Summer Beach

video there, too.” His eyes brightened. “Wait until you see inside. It looks better than the photos I emailed you. Even with good equipment, the photos fail to capture the grandeur of the spaces.”
“I didn’t really look at the photos,” Ivy said in apology. She had been so hurt and angry at her husband that she had never opened the photos or read the listing description. Or approved the costs of cleaning or staging. At that time, she’d also been grief-stricken, dragging herself out of bed only long enough to deal with the most pressing issues of his estate. Now she regretted her short-sighted decisions.
The door creaked open, and Ivy and Shelly followed Bennett inside.
As Bennett crossed the wooden floor, his rubber-soled deck shoes formed muted echoes in the empty room. He pushed aside old blue draperies on tall palladium windows to reveal a stunning ocean view. The sunlight illuminated shafts of dust mites swirling in the soft air currents.
Instantly, Ivy felt as if they’d stepped back in time.
“The drawing room is to one side and on the other, the ballroom.” Bennett walked through the room.
Waving her hand, Shelly sneezed.
Following Bennett, Ivy gaped at the cavernous rooms and the intricately carved coffered ceilings. Each panel was a work of art, mellowed with the patina of time.
“It’s still dusty, though not as bad as before,” Bennett said. “The drawing room was where the original owners received guests, and of course, the ballroom saw its share of dances. This was the summer house for the Ericksons, a wealthy couple from San Francisco. They were art collectors and appreciated quality.”
Art collectors. That Ivy understood. “I could easily fill a house this size with artwork.”
Ivy knelt to run her hand over the intricate, parquet pattern of the wooden floor. As she did, her fingers seemed to vibrate against the smooth grains, and she felt a peculiar sensation emanating from the wood as if her touch were returning life to it. Or maybe that was a vibration from the ocean waves. “The wooden floors are exquisite. They feel warm.”
Bennett carried on with his commentary. “Julia Morgan was the first female graduate of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts Paris, so you’ll see many old-world touches throughout. The Ericksons had owned homes on Mediterranean shores, so they asked Morgan to incorporate many features they loved. Built with love, Las Brisas is a truly unique home,” he added, his deep, melodic voice resonating in the vacant space.
Feeling drawn to the home through his words, Ivy drank in the heady details of the house. Curved arches divided the rooms and art niches punctuated the walls. Overhead, chandeliers hung motionless, laced with spider webs. Risers on the curved staircase were fitted with vibrant hand-painted tiles. Despite years of abandonment and the shabby exterior, the home’s fine interior fittings were well-preserved.
“The chandeliers are exquisite,” Ivy said, craning her neck. The one she’d seen in the foyer was a grand statement piece, with hundreds of crystal pieces arranged in a stunning design.
“When was the house built?” Shelly asked. She whirled around, taking in her surroundings with awe.
“In the early 1920s,” Bennett replied, returning his intense gaze to Ivy. “Not long after El Prado in Balboa Park for the Panama-California Exposition. The styles are similar.”
Averting her eyes, Ivy filled her senses with an imaginary scene: A grand ball on a balmy summer evening, doors open to the long terrace outside. A lavish garden with white flowers that reflected the soft light of a full moon. The intoxicating scents of jasmine, gardenia, and plumeria perfuming the cool evening air.
“There’s a lot more to see,” Bennett said, interrupting her thoughts. He led them through a large kitchen that had two vintage O’Keefe & Merritt stoves, double sinks, and a large prep-island in the middle. Two hulking turquoise refrigerators stood like butlers on duty.
“Imagine cooking on these,” Ivy said, running her hand over the dusty porcelain stovetops and keeping her distance from Bennett. The kitchen was well-equipped for parties. “I miss having everyone gather in the kitchen for holidays.” She’d loved creating new dishes, planning meals, shopping for fresh food at farmer’s markets, and seeing the delight on faces around her table.
Shelly touched her shoulder. “We’ll do it again.”
Bennett continued, leading them through an atrium sunroom, a formal library, an expansive dining room, and an intimate parlor.
In the library and dining room, Ivy noted that the wooden floors were darker around the edges of the rooms. “Looks like there were large rugs in here. That must have been stunning.”
Ivy and Shelly climbed the stairs after Bennett. Upstairs was a long hallway of bedrooms, each one containing a private marble bathroom and claw-foot bathtub.
Bennett swung open each door. “It was rare back then, but each bedroom had its own en suite bath.”
Ivy peered into the intimate bedrooms along the long corridor. Most of the rooms were empty, though one had old Art Deco furnishings and another had a wicker and beach theme. In a rocking chair sat a stuffed bear with a striped sailor shirt, posed as if it were waiting for a child to claim it before bedtime. Vintage children’s books were stacked on a nearby shelf. She could almost hear the walls ringing with laughter.
“The owner’s bedroom is at the end of the corridor.” Bennett led the way and opened the door to a fully furnished Art Deco suite of curved furniture. Discolored splotches marked the walls where paintings must have hung.
Idly, Ivy wondered what they had looked like. The air was cooler in here, she noted, shivering a little.
“Cold?” Bennett shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across Ivy’s shoulders.
“I don’t need this,” Ivy protested, yet the jacket was warm on her shoulders. The fibers held the fresh scent of his cologne, and she felt herself sinking into it like an embrace. What she would have given at one time for such a gesture from him. She shivered again. Though the sun was out, April could still be chilly.
“It can get cool here when