The staircase looked like a work of art fit for Timothy’s gallery, (if he had staircases on display.) The marbling of the steps was exquisite. It seemed rather dangerous to me, however, since such a surface was precarious to ungraceful feet like mine. I was relieved to find that some kind of anti-slip treatment had been applied to each step to increase the grip.
I commented on it, and Timothy nodded. “Yes, it wouldn’t be much fun to tumble down from the top. I almost selected no-slip mats, but I liked this solution better since we can still see the texture of the stone.
The staircase was a winding one, with a handrail that provided slim spindles of black metal and a wooden runner at the top to reassure people lacking stability. To say that it was elegant and serviceable was a given. It was also a wow! So far, I’d admired everything about the house, I mean . . . the mansion.
Timothy showed me his room first, a space nearly the size of my entire apartment. A two-seater leather couch, the back draped with a red plaid blanket for cozy sits, was perched against one wall with a table on both sides for holding the two manly lamps. The bed was covered with a simple white bedspread. No throw pillows, which was too bad. A bit of color might have spiced it up.
The huge window/door looked out onto the front yard, giving a view of the golf course. I could see a lovely balcony overlooking the expanse of green. The balcony held a table and chairs, provisioned for those who wanted to sit and admire the golfers (or the scenery.)
“Do you golf?” I asked.
Timothy shrugged. “Only if it serves a purpose in working with a client,” He sighed. “Although I don’t embarrass myself out there, it’s not a sport I find particularly enthralling.”
“Oh, which is the reason you bought a house on a golf course?” I kidded.
“I bought this place because it was a good value for my money, met my needs, and acts as a suitable entertainment venue for fat cats who might like to invest in various projects I’m working on.”
“Okay, perhaps some other time I can ask about those projects, but . . .”
“Anything you want to know, my darling. It is my desire that one day soon we will have no more secrets between us.”
“You have secrets? Like what?”
“Right now, my secret is that my stomach is pealing the sound of its hunger. Shall we meet Chef Stevens in the private dining room?”
I nodded, but as we walked, I couldn’t help saying, “You have a private and a nonprivate dining room?”
“We could also eat out in the courtyard or on my balcony or . . .”
I shook my head and placed a finger over his mouth, “Sh. I’m already on overload, Timothy.”
Timothy
She was on overload? My senses were reeling from having her in close proximity. We’d been standing in my bedroom, the bed right behind us, and the thought of it being so close . . .
Patience. That is what Andrew kept telling me. I must be patient, And, I needed to tell her. But it still didn’t feel like the right time. We were too new.
I’d almost told her in the gallery, and then Simone had interrupted. That wouldn’t have been a good place anyway. I don’t know why I thought I should do it there. Screaming at the opening of my gallery. Not appropriate.
But, frankly, no place seemed right because the moment I revealed my secret, Penelope might leave me, and then I’d never see her again.