Gates of Paradise (Casteel 4)

"She didn't let on that she was. She was a very wise and beautiful young woman, even at that early age." Tony stared silently out the window, lost in thought. Then he sighed, and snapped out of his reverie. "We'll be there soon. Turn your head to the right and look for a break in the treeline. The first glimpse of Farthinggale Manor is a sight to

remember."

"How old is Farthy?" I asked.

"It was built by my great-great-great

grandfather in 1850, but don't let its age fool you. It's a grand place, as luxurious as any modern-day mansion. Many a movie star and entrepreneur have sent me offers."

"Would you sell it?"

"Not at any price. It's as much a part of me as . . as my own name. When I was a boy, there wasn't a house anywhere in the world as fine as the one where I lived. When I was seven, I was sent to Eton because my father thought the English knew more about discipline than our private schools do. I was terribly homesick from the day I arrived to the day I left. Sometimes I'd close my eyes and pretend I could smell the balsam, fir, and pine trees, and the briny scent of the sea." He closed his eyes, as if inhaling the perfumed air of Farthinggale right here in the limo, which smelled only of fine leather.

I felt the limo slow down and then turn onto a private road, and then there it was, looming above us: the fabled high wrought-iron gates with ornate embellishments that spelled out FARTHINGGALE MANOR. Imps and fairies and gnomes peeked between the iron leaves.

"It's almost as big as Luke and I dreamed." I sighed.

"Pardon?"

"Luke and I used to play a game, a fantasy game, imagining what Farthinggale looked like."

"You're about to find out, firsthand."

The driveway seemed to go on forever and ever, and then a huge house made of gray stone suddenly appeared. It did resemble a castle. The red roof soared above the trees; and there were the turrets and small red bridges . . . just as they were in the plaque Luke had given me.

But there was much that was different from the Farthy of our dreams and fantasies, I thought, as I scanned the grounds. Drake's description, unfortunately, was the more accurate one.

The grounds were overgrown and unkempt, bushes untrimmed and flower beds overrun with weeds.

The house was as breathtaking in size as Luke and I had dreamt it would be, but it looked like it hadn't been lived in for years and years. Wherever there was wood siding or trim, it was peeling and cracked. The house looked gray and cold, the windows dark, the curtains closed like the eyelids of a dying old woman.

When the sun slipped behind the heavy clouds, the front of the great house took on a gloomy look.

Suddenly I felt chilled, apprehensive, and ever so lonely. I embraced myself. Here I would need all the warmth I could find.

Tony, on the other hand, smiled widely, his face full of excitement. He gave not the slightest indication that the degeneration of the grounds and the dilapidated look of the great building embarrassed him. It was as if he didn't see it. I looked at Mrs. Broadfield to see if she was as surprised as I was, but she sat stone-faced.

"Farthy goes on for acres and acres," he explained proudly. "It is some of the richest land in the area, and we have our own private beach. When you're ready and able, I'll wheel you about and show you our stables, the pool and cabana, the tennis courts, the gazebo . . . all of it," he promised. "And you must think of it all as yours. Don't ever think of yourself as a guest here; you're more than a guest, far more," he pronounced as Miles brought the car to a stop.

Mrs. Broadfield got out quickly and came around to wait for Miles to get the wheelchair out of the trunk. I looked up the stairway at the great arching door. Even it had lost its grandeur. The wood had chipped off on the right side, as if some giant animal had clawed at it, trying to gain entrance into the house. How could Tony enter and exit from it every day and fail to have it repaired?

"You're here!" Tony exclaimed. "You're actually here! Well, what do you think?"

"I . . ." I fumbled, not knowing what to say. I was disappointed, so very disappointed to see my dream mansion crumbling in disrepair.

"Oh, I know the place needs a little work," Tony interjected, "and I'm going to get right to it now, now that I have a reason to do so." His eyes fixed solemnly on me. My heart fluttered beneath my breast. Something in me, some part of me I couldn't name, rang out an alarm.

"It's a magnificent place, and once you get it shipshape, I bet it will look like it did when you were a little boy," I said, not wanting him to notice my trepidation.

"Exactly. That's exactly how I want it to look. Oh, I knew you would understand, Annie. I'm so happy you're here."

Mrs. Broadfield opened my door. Miles and she had the chair unfolded and ready. She reached in to help guide me out.

"Oh, let me help," Tony insisted, and came around quickly. Mrs. Broadfield stepped back. Tony reached in and embraced me around the waist with his left arm and scooped his right under my thighs. Then, taking great care, he inched back, lifting me up and out of the car as if I were . . . I was about to think: infant, but there was something in the way he held me and smiled it'ine that made me think of a new bride instead, a new bride about to be carried over the threshold of her new home.

"Mr. Tatterton?" Miles asked, wondering, as I was, when Tony was going to lower me to the chair, "What? Oh yes, let's do that."

He placed me into the chair gently and then he and Miles lifted me, chair and all, up the stairs to the front entrance. A tall, lean, gray-haired man with dark gray eyes and pale gray skin, creased and wrinkled into small folds over his forehead and neck, stood like a mannequin in the doorway.