Emerald by Whitney Phyllis A.;

Author:Whitney, Phyllis A.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Romance
Published: 2017-05-23T04:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

We left Mt. San Jacinto behind as we drove through the string of little “cities” that had been incorporated along the base of the mountains. Away from Palm Canyon, country club communities clustered around their golf courses, and expensive homes climbed canyons into the lower hills, or spread out with their swimming pools and gardens to displace the desert in the east.

Except for the Annenbergs and a few others, this was not an area of big estates. Ex-movie stars, or current ones, lived in comfortable luxury, but without the ostentation of the past.

Farther on were date groves—great areas of trees growing in tall columns and overspread by a solid roof of foliage. The ground beneath was eerily dark, except where bands of sunlight slanted through between the trunks. The groves were man-made forests with even, geometric aisles.

Saxon Scott lived in one of the wealthy enclaves in Indian Wells—the Eldorado Country Club, set close to the foot of the Santa Rosas, and guarded by a mountain called “Ike’s Peak.” A reminder that the area had long been a haven and playground for presidents.

We were recognized at the main gate, and drove through into broad avenues lined with palms and thick tropical growth. Low houses of redwood and stone were set apart from one another, all edged with green plantings and well-watered lawns, their inner patios and swimming pools out of view from the street. The encroaching desert was held away, and only the bare, baked-looking mountains, their sides slashed with deep canyons, suggested that nature could take over harshly whenever it chose.

Like the others, Saxon’s house was low and wide, with a generous overhang of roof all around, and a great deal of glass that looked out toward the mountains.

When he’d parked the car, he took me into a stunningly beautiful living room. Its spacious carpet was a soft, rosy cinnamon, and the cherry and brown flowered upholstery had obviously come from a fabric designer’s shop. Those walls that were not made of glass, and the slanted ceiling as well, had been painted a soft shell color that offered light and airy space. Central air conditioning controlled the interior climate.

“It’s heavenly,” I said. “Peaceful and beautiful.”

Saxon smiled. “Carefully contrived, and not very real. If you’re going to write about us, don’t be taken in. We live in decorator homes and dedicate ourselves to play and happy make-believe. When you live here, it’s easy to forget there’s a real world out there, and that it takes a great deal of money to live this way.”

I thought of Jason Trevor and his ranch in the desert, and of the work that absorbed him. Lately, I’d begun to compare Jason and his way of life with that of other men.

“You do have a business,” I said. “We had dinner in your restaurant the other night. You’re not exactly idle.”

“More make-believe. To serve the sunbathers. May I get you a drink?”

I shook my head and sat down near glass doors, where I could look out at the stark fissures of the mountains.

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