She could see the value of that too, after discussing it with Blake at length.
All he asked was that she give it two years, and he promised that if it was impacting them too severely, he’d quit and return to New York. Sybil loved him and didn’t want to hurt his career, or their marriage, and at the end of two weeks, she looked at him, exhausted, and put her arms around him.
“I give in. I love you too much to make you give this up for us. We’ll make it work somehow,” she said, and knew she had done the right thing when she saw how grateful and ecstatic he was. He called San Francisco in the morning and told them the good news and resigned his position at the venture capital firm. They told the children that night after dinner.
They were horrified by what their parents said, but their mother was firm with them, saying that it was a sacrifice they would all have to make for the common good. It was important for their father’s career and their own security in the long run. Caroline and Andrew were both old enough to understand it and Sybil gave them no choice, and she pointed out that it was a huge adjustment for her too. She had already called Andy’s school that afternoon, and they had agreed to let him come back and graduate with his class, if he wanted to. He could walk with the friends he had been with all through high school, as long as he successfully completed senior year at his San Francisco school.
Blake had agreed to let them finish the fall semester in New York, and Sybil and the kids would all move to San Francisco in January. He would be leaving in the next two weeks, and this way he would have time to find them an apartment. Neither Blake nor Sybil wanted to buy, since they weren’t sure yet if it would be a permanent move. Sybil had been clear that she wanted a bright, sunny, modern apartment, not a house. She had researched San Francisco schools and already contacted them. And they were leaving the apartment in Tribeca as is, in case they came back to New York in two years, and so she’d have a place to stay when she went to New York to work. She had two and a half months to get everything organized to leave. And Blake had that time to find a home for them, and settle in at work. Sybil was planning to stage the San Francisco apartment he found with rented furniture at first, and they could buy what they needed if they stayed. For now, they were considering it a temporary move for a couple of years, to see how it worked out. Knowing that they might return to New York took the sting out of it for Sybil and the kids, and she hoped that San Francisco would be short-term. But she threw herself into the move for Blake’s sake, and tried to convince their children and herself that it wasn’t the end of the world.
Andy was upset about it but tried to be reasonable, once he understood the financial potential for them. He was proud of his father, and relieved that he’d be graduating with his friends in June. Caroline was dramatic, and threatened not to come, but there was nowhere for her to stay in New York. She didn’t have grandparents or uncles or aunts, and didn’t want to go to boarding school, which her parents offered as an alternative because she was so adamantly against the move. So she had no choice but to accept the plan to go to San Francisco. And, predictably, Charlie was the easiest of all, and said he thought it would be fun. He wanted to know all about his new school.
Two weeks after Blake left, Sybil had them enrolled in excellent San Francisco schools, based on their transcripts. Blake had visited the schools and said he was pleased, and the apartment search had already begun. But when he came home for Thanksgiving, he still hadn’t found them a place to live. It had been harder than he thought to find an apartment to rent within reasonable distance of the schools, with all of Sybil’s requirements: light, sunny, airy, modern, with high ceilings and excellent views. And the rents in San Francisco seemed ridiculously high to him, even compared to New York.
Blake was loving his new job, and looked ten years younger when he came home. Sybil knew it had been the right thing for him to do. But she was anxious for him to find an apartment for them and he promised to search even more vigorously when he went back after Thanksgiving.
“Can we live in a hotel?” Charlie asked after his father had gone back to San Francisco.
“I hope not,” Sybil said with a stern expression. She didn’t want to live in a hotel with three children, no matter how much Charlie liked the idea. “Daddy will find something before we get there,” she promised. The realtor was negotiating for an apartment in the Millennium Tower on Mission Street on the fifty-eighth floor, with fabulous views, but it was in a somewhat dicey neighborhood, not ideal for children. It was in the financial district amid office buildings in an area that had been gentrified, but there was no park or playground for Charlie. The apartment was in a very fancy high-rise and had been up for sale for the past year, since the owner had moved to Hong Kong, and there had been construction problems in the building, which made the apartments harder to sell, but possibly easier to rent, and maybe at a more reasonable price. The realtor was hoping to get them a lease for a year or two. It was still a great building despite the construction issues. Blake was waiting to see the apartment, and several others, as soon as the realtor could organize it and get him in, while Sybil pressed him about it daily.
In the meantime, the children were enjoying their last month in New York before the holidays. Andy was seeing all his friends while he could, and going to basketball and hockey games. And Caroline still thought her parents were cruel, but managed to have fun with her friends anyway. They were going to spend Christmas in New York, and then fly to San Francisco on New Year’s Day. Sybil just hoped they had a place to live by then, and so did Blake. Not finding one so far was beginning to unnerve them both. He had a day set aside to see apartments with the realtor on the first of December, and hoped he would have better luck than he’d had in November. He didn’t see how it could be that hard to find a four-bedroom apartment, in a modern building with light and views, per his wife’s instructions. They had five apartments to see that day. The one at the Millennium Tower hadn’t come through yet, but Blake and Sybil were hopeful. Blake had been living at the Regency since he got there, which was a combination of co-op apartments and hotel suites, but he wanted to find a home for Sybil and the children, not a temporary solution.
