Product Description

The restoration of a majestic old home provides the exhilarating backdrop for Danielle Steel’s 66th bestselling novel, the story of a young woman’s dream, an old man’s gift, and the surprises that await us behind every closed door….

Perched on a hill overlooking San Francisco, the house was magnificent, built in 1923 by a wealthy man for the woman he adored. For her and for this house, he would spare no expense and overlook no detail, from the endless marble floors to the glittering chandeliers. Almost a century later, with the once-grand house now in disrepair, a young woman walks through its empty rooms. Sarah Anderson, a perfectly sensible estate lawyer, is about to do something utterly out of character. An elderly client has died and left her two gifts. One is a generous inheritance. The other, a priceless message: to use his money for something wonderful, something daring. And in this old house, surrounded by crumbling grandeur, Sarah knows just what it is.

A respected attorney and self-described workaholic, Sarah had always lived life by the book. With a steady, if sputtering, relationship and a tiny apartment that has suited her just fine, Sarah cannot explain the force that draws her to the mansion and its history–to the story of a woman who once lived in the house, then mysteriously left it, to a child who grew up there, and a drama that unfolded in war-torn France…and to a history she never knew she had.

Taking the biggest risk of her life, Sarah enlists the help of architect Jeff Parker, who shares Sarah’s passion for bringing the exquisite old house back to life. As she and Jeff work to restore the home’s every detail, as one relationship shatters and another begins, Sarah makes a series of powerful discoveries: about the true meaning of a dying man’s last gift…about the extraordinary legacies that are passed from generation to generation…and about a future she’s only just beginning to imagine.

In a novel of daring and hope, of embracing life and taking chances, Danielle Steel brilliantly captures one woman’s courageous choice to pour herself into a dream–and receive its gifts in return.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #406729 in Books
• Published on: 2006-02-28
• Released on: 2006-02-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 352 pages

From Booklist
Sarah Anderson, a beautiful, successful thirtysomething attorney, is having a midlife crisis. She's become a workaholic, spending 60- to 70-hour weeks at the office, and she is involved in an unhappy relationship with a man she only sees on weekends, who refuses to involve her in any other aspect of his life. She lives in a dumpy apartment, which contains the same furniture she used in college, and she has no outside interests other than the sometime boyfriend and her job. Everything changes, however, when an eccentric, elderly client of Sarah's dies and leaves her a small fortune and a message: to use the money for something wonderful, to live well, and to think about something other than work. Following this advice, Sarah purchases the dilapidated old mansion the client had lived in (after finding out that it was her own grandfather who originally built it), breaks up with the cheating boyfriend, and focuses all of her attention on rehabbing the old house. As she works to restore the place, she finds contentment in her new pastime; a nice, normal boyfriend in the architect who is helping her; and familial contentment as both her mother and grandmother find happiness in the purchase of this house. A typical Steel fairy tale. Kathleen Hughes
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

About the Author
Danielle Steel has been hailed as one of the world’s most popular authors, with over 560 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include Sisters, H.R.H., Coming Out, The House, Toxic Bachelors, Miracle, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina’s life and death.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One


Sarah Anderson left her office at nine-thirty on a Tuesday morning in June for her ten o'clock appointment with Stanley Perlman. She hurried out of the building at One Market Plaza, stepped off the curb, and hailed a cab. It occurred to her, as it always did, that one of these days when she met with him, it would really be for the last time. He always said it was. She had begun to expect him to live forever, despite his protests, and in spite of the realities of time. Her law firm had handled his affairs for more than half a century. She had been his estate and tax attorney for the past three years. At thirty-eight, Sarah had been a partner of the firm for the past two years, and had inherited Stanley as a client when his previous attorney died.

Stanley had outlived them all. He was ninety-eight years old. It was hard to believe sometimes. His mind was as sharp as it had ever been, he read voraciously, and he was well aware of every nuance and change in the current tax laws. He was a challenging and entertaining client. Stanley Perlman had been a genius in business all his life. The only thing that had changed over the years was that his body had betrayed him, but never once his mind. He was bedridden now, and had been for nearly seven years. Five nurses attended to him, three regularly in eight-hour shifts, two as relief. He was comfortable, most of the time, and hadn't left his house in years. Sarah had always liked and admired him, although others thought he was irascible and cantankerous. She thought he was a remarkable man. She gave the cabdriver Stanley's Scott Street address. They made their way through the downtown traffic in San Francisco's financial district, and headed west uptown, toward Pacific Heights, where he had lived in the same house for seventy-six years.

