The Cottage by Danielle Steel

front door to the guest wing, they drove to the north end of the property to where the gatehouse stood secluded in a seemingly secret garden. It was in fact nowhere near the front gate, and had so much greenery and land around it, that it appeared to be on an estate of its own. It was a beautiful little stone house with vines growing up one side, and it always reminded Liz of an English cottage. It had a magical feeling to it, and inside there were both elegant wood paneling and rough-hewn stone walls. It was an interesting juxtaposition of two worlds, and entirely different from the elegant French decor of the guest wing.
    “Oh my God, this is fabulous!” the realtor said enthusiastically, as they walked past a rose garden that surrounded the house, and stepped inside. “It's like being in another world.”
    In the gatehouse, the rooms were small and well proportioned with beam ceilings, and the furniture was heavier and English, with a long, handsome leather couch that Coop had bought from an English club. The house had a wonderful cozy feeling, and a huge fireplace in the living room. It had a decent-sized country kitchen, full of antique cooking implements on the walls, and there were two average-sized bedrooms upstairs, done in manly stripes, with George III furniture that Coop had collected for a while. There were beautiful needlepoint rugs in all the rooms, and a small elegant dining room with antique silver set out on the sideboard. The china in the cupboard was Spode. It was a perfect little English cottage, and you could have imagined yourself anywhere but Bel Air. Itwas closer to the tennis courts than the main house, but it was farther from the pool, which was almost directly outside the guest wing. So each place had its virtues and conveniences and own style.
    “This is an absolutely perfect place for the right tenant,” the realtor said with unabashed glee. “I'd love to stay here myself.”
    “I've always thought that too,” Liz smiled at her. She had once asked Coop if she could borrow it for a weekend, but in the end she never had. And like the guest wing, it was perfectly appointed with linens and drapes, china, and all the cooking utensils and flatware anyone could possibly need.
    “I can get at least ten thousand a month for this one too,” the realtor said, looking pleased. “Maybe more. It's small, but it's absolutely beautiful, and has incredible charm.” It had an entirely different feeling from the guest wing, which seemed grander and more luxurious because of the scale, but was very homey too. There were just higher ceilings, and a lot more room, because the living room and the master bedroom and kitchen were all so large. But they were both beautiful properties, and the realtor felt certain she could have them rented in no time at all. “I'd like to come out and take some pictures of both places next week, I don't even want to show them to other brokers yet. I want to see who we have on our own books looking for furnished rentals. Properties like these don't come along every day, and I want to find the right tenants for Coop.”
    “That would be very important for him,” Liz said solemnly.
    “Are there any restrictions I should know about?” the realtor asked, making a few quick notes on a pad, about size, facilities, and number of rooms.
    “To be honest, he's not crazy about kids, and he wouldn't want anything damaged. I don't know how he'd feel about a dog. But other than that, I think as long as someone is respectable and can pay the rent, there won't be any problem.” She didn't tell her that he only wanted female tenants.
    “We have to be careful about the kid thing, we don't want to get reported to the rental board for discrimination,” the realtor warned her. “But I'll keep it in mind when I show it. These are both pretty sophisticated rentals, and the rent is a pretty big ticket. That will keep out the riffraff,” unless of course they rented it to rock stars. That was