Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
John coughs and peers over at the counter. “That chocolate cake looks jolly nice, Carole—”
“No, John. It’s five past ten and you’ve just eaten carrot cake.”
He grumbles and takes another sip of his tea.
I smile and lean back in my chair.
It’s good to be back.
THREE
Vincent
In the parking lot, after three promises that I’ll go up to Norfolk before I fly back to New York, I stand by my car as my family leaves.
Them being here was a cover, but it was good to see them.
I check the time and head over to the house. Only the grounds are open to the public, but if I’m going to buy the entire estate, I need to see the house as well.
As instructed, I make my way through a small black gate in a wall at the back of a property, where I find the realtor waiting for me.
“Brian,” I say.
“Vincent. So pleased you could make it. Sorry about not being able to see the gardens with you. But I can show you around the house no problem.”
He doesn’t need to know I’ve already visited the gardens. And while scoping out the land around the house, I was able to see the state of things from a distance. The roof needs fixing, if not replacement. There’s paintwork peeling in certain places that aren’t immediately noticeable. And there are weeds growing out of the guttering. The decay isn’t obvious unless you’re looking for it—and I’m looking. Not only because I want to know how much I’m going to have to pay to get the place into shape, but I also want to know how desperate the earl is to sell.
“Lead the way,” I say.
“Let’s start at the front of the house, as if you’d come through the entrance. You’ll really get a feel for the grandeur of the place.”
I follow him from the back of the building, taking in the cracked walls and curling wallpaper of the small, cramped rooms we move through, until we reach the entrance hall, which looks very different.
“You can imagine being a visitor here, the double-height ceilings, that sweeping staircase—it makes an impact as soon as you walk through the doors.”
I push my hands into my pockets and look up and around. Brian’s right, the entrance is impressive and it could be grand. It just looks a little tired and unloved. The carpets running up the stairs are worn and there seems to be an emptiness about the space. It’s as if the art and furniture that should adorn the walls and fill the rooms are more conspicuous for their absence.
“Has the owner moved out?”
“Absolutely not. But since the countess died, the earl has lost his love for the place.”
“She died about five years ago?”
Brian nods. Brian is the earl’s broker, not mine. Apparently, I don’t have to have one in the UK. It means I save money, but at the same time, I think he might be more open if I was represented.
“So he’s looking to move on.”
“It pains him, but yes, he doesn’t want the upkeep anymore.”
“Understandable. It’s expensive and time-consuming caring for a place like this.”
“Let me show you the library,” he says.
We turn left into the book-lined room. A couple of wing-backed leather chairs sit either side of a small table. But other than the books, it seems empty. “Has he gotten rid of furniture? And art? There seem to be gaps.”
“I think in readiness for the sale, he’s given a number of pieces of furniture and artwork to family members.”
Whether that’s true, I’m unsure. Maybe the earl has sold them to keep the place up and running.
“Does having the gardens open cover the costs of running the place?” I ask.
“Would you look to keep the café open?” he asks. “And the gardens?”
“I’ve made no decisions yet,” I reply. He didn’t answer my question, which means the café and the gardens don’t cover the upkeep of the house. And he knows it. Which means the earl has told him, which means he and the earl understand they’re in a weak bargaining position.
Of course, there’s no way I’ll be keeping the gardens open to the public. If I transform this decaying old house into a five-star hotel, it will be exclusive. Luxurious. It won’t have a back garden full of carrot cake and buses full of retired ramblers.
Brian pulls in a breath. “If you were to close them, planning might be a battle due to the loss of local jobs. Some of the people have worked in the estate for generations.”
“It’s a huge gamble,” I say. Obviously, I’ve already looked into planning approval. I have a team of people to assist me making decisions, and although there are risks to acquiring a home like this without planning permission, I’ve taken bigger. Planning authorities understand that unless these huge stately homes are given new life, they will fall into disrepair. People will be left out of work and communities will crumble with holes at their heart. But Brian doesn’t need to know any of that.