through the front windows was not what she had hoped. A paved area in front of the main entrance stretched all the way from the house to a high hedge. There was a break in the hedge for a tall iron gate. There was a six-car garage to her left, but all six doors were closed and, she presumed, impossible for her to open without a remote control unit. There was nothing she could see that she was able to associate with a particular street or use in an escape.
'What do you think of the place?'
Christine turned her head. It was Richard's father. She had always thought of him as Mr. Beale when she had worked at the company, but somehow his crimes against her made her feel it was wrong to call him Mister. 'Oh. Hello, Andy. It's very big.'
Andy Beale resumed his progress across the room toward the door. 'And how are you feeling?'
'Like a prisoner. It's not a good feeling. You'll see.'
'I'll pass it on to the complaint department. Just take good care of yourself.' He pulled open the front door, stepped out, and closed it.
'Jesus,' said Richard. 'That was rude.' He started walking again. At the end of the great room there was a corridor that led off to the left, and he took it.
Christine hesitated once more to examine the latches on the big windows, scan the room to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon, and look out the front window again. Andy Beale had one of the garage doors open and he was driving a black Mercedes out and through the gap in the hedge. There was no way she could see how the gate opened from here.
Richard's hand clamped her wrist. 'Come on.'
'What?'
'Pay attention. We're heading for the garden.'
'Did you grow up here?'
'In this house?'
'Yes. Did you?'
'No. In fact, I was the one who found this place and arranged for the purchase a few years ago. It was built by a guy from the east who wanted to retire from his law firm and have a lot of parties. I think he forgot that he didn't know anybody here. But it was too much house for him anyway, and people in Rancho Santa Fe don't like the noise and traffic from big parties. If he hadn't sold, they probably would have kicked him out.'
'I'll bet the big attraction for you was the land.'
He looked at her in surprise. 'It was.'
'Must be at least five acres.'
'Twenty,' he said, and there was pride in his voice. 'Eight in the back here, and twelve more beyond that fence. It's not just the fact that it's a single twenty-acre parcel that makes it valuable. It's that this is Rancho Santa Fe. Every parcel is big, a lot of them much bigger than this. This has both privacy and status. And because every landowner is a member of the covenant, you get control over zoning and public works, so you can protect your investment from politicians.'
Christine had manipulated Richard into complacency with a couple of words. Talking about real estate, money, and control distracted him. The rest of the news wasn't so good. The night she had been brought here she could not even have guessed what state she was in. Rancho Santa Fe wasn't a good place to be locked up. It was rich—she had once heard it was the richest community in the whole country—and the properties were huge. She could scream until her jaw got tired, and nobody would hear her. The houses were hundreds of yards apart, most of them owned by people who also owned other houses in distant places and so were gone much of the time. The roads wound among gentle hills wooded with low California oaks, and there wasn't much traffic. If Christine made it to the road, she wouldn't necessarily meet any rescuers before she got caught.
Richard took her hand, this time less roughly, and led her out one of the glass doors into the garden. If he had called it 'the secret garden' she would not have thought it was a joke. On one side was the wing of the house where her room was located. On another was what seemed to be a pool house, and the third was blocked by a windowless wall that must be the back of the garage.
There was a table set for two people on a small stone patio surrounded by rock gardens. There were summer flowers and native plants—agave, Mexican sage, and matilija poppies. It was a beautiful spot, and so isolated and private that she felt an impulse to look around for witnesses to be sure Richard wasn't about to kill her. He sat at the table and waited until she sat in the chair opposite him. She saw pitchers of water and fruit juice, a basket of bread, and a large wooden bowl of salad. She said, 'Did you make this lunch?'
'No,' he said. 'My parents have a cook. I just wanted to be alone with you for a while and let you enjoy being outside without a lot of people around.' He paused. 'And I wanted to talk to you about our future.'
She frowned. 'Isn't this getting tiresome for you, too? We don't have a future. I spent a couple of years trying to make things work. They didn't, and I left. It's over.'
'You didn't really think it was over, or that I'd let you do that.'
'You're right. I thought you'd do something crazy, and you have. I tried to be very hard to find, but I blew it, and you found me. That doesn't mean we have a future.'
'Step back about five paces in your mind and look at us,' he said. 'We're married. You may not like the way it happened, but if you go to the county clerk's office you'll see ours is the same as anybody else's marriage. We're going to have our baby in a couple of weeks. I know it's my baby, and a DNA test can prove it. We're sitting in a garden at a beautiful house my parents own in one of the most desirable places in the country.'
'Richard—'
'No, let me finish. I made mistakes with you. I took you for granted, and I didn't make enough of an effort when we were together. I apologize. I've apologized a hundred times. I'm planning to make it up to you. I know you're mad at me, but we've got to be able to deal with each other.'
The way he had raised his voice and talked over her to force her to listen to his apology was like a recapitulation of the changes in their relationship. He had always been overbearing, but now his vehemence had become frightening. Christine tried to speak calmly, to choose her words with great care so he wouldn't lose his temper.
'Richard,' she said. 'I didn't leave because I was mad at you. I left because I was scared to death. You hit me a lot of times. I didn't know how you would react when you found out I was pregnant, but I knew I no longer had the right to take the chance and find out.'
'If you're so scared of me, why are you trying to piss me off? If I hit you now, then you're right? Is that it?'
'I'm not trying to piss you off. I really don't want to make you mad. I'm just trying to get you to accept the situation as it is.'
'That's just the situation as you think it is. You're young, practically a kid. You'll learn more about life as time goes by, and then you'll feel better about the one you have.' He watched her for a second, then sighed and picked up his fork.
Christine stopped looking at him while he ate. She looked at the silverware on the table, but saw it was actually good silver, so it would be soft metal, useless as a tool or a weapon. She looked at the shadows on the lawn to figure out which way was west. When she slipped out of here, it was probably going to be night, and west was the best direction. Interstate 5 was just to the west of Rancho Santa Fe, and that would be where all the traffic was. If she made it to the freeway shoulder and started waving her arms, she wouldn't have to wait more than a minute or two before she got picked up, or maybe even arrested.
She studied the trees, the hedges, the buildings. What she would need was luck. If only one of the gardeners had been careless and left a trowel or a pair of clippers lying around, she might have a chance to conceal it under the big, loose top she was wearing. She studied the rock garden. Where was everybody? What if Richard really was alone? She had seen Andy Beale leave. The cook Richard had mentioned wasn't visible anywhere. The whole estate was silent except for the chirping of small brown birds with off-white breasts. Maybe this moment was her last opportunity. If she could get behind him and pick up one of those rocks, she could hit him on the head with it. Richard always had his car keys in his right front pocket. She could grab them, run around the far side of the garage away from the house, find the black Porsche, get in and drive. She would be free.
But she thought about how horrible it would be to crack somebody's skull with a rock. It could kill Richard, or leave him paralyzed or something. As she tried to visualize it, she raised her eyes to gaze across the table at him.
