We were driving on the Capitol Expressway, or rather Andrew was. We’d already left the glass and concrete buildings of the city behind and were now invading the area of the strip malls. We’d passed Little Saigon with its colorful Vietnamese decorated shops and restaurants. I’d hardly noticed, too enwrapped with my conversation with Timothy.
I stared out the window in awe. Andrew was taking us into an area with rolling hills, housing developments, and lots of gorgeous trees. The traffic had thinned. Nobody was out walking. Where were all the mothers with carriages, the old men playing chess, the children screaming on their slides and bars or in the sand with miniature buckets?
“Where are we going? Are we leaving San Jose?”
Okay, I wasn’t panicking. I knew Timothy (and Andrew) weren’t kidnapping me, but it was an odd sensation to be so far from home without a known destination. Heading for San Franciso had been completely different. I’d been prepared for that. But this trip was frankly nerve-racking.
“Relax, my darling. My house is only about ten miles from yours. Not that far. We’re almost there. It’s in the foothills inside a gated community with a golf course and various other athletic activities. I think you’ll like it.”
“A house? Are you serious, Timothy? I thought you lived alone.”
“Yes, it’s a very lonely house. It needs a cat, the one we were going to go pick out, and, you, of course.
A few minutes later, we passed through the gate, one with a single horizontal white pole like at a train crossing. On the side of it was a huge emerald, green sign with an elegant horse sketched in black. In fancy script the sign announced: Silver Falls Country Club.
Timothy was waved through, no ID required. I guess he and Andrew were well known since Timothy said he lived inside its boundaries. The guard hardly looked at either of them. Maybe riding in a limo had something to do with that. How many other residents drove about in one?
On both sides of the street were the greens and in the distant eucalyptus trees twenty to forty feet in height. Palm trees were scattered everywhere, doing their scenic thing. We passed a club house, then a small lake with an incredible waterfall.
Timothy smiled as I oohed and aahed over how beautiful it all was. Andrew turned down a side street and then drove into a circular driveway. The house where he’d stopped was humongous — Mediterranean style in a soft beige color and artistically beautiful, but a monster-sized mansion.
“No. You can’t live here. This is gigantic! You’d need twenty kids and several wives plus the staff of a king or a president. It’s too much!’
Timothy laughed, but it was a laugh tinged with worry. “If you don’t like it, we’ll sell it, Penelope. As to having twenty kids. I think that’s a bit too much. Having several wives is illegal, even if I wanted them, which I don’t. As to the staff. Yes, I have caretakers, gardeners, and a personal chef. But, well, come see. I’m sure you’ll let me know what you think,”