The sun was shining brightly as they climbed Nob Hill up California Street, and she knew it might be otherwise when they got uptown. The fog often sat heavily on the residential part of the city, even when it was warm and sunny downtown. Tourists were happily hanging off the cable car, smiling as they looked around. Sarah was bringing Stanley some papers to sign, nothing extraordinary. He was always making minor additions and adjustments to his will. He had been prepared to die for all the years she had known him, and long before. But in spite of that, whenever he seemed to take a turn for the worse, or suffered from a brief illness, he always rallied and hung on, much to his chagrin. He had told her only that morning, when she called to confirm her appointment with him, that he had been feeling poorly for the last few weeks, and it wouldn't be long.

"Stop threatening me, Stanley," she had said, putting the last of the papers for him in her briefcase. "You're going to outlive us all."

She was sad for him at times, although there was nothing depressing about him, and he rarely felt sorry for himself. He still barked orders at his nurses, read The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal daily, as well as the local papers, loved pastrami sandwiches and hamburgers, and spoke with fascinating accuracy and historical detail about his years growing up on the Lower East Side of New York. He had come to San Francisco at sixteen, in 1924. He had been remarkably clever at finding jobs, making deals, working for the right people, seizing opportunities, and saving money. He had bought property, always in unusual circumstances, sometimes preying on others' misfortunes, he readily admitted, and making trades, and using whatever credit was available to him. He had managed to make money while others were losing it during the Depression. He was the epitome of a self-made man.

He liked to say that he had bought the house he lived in for "pennies" in 1930. And considerably later, he had been among the first to build shopping malls in Southern California. Most of his early money had been made in real estate development, trading one building for another, sometimes buying land no one else wanted, and biding his time to either sell it later or build office buildings or shopping centers on it. He had had the same intuitive knack later on, for investing in oil wells. The fortune he had amassed was literally staggering by now. Stanley had been a genius in business, but had done little else in his life. He had no children, had never married, had no contact with anyone but attorneys and nurses. There was no one who cared about Stanley Perlman, except his young attorney, Sarah Anderson, and no one who would miss him when he died, except the nurses he employed. The nineteen heirs listed in the will that Sarah was once again updating for him (this time to include a series of oil wells he had just purchased in Orange County, after selling off several others, once again at the right time) were great-nieces and -nephews he had never met or corresponded with, and two elderly cousins who were nearly as old as he was, and whom he said he hadn't seen since the late forties but felt some vague attachment to. In truth, he was attached to no one, and made no bones about it. He had had one mission throughout his lifetime, and one only, and that had been making money. He had achieved his goal. He said he had been in love with two women in his younger days, but had never offered to marry either and had lost contact with both of them when they gave up on him and married other men, more than sixty years ago.

The only thing he said he regretted was not having children. He thought of Sarah as the grandchild he had never had, but might have, if he had taken the time to get married. She was the kind of granddaughter he would have liked to have. She was smart, funny, interesting, quick, beautiful, and good at what she did. Sometimes, when she brought papers to him, he loved to sit and look at her and talk to her for hours. He even held her hand, something he never did with his nurses. They got on his nerves and annoyed him, patronized him, and fussed over him in ways he hated. Sarah never did. She sat there looking young and beautiful, while speaking to him of the things that interested him. She always knew her stuff about new tax laws. He loved the fact that she came up with new ideas about how to save him money. He had been wary of her at first, because of her youth, and then progressively came to trust her, in the course of her visits to his small musty room in the attic of the house on Scott Street. She came up the back stairs, carrying her briefcase, entered his room discreetly, sat on a chair next to his bed, and they talked until she could see he was exhausted. Each time she came to see him, she feared it would be the last time. And then he would call her with some new idea, some new plan that had occurred to him, something he wanted to buy, sell, acquire, or dispose of. And whatever he touched always increased his fortune. Even at ninety-eight, Stanley Perlman had a Midas touch when it came to money. And best of all, despite the vast difference in their ages, over the years she'd worked with him, Sarah and Stanley had become friends.

Sarah glanced out the window of the cab as they passed Grace Cathedral, at the top of Nob Hill, and sat back against the seat, thinking about him. She wondered if he really was sick, and if it might be the last time. He had had pneumonia twice the previous spring and each time, miraculously, survived it. Maybe now he wouldn't. His nurses were diligent in their care of him, but sooner or later, at his age, something was going to get him. It was inevitable, although Sarah dreaded it. She knew she'd miss him terribly when he was gone.

