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Judith Krantz (58 page)

BOOK: Judith Krantz
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“Bear with me, Miss Kilkullen. We all know that large parts of Orange County have been covered with houses that are lined up side by side, one looking just like the other, to the point that they might just as well be tract houses anywhere. They’re very comfortable little places, I don’t deny that, but they wouldn’t do justice to the Kilkullen Ranch. They are exactly the opposite of what we’ve been thinking about.”

“I see.” So it was “we,” was it? No one could accuse her sisters of being slow on the draw. While she’d been lost in her brooding around the ranch, taking her long, melancholy leave of it, they’d gathered together this pair of selfless experts and brought them out to California to tell her what her best interests were.

“Now picture this, if you will. The entire ranch forming one single unified community of pure luxury, one single,
flawless
community, a jewel that would stand out in the same way that Monte Carlo stands out from the rest of the Cote d’Azur—except that it would be in a thousand ways more spacious and gracious than Monte Carlo, which, to my way of thinking, is decidedly over-built. What I visualize is a community in which not one single house would be worth less than ten million dollars—most of them would be worth a great deal more—and each one would be surrounded by such lush landscaping so that there’d be privacy for everyone.”

“Pure luxury, you say?” Jazz spoke with interest. She wouldn’t buy a pair of Lakers playoff tickets from this man, not even if they were in Row A at center court.

“Luxury beyond anything you can imagine. And, even more important,
security
, so that the residents would be free to revel in their life-styles. Now here I’d like to take a lead from Monte Carlo itself, because there would be a security system similar—only better in every way—to the one that makes Monte Carlo such a pleasure to spend time in. We would employ security police by the tens of dozens, discreet but always dependable. The women in Monte Carlo think
nothing of wearing their great jewels whenever they like—they can walk down any street in the principality wearing jewels, because they know that they are safe in their own community at all times. How many places in the world can you do that today, Miss Kilkullen?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Rosemont.” Somehow, Jazz thought, she had the feeling that she could count on him to tell her.

“None! Absolutely none. Not in Beverly Hills, not in Bel Air, certainly not in any cosmopolitan city in the world. The Kilkullen Ranch would be more closely guarded than the Crown Jewels of England. No one could enter a single one of its gates without passing the inspection of several armed guards and without verbal permission from the person they’ve come to see. It would be the ultimate gated community, a Shangri-la, a total refuge against the ever-increasing dangers of modern life.”

“Who would actually … live … there?” Jazz asked.

“Ah—the most important point of all! The super-rich from all over the world. It’s as simple as that. Such people would flock from everywhere to buy homes here, not just because of the extraordinary safety factor but because of all the other advantages enjoyed by this area. We have the best weather in the world during the winter months; on the shore of the Kilkullen Ranch there is a natural harbor more than wide enough for a marina that could accommodate dozens of oceangoing yachts as well as smaller boats by the hundreds; there’s plenty of space to build an airport so that the residents could arrive in their jets; the community would support a fleet of small planes and helicopters so that they could whisk off to Costa Mesa or San Diego or L.A. whenever they wanted to go shopping or to the theater, to a restaurant or to catch a plane if they don’t already own one.
Transportation
, Miss Kilkullen—instant, easy transportation—is something the very rich
have
to have, or what’s the point in serious money?”

“I’ve often asked myself that very question. Do these people
have
to have children as well as transportation?”

Jimmy Rosemont laughed. “We’ve thought of that. We’d establish a school here just for that reason, from kindergarten through high school, a private school system comparable to the finest anywhere. For the residents’ children only, of course.”

“Wouldn’t the residents have to have servants?”

“Indeed they would. Servants are equally as important as transportation. There will be accommodations for servants, in the residences, if desired, or in a special servants’ village that we’ll build at a suitable distance. Of course, the servants’ backgrounds will be subject to a thorough check by the security system of the community. We’ll take no chances.”

“Urine testing on a daily basis?”

“You’re having a good time making fun of me, Miss Kilkullen, but let me tell you, that’s not at all a bad idea.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Rosemont.”

