The House

“I was. Marie-Louise is still there. I came back early. I had some work to do for a client. We were running behind.”

She took a breath and jumped right in. “I'm going to make an offer on the house.”

He sounded confused for a moment. “What house?”

“Twenty-forty Scott Street,” she said proudly, and this time at his end, he was stunned. Sarah could hear it if not see it.

“That house? Wow! There's a surprise, and a brave thing to do.” The way he said it was a little daunting. As though he thought she was crazy.

“Do you think I'm nuts to do it?”

“No, I don't,” he said thoughtfully. “Not if you love the house.”

“I do,” she said, more calmly. “My great-grandfather built it.”

“Now that really is cool. I love things like that, that come full circle. It seems like the right order of things somehow. I hope you're ready to take on a big job,” he said, with a smile in his voice, and she laughed.

“I am. I hope you are, too. I need your help, and a lot of guidance and direction. I'm going to follow plan A.”

“Which one was that?”

“The one where you spend half a million to restore the house, do a lot of the work yourself, and watch every penny.”

“Oh, that one. I would do exactly the same thing in your shoes, particularly if my family owned the house originally.”

“The difference is that you're an architect. I'm an attorney. I know tax laws and property trusts inside out. I don't know beans about restoring a house, or even hammering a nail.”

“You'll learn. Most people who work on their houses have no idea what they're doing. You'll figure it out as you go, and if you make mistakes, you'll fix 'em.” He was very encouraging, and as friendly as he'd been before. Sarah was relieved that Marie-Louise wasn't there. She wouldn't have been nearly as pleasant as he.

“I'd like you to see the house again when you have time, if you're not too busy. You can charge me for it, of course. But I really need your advice about what to do first. Electrical, plumbing, wiring. I need some direction to get me started, and I'm going to need a lot of advice along the way.”

“That's what we're here for. What does your week look like? When do you want me to drop by? I don't think Marie-Louise will be back for a few more weeks. I know her when she gets together with her family in Paris. She delays her return day by day. I just factor in about three extra weeks. We can wait till she comes back, if you like, or I can start working with you myself.”

“To be honest, I'd rather not wait.”

“Okay by me,” he said easily. “Tell me about your week.”

“The usual insanity.” She was thinking about the meetings with clients that she remembered, and work she was still doing on the probate of Stanley's estate. She had to go to court on Tuesday morning for a probate hearing. It was going to be a pretty crazy week.

“Me too,” he said, glancing at his book. “I have an idea. Are you busy this afternoon?”

“No, but you are,” Sarah said, feeling guilty. “I assume you're not sitting there reading a book or watching TV.”

“No, but I got a lot done yesterday and this morning. I can take a few hours off now, if you want me to meet you at the house. Besides, now you're a client. This is work.”

“I'd love it.” She had nothing to do all afternoon. The house was already filling her days.

“Perfect. I'll meet you there in half an hour. Actually, do you want to grab a sandwich before we go? We can talk about your plans over lunch.”

“That works for me,” she said happily. She hadn't been this excited since she got into Harvard.

“I'll pick you up in ten minutes. Where do you live?” She gave him the address, and he rang her bell fifteen minutes later. She ran down the stairs to meet him, and climbed into the Jeep he had driven to pick her up.

“What happened to the Peugeot?” Sarah asked with interest.

“I'm not allowed to drive it.” He smiled at her, and they stopped at a deli on Fillmore Street for sandwiches and lemonade. Less than an hour after he picked her up, they were at the house Sarah hoped would be hers. With any luck, it would be. She warned him that it was not yet a done deal, and he smiled at her, unconcerned. “It will be. I feel it in my bones.”

“Me too,” she giggled, as she let them both into the house.

He took his work very seriously. He had brought two cameras, an industrial tape measure, a sketch pad, and a series of tools and implements to measure things, and check others out. He explained to her that the floors and boiseries would have to be protected while there was work being done in the house. He recommended two plumbing contractors for her to choose between, and three electricians whom he told her wouldn't charge a fortune. The arrangement Jeff suggested he make with her was an hourly fee, based on work he actually did, not a percentage of costs, to run the project. He said an hourly would be cheaper for her. He was being extremely reasonable, got under things, climbed over things, rattled things, knocked on walls, and checked wood, tile, and plaster.