Ivis Bainbridge stood on the belvedere that overlooked<br >Seabright Village and the Pacific Ocean. She hugged<br >herself against the knife-sharp wind rushing in from<br >the sea， not even slightly short of breath after her<br >vigorous climb to the rocky hilltop.<br > The view was dazzling. Ivis could look down on the<br >four buildings that comprised the Seabright Village<br >complex. To her right the small community of Rock-<br >away Beach was spread out like a map. The town lay<br >several miles south of San Francisco s city and county<br >line， on a windswept， wooded hillside above the Penin-<br >sula shoreline， geographically isolated from the main-<br >stream of Peninsula life.<br > The isolation would soon end， Ivis mused， now that<br >Route 380 was open， the new freeway carrying traffic<br >up over Sweeney Ridge to join the Bayshore Freeway<br >at San Francisco International Airport. And what a<br >rotten shame it was that this beautiful， uncrowded<br >strip of mid-Peninsula coastline would soon be choked<br >with jerry-built crackerbox housing developments， that<br >land values would skyrocket. But at least Seabright<br >Village would remain exclusive and impregnable on its<br >rugged headland near the terminus of Route 380 at<br >Cabrillo Highway. Its ample acreage ensured that<br >nothing else would ever be built close to it.<br > Landward and seaward， the vista was stunning， as<br > 12<br > were the four airy condominium buildings situated at<br > the center of thirty landscaped acres. Each of the four<br > buildings contained six deluxe apartments. So far only<br > ~u ~ng One ~ ~x~ie~. T~xe ~he~ ~ld he ~ead~<br > for tenants in a few weeks. The buildings were angled<br > onto a high rocky bluff some 250 feet above the shore-<br > line of the point and a small beach called Emerald<br > Cove. Built for comfort， looks and durability， Seabright<br > Village was constructed of steel， glass， concrete and<br > prime redwood. No expense had been spared to make it<br > beautiful， inside and out， and to have it blend felicitously<br > with the terrain.<br > An early riser from long years of self-discipline， Ivis<br > had risen at dawn to perform her daily yoga ritual.<br > Bundled warmly against the wind， she had left her<br > $250，000 apartment and climbed the steep graveled<br > hill path behind Seabright to the belvedere to wait for<br > the first light. After a week of heavy rains the weather<br > was gloriously clear and cold.<br > At seventy-five， Ivis Bainbridge s superb physical<br > health normally kept her in high spirits. Not so this<br > morning， as she watched the dawn turn the sea to<br > liquid amber， then cobalt blue， with tufted whitecaps.<br > At a time when most of her contemporaries were either<br > dead or shuffling around in retirement homes， Ivis<br > remained clear-headed and lively， not about to surren-<br >~~ der to senility. She had a lot of good years ahead and<br > intended to live them to the fullest. If Ruth Gordon<br > could hit her eighties， so could she.<br > Perhaps the new venture was slightly clouding her<br > usual radiant optimism. At one o clock she would drive<br > over the ridge to the airport and pick up her son， John<br > Sampson， flying in from L.A. <br ><br >