“It’s so big.”
“It might be the biggest house in Southern California, for all I know. I forget, but I think Donald said it’s ninety thousand square feet. There are three floors if we count the rooms in the tower. We’ve been here nearly twenty years, but I’m still furnishing it. I suppose it will never be finished, but that’s what makes it fun to go shopping here and in Europe. There’s furniture from all over the world. Persian and Turkish rugs, French chandeliers, cabinets from England, settees and chairs from Spain, tapestries from both France and Spain. You can understand why we need so many employees.”
/> She pointed to her left as we drew closer. “Over there, you’ll find the swimming pool and the tennis courts. You can’t tell, but part of the house is our multicar garage. The garage entrances are all around the side, so it makes the house look much bigger. Of course, there is an apartment over the garage. That’s where Mrs. Duval and her husband, Alberto, live. There’s another maid’s apartment for Mrs. Caro at the rear of the house. Everyone else comes to work from his or her own home. We have another entrance for servants and deliveries at the west end of the property.
“There are security cameras everywhere. Donald loves his toys. He has a movie theater in the house, with the most up-to-date equipment. There’s a full gym and a small indoor swimming pool, which will come in handy for your therapy, I bet. The house has an intercom system, of course. Just think of all the fun you’ll have discovering new things in it when you’re up and about.”
As we drew closer, I looked out at the beautiful gardens and fountains, the statues and benches, the rolling lawns and trees. No wonder so many people had to work there, I thought. There was so much to take care of. How could anyone be so rich?
As soon as we pulled up to the front, a short, stout, dark-brown-haired woman came rushing out. She wore a dark blue one-piece dress with a skirt that flapped about her ankles as she hurried down the stairs. Her hair was clipped into a tight bun. Right behind her was a tall, gray-haired man with a dark brown mustache sprinkled with gray hairs. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans.
“That’s Mrs. Duval and her husband, Alberto,” Mrs. March told me.
Grover got out quickly and opened Mrs. March’s door. He went around to get my wheelchair and my things, some of which he handed to Mrs. Duval. He and Alberto unfolded the wheelchair and brought it to my door.
“Careful with her,” Mrs. March told them.
Grover looked for a graceful way to get me out and then simply decided to put his right arm under me and embrace me with his left. He lifted me out easily and gently lowered me to the wheelchair that Alberto held.
“This is Sasha,” Mrs. March said.
“Hola, Sasha,” Mrs. Duval said. “Hello and welcome.”
“Sí, welcome,” Alberto said.
He and Grover lifted me and the chair and carried me up the stone steps to the entrance. Mrs. Duval and Mrs. March followed us. At the grand door, they waited for her instructions.
“Take her in and to the elevator,” Mrs. March told them. “We’re bringing her right up to her suite.”
Elevator? Suite? Had I heard right? This did sound more like a hotel than a house.
They hurried to do so.
The entryway had a floor of golden marble, and there were small statues of ivory-white angels in niches on both sides of the darker marble walls. Above us was a large chandelier shaped like an opened hand, and ahead of us was a curved stairway with steps that matched the marble in the entrance. The banister was made of marble, too. Every-where I looked, I saw paintings and tapestries on the walls and pedestals with small statues.
Alberto wheeled me to the right, but before we went too far, a smaller, younger-looking lady with a pillbox chef’s cap came hurrying down the long hallway. She didn’t look much taller than five foot one or two, and her apron’s hem was down to her ankles, making it look as if it was meant for a much taller person.
“This is Mrs. Caro,” Mrs. March announced before she reached us. “Mrs. Caro, meet Sasha.”
“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Caro said in an accent I recognized as Irish only because Daddy had an Irish friend he had brought around from time to time. “My, what a pretty little girl,” she told Mrs. March. “I’m fixing a nice lunch for you, dear.”
“We’ll let you know when she’s settled in, Mrs. Caro. For today and perhaps tomorrow, we’ll let her rest. Then we’ll see about taking her out.”
“Oh, of course, Mrs. March. I’ll prepare some fresh lemonade,” she said, and then asked, “You like lemonade?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She smiled as if she rarely heard those words.
Mrs. March urged Alberto to continue, and he brought me to an elevator.
“We hardly use this,” Mrs. March said when I was wheeled in. There wasn’t room for Mrs. Duval, who had already gone up the stairway. “Donald thought it would be wise to have one, either to help us when we were too old or in the event of his wanting to sell, to have another attraction, an added advantage. If you ask me, it was just another toy for him, but now it does come in handy.”
The elevator was slow. I saw that it could go up to the tower, too. When the door opened, Mrs. Duval was waiting for us. “I’ll take her from here,” she told her husband. Without comment, he turned and went to the stairway. Mrs. Duval wheeled me down another long corridor. More paintings and tapestries were spaced along its walls on both sides, with pedestals holding statues and busts here and there as well. We went almost to the end before she turned me into a room on the left. I nearly gasped.
Even in movies and magazines, I had never seen a bedroom this large. The walls were done in a baby pink, and the bed, which looked even larger than a king-size bed, had a cream frame with pink spirals, four posts, and a canopy. What surprised me, however, was the headboard. Embossed on it were two giraffes.
Before I could ask, Why giraffes? Mrs. March explained. “Giraffes were Alena’s favorite animals. From the age of two or three, she was fascinated by them.”