The Estate is quite a show place, and has been advertised as the millionaire’s dream home. It has a hundred acres of terraced gardens and a swimming pool half outside the house and half under it. The house itself is Italian Baroque in style, and built of concrete and coraline stone. The interior is famous for wine magnificent murals and works of art.
As I sent the Buick racing along the two miles of private road that leads to the Estate, a fine, wide road, lined on either side by Royal Palms, Kerman said, ‘I’ve always wanted to see this joint.’ He leaned forward to peer into the circles of light that fled before us. ‘I’ve been kidding myself I’ll rent it for a week myself one of these days. What do you think it’d cost me?’
‘About ten years’ pay.’
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. Well, I guess I’d better just go on kidding myself. Pity, though. With a background like this, I’d have that redhead eating out of my hand.’
‘Should have thought you’d have preferred her to eat off a plate. You know, I’m worried about this guy, Jack. What made him hang up like that in the middle of a sentence?’
‘You know what these punks are like. They’re so damn lazy it’s an effort for them to breathe.’
‘I have an idea someone came into the room, and he didn’t want them to hear what he was saying.’
‘But then you always try to make a mystery out of anything. My bet is he got bored talking to you and just hung up. All these rich jerks are alike. They don’t have to watch their manners the way we do.’
Ahead of me were the main gates of the Estate. They were wide open. I didn’t reduce speed. We flashed past them, and went storming up the road drive-way, banked on either side enormous rhododendron shrubs.
‘Must you drive as if we’re going to a fire?’ Kerman asked plaintively.