The realtor picked him up on a foggy San Francisco morning and assured him that she felt in her bones that they would find what he was looking for that day. He hoped she was right. He was grateful to Sybil and his children for being willing to move there, and now he was determined to find a home they’d love.
The first apartment they looked at was in a 1930s building in Pacific Heights, the city’s prime residential district, but the apartment was dark and depressing, although it was a floor-through with spectacular views. It didn’t have the modern feeling Sybil wanted, and it faced north. As they drove on to the next location, Blake was beginning to wonder if he’d ever find the right apartment. He didn’t have the heart to text Sybil and tell her he’d seen another bad one. There had to be a home for them in San Francisco somewhere. All he had to do now was find it, whatever it took.
Sybil had allowed him to pursue his dream. Now he owed it to her to find them a decent home in the city that his family had graciously agreed to come to. He had his eyes closed for a minute, thinking about her and missing her, when they stopped at an intersection, and he opened his eyes and found himself staring at a building that looked very much like the Frick museum in New York. He didn’t recognize it and had never noticed it before, although they had driven through Pacific Heights several times.
“What’s that?” he asked, intrigued. It had more the appearance of a small museum than a home. There was a wall of trees around it, with the house peering over them, an elaborate gate, and a courtyard just inside. The garden seemed overgrown.
“It’s the Butterfield Mansion,” the realtor answered as she drove past the stop sign, and Blake turned around to gaze at the house behind them. It was an impressive building, in a European style, but appeared abandoned despite its grandeur.
“Who lives there?” he asked, curious about it.
“No one, not in a long time. They were an important banking family at the turn of the century, when the house was built over a hundred years ago, before the 1906 earthquake. They lost their money in the Great Depression, and sold the house. It changed hands a number of times after that, and a bank foreclosed on it five or six years ago. It’s been empty ever since. No one wants houses that size anymore. They’re too expensive to run, and too much trouble to staff. Eventually some land developer will buy it and tear it down. I don’t think the bank wants the bad publicity that will go with it when that happens. It would make a great hotel—it sits on quite a bit of land—but the area’s not zoned for that. So it’s just empty for now. It has something like twenty bedrooms, a million maids’ rooms, and a ballroom. We have the listing, but I’ve never been inside. It’s a piece of San Francisco history. It’s too bad no one has bought it, with all the high-tech money around the city now. The bank has it listed for a ridiculously low price, just to get rid of it, but it’s too big a headache for anyone to take on.” Blake nodded. It was easy to see that would be the case, but it had such dignified elegance, even in its untended, unoccupied, slightly forlorn state. Blake could tell that no one had loved it in a long time.
“What happened to the family who lived there? The Butterworths?”
“Butterfields,” she corrected. “I think they disappeared after they sold it. Or they died out. I vaguely remember that they moved to Europe. Something like that. They’re not part of the San Francisco social scene anymore.” It was sad to think about a family who had lived in so much elegance and splendor dying out. Blake was fascinated by the house and what she told him about it, but they drove on to see four more apartments he knew Sybil would hate, and he went back to his office south of Market, and to his hotel that night. He told Sybil on the phone that he had struck out again finding them an apartment.
“Something will turn up,” she said, trying to sound optimistic. “What about the one in the Millennium Tower?” she asked, although she felt squeamish about living on such a high floor in what she insisted was earthquake country, or even in case of a fire, with three children to walk down fifty-eight floors.
“The owner in Hong Kong hasn’t responded to them yet. Maybe he doesn’t want to rent.”
“That’s just as well,” she said, referring to the high floor again. He almost told her about the huge empty mansion he had seen that morning, but they moved on to other subjects, and then he forgot. But he thought about it again in bed that night, and wondered what it looked like inside. Feeling ridiculous for doing so, he called the realtor in the morning and, just as a matter of interest, asked her the price. There was something so unusual and compelling and discreetly beautiful about the house. When she quoted him what it was listed for, he was startled.
“It would probably cost you a fortune to run it, but I think the bank would take even less than that. There’s been talk about an auction, but they’re afraid a commercial buyer would tear it down. The land alone is worth more than that.” She had quoted a price that was less than any of the apartments they’d seen that were for sale, although he didn’t want them. Real estate prices were high in San Francisco. Their loft in Tribeca was worth ten times the asking price of the Butterfield Mansion. It was a steal.
“What kind of shape is it in, inside?”
