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)
“Indeed,” he says. “And you’ve come up from London for the day?” he asks. “Or are you based in the US?” I’m not sure if Brian knows he’s doing a terrible job of not showing me how desperate the earl is to sell this place.
“I’m staying in the village,” I say. “At the pub on the edge of the estate.”
“Oh, the Golden Hare? Lovely place. Heard the rooms are great.”
I nod. I haven’t checked in, so I don’t know what the rooms are like, but it’s true that I’m staying there tonight. “I heard a rumor the earl has been trying to sell for a while.”
Brian’s brow furrows. “There’s been a certain amount of speculation since the countess died.”
We’re both dancing around the real issue—namely, is the earl prepared to make the price appealing to me?
If he’s not, I’ll walk away, but I confess I like the place. I need a new challenge. New York doesn’t seem to hold the same appeal to me as it did when I moved there. Moving to a different area of the city hasn’t tempered my boredom, either. I need more than a change of scenery, and the Crompton Estate might be just the ticket.
“I can imagine. What’s next?”
“The library leads into the morning room.”
This room looks like something from a costume drama, with a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, ornate gold console tables sitting behind sumptuous lavender-blue couches. Art hangs on every wall, portraits of well-dressed men and women from the past and landscapes that look like they belong in museums. The rugs are soft and everything looks cared for.
“This is a nice room,” I remark.
“The earl uses this as his drawing room. It’s in daily use. But the formal drawing room is quite lovely.”
He leads me back into the hallway and this time to the back of the house.
“This is my favorite room,” he says. “The long room.”
Three pairs of windowed doors open out into a courtyard garden, and three chandeliers hang from the ceiling opposite them. At each end of the room, there’s a stone fireplace, intricately carved with what looks like animals, but I’d need to get closer.
Flaking paint on the windows has been roughly covered with a fresh coat, though no one took the time to scrape away the old stuff. Lipstick on a pig—and not even very nice lipstick.
“It would make an excellent function room or dining room if someone was to open a hotel,” Brian observes, the hint of a question in his tone.
I smile, having no intention to answer. He doesn’t need to know my plans.
“It’s a lovely room.”
We continue through another, smaller lounge, which he refers to as the parlor, and another he calls the dining room, though it has no table.
“Shall we go up to the first floor next?”
I nod back to beyond the dining room. “I’d like to finish this floor first. What about where we came in?”
His lips pull into a thin, straight line. “Very well.”
We go back to where I first came in and it’s clear why he didn’t want me in here. The walls are practically crumbling in the warren of four or five rooms that seem to make up a billiards room and maybe another sitting room. It looks like it’s been abandoned.
“Obviously, it needs some work,” he says.
“Obviously,” I say, and he leads me out, back to the main hallway. “Have you had much interest in the place?”
We start ascending the stairs, which sweep up dramatically, just like you’d expect in a stately home. They take up a huge amount of space, which isn’t ideal, but it’s unlikely we’ll get permission to get rid of them.
“We’re marketing to a very small number of people,” he says.
I let out a half laugh. Not because he’s funny, but because he’s so obviously not answering my questions. If he was a little more open, I might feel like I was in a weaker position, but I can’t help assuming the worst if he’s not prepared to say anything at all.
There’s no point in asking anything more. We wander from room to room for a few minutes, taking in the bedrooms that don’t look like anyone’s modernized them for at least sixty years. On the top floor, it’s more of the same.
The place is crumbling. The earl is desperate to sell. And I need a new challenge.
The stars are aligning over the Crompton Estate.
FOUR
Kate
I tie the straps of my green apron around my waist and put my hands on my hips. “I think we’re ready to open,” I call out, surveying the tables, which all have their zinc buckets containing knives and forks wrapped in napkins and their condiments tray. I wiped each table down with the anti-bac, despite them all being clean.
George, the owner of the Golden Hare, appears in the doorway. “Good job, because we’re opening whether or not you’re ready.”