“What we envision for the Kilkullen Ranch planned community is, quite simply,
the very, very best of everything!”
Jimmy Rosemont stood up and began to pace back and forth in excitement. “Of course there would be several championship golf courses, created by the leading designers in the field, of course there would be a racetrack and equestrian facilities for riders, again they would be state-of-the-art in every detail; the same lavishness and style would apply to the tennis club, the country club and the beach club. The Sporting Club at Monte Carlo would instantly seem down-at-the-heels in comparison. These clubs would be the centers of galas and parties that would attract guests from every capital and every resort in the world.”

“Guests? Friends of the homeowners. Family? Poor relations?”

“Even poor relations.” Jimmy Rosemont’s pointed, graying eyebrows peaked in appreciation. “But when I said guests, I was speaking of the international
travelers who would turn the Kilkullen Ranch into a fabulous vacation resort as well as a planned community, very special, very fussy people who have been spoiled for anything less than the most magnificent of accommodations. And once they’ve discovered what we’ll have to offer, they won’t want to leave.”

“What magnificent accommodations?” Jazz picked the important words out of his smooth flow of words and fastened on them.

“The hotels, Miss Kilkullen, the many splendid hotels that will be built along the beachfront. They’ll make this hotel look shabby, I promise you. Nothing will be lacking to attract the cream of travelers except a casino, but every afternoon jets will leave for Las Vegas and return whenever needed, so no one will notice the lack of on-site gambling.”

“How foresighted.”

“Yes, I think we can honestly say that we’ve tried to think of everything. The hotels, even the largest of them, will be designed and integrated into the shoreline, so that we can use as much of the available beach as possible. The condominiums will be built only on Portola Peak, where they will rise from the base, each one high enough above the others so that the views will be unobstructed. Our aim here is to maximize land use by eliminating all wasteful space, such as grazing land, and creating new space in areas such as Portola Peak, which has never been put to use before.”

“Tell me more about the condos,” Jazz asked. Condos! Mike Kilkullen’s least favorite word.

“Not one of them will be under twelve rooms. Comparatively, they’ll be priced in the same range as the residences and offer less upkeep. I can’t be entirely certain yet, but my rough estimate is that we’ll be able to build perhaps two dozen condominium complexes, with the usual swimming pools, health clubs and all those essential amenities.”

“This won’t be cheap.” In her voice, a reflective note blended into a slight timbre of temptation.

“Indeed not. Miss Kilkullen.” Sir John Maddox
rejoined the discussion. “No question about that. The advantage of having my Chinese friends behind it lies precisely in the enormous expense involved. You see, the Chinese take a long view, a historical overview, if you will. They don’t expect immediate results from their investments. They’re willing to wait patiently for construction to take place. Once assured that they own the land, they will be content to wait for the returns on their investment. In addition, they can write checks for the purchase price without having to go to banks to borrow, because they
are
the banks. My friends have more than just their own money to get out of Hong Kong. They have the fortunes of their depositors, every one of whom is as worried about the future as they are. Once you make the decision, should you choose to, you won’t have to wait for your money.”

“Interesting,” Jazz said. “Very interesting.”

“Jazz, what do you think?” Fernanda asked eagerly. “Isn’t it the most exciting idea you’ve ever heard of? I’d want to have a place here myself, and I never felt that way about California before.”

“Jazz, you realize that the hacienda would continue to be entirely separate, that it would be respected, isn’t that so, Jimmy?” Valerie reminded him.

She didn’t like the fact that Jazz hadn’t moved from her Little Napoleon pose since she’d sat down. She hated to admit it even to herself, but she almost had to admire the way Jazz had forced Jimmy to sing for his supper. His descriptions of his plans had gone into far more detail than they ever had before, and the way in which he talked about throwing giant sums of money around reminded her vividly of the very people she most disliked in New York. Yet she mustn’t get all holy-Philadelphia about it, she reminded herself sharply.