“I have no idea, but I can ask. Do you want to see it?” She sounded surprised. It was everything he had said he didn’t want. He wanted brand-new, modern, an apartment, not a house, and had said he didn’t want to buy. All of which was true, but the old abandoned house was gnawing at him.
“I don’t suppose there’s much point seeing it, except out of curiosity. My wife would kill me.”
“You can lowball it if you like the house,” the realtor said, lowering her voice and ignoring his comment about Sybil.
He almost didn’t need to lowball it, the price was already so low. They could fix it up and sell it for considerably more when they left San Francisco. Thinking about it that way made it sound more like a business deal than a folly. “Maybe I will take a look at it, just for the hell of it,” he said, intrigued.
“I’ll call you back.” She hung up and called him five minutes later, having gotten the keys from her manager and confirmed that the bank still had it on the market. She knew that it was a property they’d been anxious to get off their hands for some time. “I can show it to you at noon, if you want.” He felt foolish but agreed to meet her there, and arrived at the front gate promptly by cab.
Walking through the house was like time travel back to the beginning of the twentieth century. The home was antiquated, but spectacularly beautiful and elegantly built inside, with carved moldings, a wood-paneled library, gorgeous parquet floors, and a ballroom that reminded him of Versailles. It looked like a museum, or a small hotel. It was in surprisingly good shape. There was no evidence of damage or leaks. And there was a long row of bells in the kitchen that the numerous servants had responded to in its days of grandeur a century ago. The reception rooms on the main floor were very large in scale, and all of the family bedrooms were on one floor, with small sitting rooms and dressing rooms and enormous bathrooms for each bedroom. There was a floor of guest rooms and additional sitting rooms, all with spectacular views and marble fireplaces, like the main bedrooms, and an entire level of maids’ rooms on the top floor. An enormous family could have lived there, with an army of servants to attend them. Blake wandered up and down the grand staircase, going through the house again, and saw that the kitchen had been modernized at some point, although it still needed some updating.
“What an amazing house,” he said in awe after he’d seen everything for a second time.
“Do you want to make an offer?” she asked bluntly. He stood silently, staring up at the elaborate ceilings as he thought about it, and noticed that the chandeliers were all gone and would need to be replaced. Due to its size alone, the house would be a decorating challenge to furnish.
“I think I will,” a voice he didn’t recognize as his own said softly. “Even if we never live here, it would be an incredible investment. If you put a coat of paint on the inside, and take the boards off the windows, for the right price, it would be a remarkable house to have.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or the realtor, and he decided not to tell Sybil for the moment. There was no way he could explain it to her and do it justice, and it was everything she didn’t want. But in a bold move, he cut the bank’s price almost in half, like betting on a roulette wheel in Las Vegas, just to see what would happen. He was sure he wouldn’t get it, but it was fun to try. Based on square footage and location alone, it was an incredible deal, if they accepted his offer.
The realtor had the forms to him in his office an hour later, and he signed them. It seemed almost like a lark he couldn’t take seriously, given his absurdly low offer for a house no one wanted, and then he forgot about it and spent the rest of the day in meetings. He didn’t get back to his desk again until six P.M., and found a message from the realtor. It just said to give her a call, and he did before he went back to his hotel, certain that he would hear that the bank had turned down his offer. He wasn’t sure if he hoped they would, or not.
“The Butterfield Mansion is yours, Mr. Gregory,” the realtor said in a solemn tone, and it took a moment for her words to sink in. “The house is yours,” she repeated. “The bank accepted your offer. They want to close in two weeks, after your inspections,” which had been his only contingency.
“Oh my God,” he said, and sat down with a stunned expression, trying to think of what he was going to tell his wife. He had bought a twenty-thousand-square-foot 1902 mansion with a ballroom, on an acre of land. And fighting a wave of panic, when he thought of how Sybil would look when he told her, he started to laugh. He could still get out of it, based on the inspections, if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He had no idea why, and it made absolutely no sense, but he had fallen in love with the house. He wondered if he was having some kind of midlife crisis. First, he had taken the job in San Francisco, and now he had bought a hundred-and-fifteen-year-old mansion. This was definitely not the rented modern apartment Sybil had in mind.
He walked back to his hotel, musing about what had possessed him. But whatever the reason, or the madness, now they had a house to live in. And the price he had paid for it was so low that it would hardly make a dent in their savings. At least Sybil couldn’t be angry at him for that. And once painted inside, the Butterfield Mansion was going to be a remarkable home for them, at least for the time being, even if they sold it later for a profit. Now all he had to do was convince Sybil of that. Buying it had been the easy part. Selling it to her was another matter entirely. But it might be fun to live in a house that large for a couple of years. “The Gregory Mansion,” he said to himself out loud and then he laughed.