Page 113 of The Change
“Someone likes their privacy,” Harriett noted.
“This is my compound,” Leonard admitted. “I put up the wall in the nineties when my house was the only one here. Back then, the wall was all the security we had on the Pointe. I suppose it’s no longer necessary, but it does a good job of deterring unexpected guests. I’m afraid I’m a bit of an introvert,” he added, almost bashfully.
“And yet you’ve surrounded yourself with people.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “Business is all about networking.”
A gate in the wall opened as they approached, and Leonard steered the golf cart down a long drive. His house was positioned on the eastern tip of the Pointe, with his nearest neighbors half a mile away in either direction.
“So, this is all yours?” Harriett asked. The grounds seemed as vast as those at Versailles. The tall white wall hadn’t spared them from the Scotch broom; Harriett noted that the bushes were as plentiful here as they were on the rest of the Pointe.
“One of the benefits of being a pioneer,” Leonard explained. “I got here first, so I chose the best land for myself. Then I leased the other lots.”
“The lots are leased?” Harriet was astounded. “There’s not a mansion here that’s worth under ten million dollars. And you’re telling me the people who built them don’t own the land underneath them?”
“Nope. The lots are leased for five-year terms, and the community association decides which leases will be renewed. I wanted to be able to rid the community of undesirables if I needed to. Until now, it hasn’t been necessary. I try to choose my neighbors very carefully. Everyone here was thoroughly vetted. That’s why it’s so upsetting that someone like Spencer Harding slipped through the cracks. Claude was furious with me when she found out about him.”
He brought the cart to a stop in front of a lovely stone manor, where Claude was waiting for them. Ever the hostess, she greeted Harriett like an old friend, and while Leonard futzed with something in the back of the cart, she guided her guest through thehouse’s first floor toward an oceanfront deck. The interior was decorated with exceptional taste. Brilliant blue tiles formed a dizzying pattern on the floor, and a chandelier dripped from the exposed wooden beams on the ceiling. Harriett kept her eyes open, but she didn’t see any servants.
“The two of you live here alone?” she asked.
“Yes,” Claude said. “When we don’t have guests.”
“I imagine a place this size might feel lonely without other people.”
“The house once belonged to my father. To me, it’s always felt like home.”
Harriett’s neck stiffened, as though she were a dog picking up a scent. “I was under the impression Leonard built this house in the nineties.”
“Heboughtit in the nineties, a few years after my father died. He had it shipped, stone by stone, from Brittany. I’d almost given him the boot, and it was his way of saying sorry. He offered it to me as a gift, but I couldn’t even begin to pay the taxes on an estate like this, so Leonard keeps it in his name.”
The breakfast table overlooked the ocean. The places were set with bone china, and a silver coffeepot sat in the center of the table.
“Would you like a cup?” Claude asked as they took their seats.
“No thanks.” Harriett pulled a joint out of her pocket. “Do you mind?”
“Nope.” Claude seemed amused. “As long as you’re willing to share.”
Harriett lit the joint, took a toke, and passed it to Claude.
“I noticed those lovely flowers in front of the Harding house are all gone.”
“Yeah, the place is a mess.” Claude sidestepped the question as she inhaled. “Did you see Jackson Dunn on the way in?” she asked, exhaling a cloud of silvery smoke.
“I did,” Harriett confirmed. “I assume you were behind his upcoming break with tradition?”
Claude laughed at the idea. “Are you kidding? He would never listen to me. I just told Leonard that he might want to make sure there was no bad blood between you and Jackson. He knows Jackson’s got some unfortunate proclivities.”
“It’s ironic,” Harriett observed. “Leonard told me he had everyone out here vetted. You’d think a penchant for sexual harassment would be one of the first things you’d find during that process.”
“Leonard does his best, but the truth is, a few good lawyers and a filing cabinet full of NDAs can work wonders. It’s amazing how much dirty laundry a few hundred million dollars is able to hide,” Claude said. “By the way, it’s funny you mention sexual harassment. Did Jackson ever grab your crotch, by any chance?”
“As a matter of fact, he did,” Harriett confirmed.
“Yeah, he tried that with me once, too, when he was really drunk. Leonard made sure he never stepped out of line again. Men like that need to be trained like dogs.”
“Why bother to train them?” Harriett asked. “It would be better to just put them to sleep, don’t you think?”
