The Ivy House

chapter 2

The agent left and Phoebe let herself have a full-blown moment of panic. She managed to breathe despite the filthy atmosphere and explored the rest of the house. She took the sight of the inside in stride, telling herself it was what she should have expected. After all, considering the way Savannah had handled her affairs, it was a miracle there was anything left for Phoebe at all. And this was more than she could have hope for, she decided, as she reminded herself of the house’s basic sturdiness.

Unfortunately, despite what Sandy had said, the house had been subjected to a number of redos throughout the decade, the latest of which had left lots of linoleum, probably covering the original, wide plank-wood floors; peeling wallpaper; and mirrors, lots of mirrors.

The paint colors throughout were faded or jarring or both, as though the rooms had been painted by someone color-blind or using the clearance colors from the local home improvement store. Definitely both, Phoebe thought as she opened the door to a smallish room, the dining room perhaps, and took another look.

The rest of the house wasn’t much better—it was dusty and dirty, and the tenants had left piles of things, from old bedding to stacks of newspapers, in various places. A few of the windowpanes were broken and had been covered up with pieces of cardboard.

Finally, she found herself outside in the backyard, taking in the view. There was a flagstone terrace out here, with a fire pit, ringed by a low rock wall, perfect for enjoying cool spring nights and watching the water. A strong breeze blew through the trees and she wandered down to the edge of the bluff. A picket fence ran along it, and there was a set of stairs going down to the beach. She looked over it. Apparently, this was the only thing the tenants had decided keep in good repair, the beach access, because here and there were pieces of new wood on the stairwell. This was what Sandy had meant when she said it was a million-dollar view.

Carefully, she made her way down to the beach, stopping when she got to the bottom. The shore was a mix of sand and rock, and there was a large driftwood log pulled up around what looked like the remains of a fire. She sat on the log and breathed in, the smell of the charred wood assailing her senses.

The sun was getting warm and she needed to think, figure out what to do next. The water, the sand, and the sun were working their magic. Already, less than a day out of the city and she felt calm, rested. The sadness of Savannah’s death, the stress of dealing with her estate, and that big looming question—What do I do now?—seemed to fade away. Phoebe took a deep breath, her grandmother’s words coming back to her: Enjoy the moment. All that mattered was that it was sunny and she was enjoying the view.

She tried not to think about the wreck that was looming, both figuratively and literally, above her head. Ivy House was a disaster. It would take a small fortune to fix it up, that much was clear, and Phoebe didn’t know if she had it in her. Either physically or financially.

The agent had already dropped hints. Despite its decrepit condition, it would attract some serious buyer interest. Just because of its “historical significance.” Phoebe had almost burst out laughing at that one. A torrid love affair wasn’t exactly world peace. Savannah and Leland had been more infamous than famous, but that still didn’t stop legions of people from obsessing over them. All the more now since they were both dead.

But Phoebe was a Hollywood girl. She knew that the public’s obsession with the life of movie stars was never quite rational. Any little thing, be it a prop or a costume piece, could be fought over by a serious collector. And now, if now, the chance to own the actual house that had been the love nest for the “Romance of the Century” became available, Phoebe knew she’d have more offers on her hands than she could handle.

Phoebe was still taking it in. She had thought that Savannah had sold the house years ago after Leland’s death. Instead, she had kept it, renting it out year after year. Despite the fact that Savannah could have used the money, she had not sold the house. She had left it, mostly intact, for Phoebe. What had Savannah been thinking, leaving Phoebe with a wreck of a house three-thousand miles away from her home?

I’ll just have to figure it out as I go, Phoebe thought to herself, her natural optimism returning as she trekked back up the steps. There was always a way to salvage a disaster.