“Clearly, Val,” Jimmy Rosemont answered her. “Miss Kilkullen’s own property would never be overlooked by another house—the condos would be too far away to bother her. In fact, we’d be delighted to set aside a belt of land for you above and beyond the
land that was included in your father’s will, to ensure your privacy. If you couldn’t live here, because of your work, we’d undertake to keep up, in perpetuity, the Hacienda Valencia and the grounds in perfect condition as a living museum of ranching life, so that the spirit of the great old days would never be forgotten.”

“Hmm.” Jazz tapped her booted foot.

“Come on, Jazz, don’t you think it’s the chance of a lifetime?” Fernanda demanded.

“I couldn’t say that, Fernanda. No. But then how can I judge, in my condition? I have a violent need to throw up all over this very expensive carpet.”

Jazz walked to the door quickly, turned and spoke to all of them. “Before we meet again, I think I’ll have a word with my lawyer.”

Two days later, Jazz found herself in the offices of Johnson, O’Hara, Klein, Bancroft and Johnson, in the Arco Building in downtown Los Angeles, the heart of the serious business district. She had come to consult with the senior partner, Stephen Johnson, who had been recommended to her by Gregory Nelson.

“He’s one of the best, if not
the
best, probate litigator in the country,” Mr. Nelson had assured her when he received Jazz’s panicky phone call. “These guys are a tight little fraternity, you know. They’ve all worked with each other a dozen times, no matter what city they’re in, and Steve Johnson is the man I’d choose for myself. He’ll tell it to you straight, whatever you want to know and a lot you don’t.”

“It sounds perfectly legitimate to me,” Steve Johnson said thoughtfully, after a pause while he considered everything Jazz had just told him about the meeting at the Ritz.

“I know Sir John, and he’s a good man, well connected and honest,” Johnson assured her, his round face earnest behind his dark-rimmed glasses. “As for the Chinese, it would be their single largest American purchase, but there’s no reason to doubt that they have the money. They’ve been active in Canada for a long time—they’ve bought so much of the country
that they’re just about wearing out their welcome in Vancouver, as a matter of fact.”

“Why did I feel as if I were being railroaded?”

“Because you were. The normal way to go about selling the ranch would be to wait until the permanent administrator is appointed. His basic job is simply to get the best price available. That means surveying the land, ascertaining its value, hiring brokers, putting the property on the open market and entertaining bids. Obviously, if they can talk you into making a deal now, they won’t have to go through that process.”

“Why their passion for the Chinese?”

“Rosemont and Maddox will get a big piece of that action for putting the deal to bed. I’m sure Rosemont will have some of his own money invested in the purchase as well.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, Jazz, you’re not supposed to know all that, but I am. First of all, if the permanent administrator comes in, they have the Japanese to worry about. I have no doubt that they’d want the ranch badly. They can make damn near anything, but they can’t make land. Then there are huge American consortiums to deal with, major Swiss money, major, major German money, literally dozens of prospective suitors … but the Chinese would probably be willing to top the highest bid, pay more than market value, and end up with the land. They’re highly motivated, as Sir John explained.”

“Then why was everyone pushing me so hard?”

“Time
. It’s a matter of time. There’s a good reason why lawyers tend to think that time is of the essence. Before the administrator could be satisfied that he’d settled on the top price, years could go by. Just arguing over who would be the proper brokers could take forever. And every year that passes means a great deal of money permanently lost to all parties.”

“Could you give me a concrete example?” Jazz said in a tight voice.

“Sure. Let’s say your share of the ranch comes
to about a billion dollars. You pay your taxes and you’re left with half a billion.”

“Right. Half a billion dollars,” Jazz said expressionlessly.

“O.K. You put your money into tax-free municipals, the safest ones you can find, paying—and this is a deliberately low-ball figure—six percent a year. Now your unearned income becomes thirty million dollars a year, and you can spend every dime of it. If the ranch isn’t sold, that’s how much you’d be out of pocket for every year that the sale of the land drags on.”

“I’d be losing thirty million a year that I hadn’t earned,” Jazz said, so incredulously that her voice was utterly flat. Even her eyebrows didn’t lift.

BOOK: Judith Krantz
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