The huge entrance's wooden door is studded with copper hardware and stands at the top of marble steps. The whole effect is that of an ancient manor. The massive knocker needs my two hands. Only a single bang is enough to bring Angela's head peeking out the door.
"Security warned me you were on your way. Let's hop in the golf cart. I'll give you the tour." She waves us to a parked electric vehicle.
"It's a great place," she says. "Only a very few people ever come to this side of paradise. You're the lucky ones." Past the bridge, Angela stops the cart to allow us a full view of the compound. "This ten-acre lawn is Silver Fox's pride and joy." Putting her head between the bucket seats, she glances at us, side by side in the back. In a whisper, she shares a hush-hush tidbit: "Silver Fox can't stand to see any discoloration on the lawn. The drought sometimes causes brown spots. The gardeners mask the blemishes with spray-on green. That shows what a perfectionist he is. Wonderland is his hidden retreat, so if you want to make good here, don't let him see anything but perfection."
"Of course," Sophie shrugs, blasé.
"No bruises on the bananas, no veins in the chicken."
Sophie gives Angela a frown that shuts her up.
Angela maneuvers the cart with a steady hand. The driveway meanders up a gentle slope. On the south side of the enclave, the second bridge stretches over a waterfall joining two man-made lakes. Each end of the bridge has a small watchtower. As far as we can see there are no watchmen in the watchtowers.
"Security has cameras everywhere. Trust me," she says. "No one gets in or out of here without being detected."
We clear the bridge Sophie points. "In the golden cage, those two swans?" A white and a black swan watch us with great interest as we drive by. "The scenery is so beautiful, those gorgeous birds should grace the lakes. Why are they caged?"
"Silver Fox hates when they poop on the beaches."
Sophie turns to look at me to check my reaction to Angela's tale of the swans. Arched eyebrows are the best reaction I can come up with. We've learned through our escapades in the world of the rich and famous that eccentricity is a common thread tying up the super-rich. Maybe insanity is more prevalent among the class. Who knows? But to lock up swans for spoiling the beaches' white sand—this is a winner in the annals of the weird.
We cross the third bridge and begin the slow one-mile descent, winding through ancient oaks draped with mantillas of Spanish Moss. These sentinels spread their wings all over the park. For a park, it is—an amusement park to boot! To the north is a castle similar, although much smaller, to the one in Disneyland. The main attractions include a completely restored antique merry-go-round and a Ferris wheel, along with an assortment of rides to rival those found in the kiddie lands of the best theme parks.
Angela slows the cart as we approach another gate, which opens for us. Beyond is a large stone building, no windows on the bottom floor, a security guy in a shack by the door watching a ballgame.
"Great job, chauffeur. Is this our new home?" I say, with a wink to Sophie.
"Not quite," Angela says. "This is the theater and studio where Silver Fox practices for his world tours. Further to the right is the zoo. You will have plenty of time to visit on your own when you are settled in your quarters."
Another mile or so, with more turns of the wheel, and Angela pulls up in front of a cute cottage—thatch roof, stone chimney, geraniums spilling from window boxes. A field of tall grass dotted with wild sunflowers waves under a soft ocean breeze. Horses less than a hundred yards away stampede around in a corral at least as spacious as the mansion's front lawn.
"This is your house. I hope you'll like it."
Stepping out of the cart, we are hit with the heady perfume of blooming jasmine and roses. Roses surround the house, growing up and over walls and fence's remnants. Sophie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
"Is there an herb garden?" she asks. "I can smell fennel."
"Around back." Angela pulls a bundle of keys from her pocket and shakes out two, handing one to me and one to Sophie. "House keys. Once you're settled, one of the cockatoos will bring you the gate codes and passwords."
"Cockatoos?"
More to come with ghost stories. Marquis de Taillevent the ghost who manages to zip through the walls, even with his wooden leg, "Jambe de Bois."
