might have done it to help steady himself, but it felt more like an act of gallantry to me. And so we set off at a leisurely pace . . . across the sundial garden . . . down the steps to the miniature lily pond . . . along the walkway covered with flowering wisteria . . . up to the newly planted birch grove surrounding the Buddhist shrine . . . down the curving staircase to the perennial beds, where rosebushes had already started to climb up the retaining wall . . . and along the colonnade of lime trees. He moved with some difficulty, but his mood seemed to lighten with every new garden room we entered.
“Beautiful,” he said, running his hand over one of the wrought-iron railing knobs that Damon had shaped into a perching bird.
“Ah, I love that smell,” he said, breathing in the sharp aroma of freshly clipped boxwoods.
“Of course, the hedges still have to fill in a good deal,” I told him as we stood in the rounded terrace where the boxwoods were to be trained to form a waist-high spiral maze. “You won’t get the full effect for another few years.”
“In the meantime, that fountain gives this area the focus it needs,” he told me. “I love the way you have water trickling or splashing at every turn. I noticed it in the plans, of course, but I didn’t realize how soothing it would be.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” His praise was beginning to work its old magic on me. “A garden should be an oasis of serenity and reflection. A place to commune with—how did Lincoln put it?—‘the better angels of our nature.’”
“Or to grapple with the devil, as Eve might have put it,” he said as we started down the short flight of steps to the largest terrace with its wide-open vistas. The redirected underground brook rushed through its stone channel and cascaded over the ledge. “In any case, you’re to be congratulated, Alice. This is magnificent.”
“Thank you. We’ve a number of things left to do. One of them is to install a railing around that waterfall. I know we talked about having an infinity view—but the drop-off now is just too dangerous to leave it the way it is.”
“It’s a pity,” he said as we walked across the flagstones to the verge and looked over. Water thundered down the sheer rock face. Mist rose from the pool below. “But I see what you mean.”
“The benches are over there,” I said, pointing to the alcove under the stand of weeping cherries.
“That’s okay, I’m feeling better now,” he said, looking out over the valley to the distant mountains. “It’s really incredible what you’ve accomplished, Alice. You’ve actually moved rivers—like Le Nôtre did for the Sun King at Versailles. It’s amazing what money can buy, isn’t it?”
“When it’s put to good use,” I said. “The way you’ve done here. And with what you’re doing through your foundation.”
He didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, gazing out, lost in thought.
“This Open Day business means a lot to you, I take it,” he said finally, his eyes still on the horizon.
“Yes, it does,” I replied, looking over at him. I didn’t want to pressure him, but at the same time I couldn’t lie. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have wanted me to either. Whatever else he was, whatever problems he might be facing, he was a man who preferred hard facts and unpleasant truths to more-digestible alternatives.
“Goddamn it . . . ,” he muttered. I got the sense he was talking to himself rather than to me. The whole time I was with him that afternoon, in fact, I’d felt he had been carrying on some sort of interior argument or debate whose answers kept eluding him.
“Oh, what the fuck, Alice,” he said after a moment, in his familiar combative tone. “Let’s just go ahead and do it!”
10
V era Yoland was thrilled, of course. We talked a number of times over the next couple of days about copy for the press release and the
“Beautiful,” he said, running his hand over one of the wrought-iron railing knobs that Damon had shaped into a perching bird.
“Ah, I love that smell,” he said, breathing in the sharp aroma of freshly clipped boxwoods.
“Of course, the hedges still have to fill in a good deal,” I told him as we stood in the rounded terrace where the boxwoods were to be trained to form a waist-high spiral maze. “You won’t get the full effect for another few years.”
“In the meantime, that fountain gives this area the focus it needs,” he told me. “I love the way you have water trickling or splashing at every turn. I noticed it in the plans, of course, but I didn’t realize how soothing it would be.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” His praise was beginning to work its old magic on me. “A garden should be an oasis of serenity and reflection. A place to commune with—how did Lincoln put it?—‘the better angels of our nature.’”
“Or to grapple with the devil, as Eve might have put it,” he said as we started down the short flight of steps to the largest terrace with its wide-open vistas. The redirected underground brook rushed through its stone channel and cascaded over the ledge. “In any case, you’re to be congratulated, Alice. This is magnificent.”
“Thank you. We’ve a number of things left to do. One of them is to install a railing around that waterfall. I know we talked about having an infinity view—but the drop-off now is just too dangerous to leave it the way it is.”
“It’s a pity,” he said as we walked across the flagstones to the verge and looked over. Water thundered down the sheer rock face. Mist rose from the pool below. “But I see what you mean.”
“The benches are over there,” I said, pointing to the alcove under the stand of weeping cherries.
“That’s okay, I’m feeling better now,” he said, looking out over the valley to the distant mountains. “It’s really incredible what you’ve accomplished, Alice. You’ve actually moved rivers—like Le Nôtre did for the Sun King at Versailles. It’s amazing what money can buy, isn’t it?”
“When it’s put to good use,” I said. “The way you’ve done here. And with what you’re doing through your foundation.”
He didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, gazing out, lost in thought.
“This Open Day business means a lot to you, I take it,” he said finally, his eyes still on the horizon.
“Yes, it does,” I replied, looking over at him. I didn’t want to pressure him, but at the same time I couldn’t lie. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have wanted me to either. Whatever else he was, whatever problems he might be facing, he was a man who preferred hard facts and unpleasant truths to more-digestible alternatives.
“Goddamn it . . . ,” he muttered. I got the sense he was talking to himself rather than to me. The whole time I was with him that afternoon, in fact, I’d felt he had been carrying on some sort of interior argument or debate whose answers kept eluding him.
“Oh, what the fuck, Alice,” he said after a moment, in his familiar combative tone. “Let’s just go ahead and do it!”
10
V era Yoland was thrilled, of course. We talked a number of times over the next couple of days about copy for the press release and the
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