Her long dark hair was pulled neatly back, her eyes were big and almost cornflower blue. He had commented on them the first time he saw her, and asked if she wore colored contact lenses. She had laughed at the question and assured him she didn't. Her usually creamy skin was tan this time, after several weekends in Lake Tahoe. She liked to hike and swim, and ride a mountain bike. Weekends away were always a relief after the long hours she spent in her office. Her partnership in the law firm had been well earned. She had graduated from Stanford law school, magna cum laude, and was a native San Franciscan. She had lived here all her life, except for the four years she spent as an undergraduate at Harvard. Her credentials and hard work had impressed Stanley and her partners. Stanley had grilled her extensively when they met, and had commented that she looked more like a model. She was tall, thin, athletic looking, and had long legs that he always silently admired. She was wearing a neat navy blue suit, which was the kind of thing she always wore when she visited him. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of small diamond earrings that had been a Christmas gift from Stanley. He had ordered them by phone for her himself from Neiman Marcus. He was not usually generous, he preferred to give his nurses money on holidays, but he had a soft spot for Sarah, just as she had for him. She had given him several cashmere throws to keep him warm. His house always seemed cold and damp. He scolded the nurses soundly whenever they put the heat on. Stanley preferred to use a blanket than be what he thought of as careless with his money.

Sarah had always been intrigued by the fact that he had never occupied the main part of the house, only the old servants' rooms in the attic. He said he had bought the place as an investment, had always meant to sell it, and never had. He had kept the house more out of laziness than any deep affection for it. It was a large, beautiful, once-luxurious home that had been built in the twenties. Stanley had told her that the family that had built it had fallen on hard times after the Crash of '29, and he had bought it in 1930. He had moved into one of the old maids' rooms then, with an old brass bed, a chest of drawers the original owners had abandoned there, and a chair whose springs had died so long ago that sitting on it was like resting on concrete. The brass bed had been replaced by a hospital bed a decade before. There was a...

Customer Reviews

Still Hoping.........
No matter what people may think I once was a Danielle Steel junkie. As soon as he newest book reached a bookstore 9this was pre Internet days), I was there grabbing her latest book. And I have suchfond memories of her titles like Season of Passion, The Ring, Crossings, The Promise and most recently Ghost. I also had to watch all of the made for TV movies and then would have to reread the books they were based on again. And then a funny thing happened to this loyal Steel reader. I found that her new books no longer interested me and the ones I did finish was because I decided to stick them out till the end. Recently I did enjoy Steel's book The Ghost and today keephoing that a new book by this author would really grab me. When I read the premise of her latest book, The House, I thought this might be that book which grabbed me and took hold. I ultimately thought that while it was an OK book, it left me yearning for the years when her books really enticed me and made me want to read more of this author's title.

Sarah is a 38 year old estate attorney trapped in a four year realtionbship with a man who only sees her on the weekends. And Sarah seems to be content with the way things are, afraid face facts and be alone.

When her very elderly and extremely wealthy client dies, Sarah feels as if she has lost a grandfather. She wonders why he spent his life amassing a fortune and living in an attic room of his huge San Francisco home. Then while dispersing his very
sizable estate among 19 relatives whome he hardly knew during his life, Sarah receives an inheritance she never expected with along with a letter which encourages her to do something which the money which will provide her with a happy and meaningful life. He reflects that while he never had a family or friends and spend his time and energies amassing his fortune, life should be lived to the fullest surrounded by love.

In a bold and unusal move Satah decides to use the money to purchase and bring his home back to the glory days it once knew. And while she is in the process of renovating her home, Sarah learns more about the family whom originally occuppied the home, a family secret concerning her grandmother but most of all, about unconditional love.

Set in both San Francisco and the chateaus of the Loire Valley, Steel does a find jobe of capturing the essence of both areas. But she glosses over the history of the home and the original inhabitants preferring to tie up the book with the inevitable happy ending for the principal characters.

I read this book while on a plane hoping it would provide me with that AHHHH moment but in the end it was a title I most likely won't ever recommend to a person that wants to begin reading Danielle Steel's books. Now, I think the time has come for me to remember this authors older books and pass on reading her new titles.

Danielle Steele Needs to Retire
There was a time in my life that Danielle Steele was my favorite author. I even named my daughter after her 20 years ago. However, she is living on her laurels now and really should retire. Her novels are not much better than what a high school student could write. She overuses words such as "she loved that about him." "she loved how he did this.." and so forth. With "The House", by the third chapter, it was as if she thought her reading audience did not have enough sense to realize that Phil was not good for the heroine. She had to keep beating our heads with it, just filling up paper in order to make it long enough for a book. I doubt I will ever read another one of her novels. So sad....

Ok for DS
While this certainly wasn't her worst novel, it isn't much more than ok. I got the impression she had written an outline then filled with book with annoying, repetitive details - about the people, the house, etc. And oh, just once can't someone in her novel be happy being single??