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)
Everyone but me.
“I’ve just always loved this place,” I reply. “And I know you’re not bulldozing it and I can see what you’re doing through other people’s eyes … I get that from their perspective it makes sense, but . . .”
“This isn’t about Crompton,” he says, and I snap my head around.
“It’s absolutely about Crompton,” I reply.
He winces, but doesn’t say anything more and I’m grateful. I don’t want to feel the need to explain or excuse why I feel like I do. Vincent Cove doesn’t need to understand how utterly devastating the thought of moving off the estate is for me. He can’t know the fear that swirls in me about what life has in store if I’m not next door to Granny, living my life as I’ve lived it for the last twenty years.
Vincent and I make our way to the other side of the long room to a rabbit warren of rooms that look like they might need to be demolished. There are no rugs on the floors, just stained floorboards, ripped wallpaper, and damaged architraves. It looks like some kind of deserted haunted house. Vincent doesn’t use the state of these rooms as more reason why what he’s doing is a positive thing, and I’m grateful. “You’ll see on the plans this area will be knocked into one and used as a formal dining room, which will lead out into the extension.”
“Extension?” I say and instantly wish I hadn’t given away my shock.
“Yes, a two-story extension will house most of the bedrooms.”
“More bedrooms are being added?”
“At the moment, there’s only space for some of the suites and a couple of specialty rooms within the original house. The bulk of the bedrooms will be located in the extension.”
I want to see these plans right away. Already my mind is spinning with images of a vast, sprawling, modern monstrosity tacked to the back of the house. “Can we finish the tour after I’ve seen the plans?” I ask. I want to see what he’s talking about. Vincent has been very clear about his desire to restore Crompton. Now the truth comes out: He’s willing to bolt an ugly extension onto a beautiful, historic building for the sake of profit. Surely the local planners aren’t going to let a stately home like this be ruined?
“Absolutely,” Vincent says, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Vincent leads the way up the winding stairs. I follow him, trailing my hand up the smooth, weathered oak, definitely not looking at Vincent’s bottom.
“We’ve set up our office in here,” Vincent says, opening a door straight ahead of the stairs.
The room is flooded with light and my eyes have to adjust. I glance around and see Michael behind one desk at the far end and a young blonde girl, who looks like she’s in her early twenties, sitting behind one of the other two modern desks at either end of the room. In the middle is a large table, covered in papers.
“The earl didn’t leave any furniture?” I ask, glancing around. Surely they could have found office furniture a little more in keeping.
“Most of the rooms were empty when I first toured the place,” Vincent answers. “The earl took some things. He left a few pieces for downstairs that will be used in the hotel, much of the art. And the books in the library, of course.”
What did he mean the rooms weren’t furnished? They must have been. This was where the earl lived, after all. Then I remembered someone at the pub said the same thing. Had times been so tough for the Earl that he sold furniture to keep the place afloat?
“Let’s show you the video of what the place will look like when it’s finished,” Vincent says. “Molly has it up on her screen.” Vincent pulls two chairs over to the blonde’s desk and she adjusts her large screen so we can all see it.
The video opens with a sweeping aerial shot of the grounds that looks like it must have been taken from a drone. But the blooming gardens have disappeared, and in their place is what I can only assume is the extension—a beautiful, red-bricked building that looks as natural as the main house itself. There’s a large conservatory and, even if I hate myself for thinking it, a rather appealing pool.
It looks beautiful. Most of the landscaping is exactly as it is now. But it’s still not the place I know and love. The changes might be visually appealing, but they still make my insides seize into a tight ball of anxiety.
“This is how it will look when all the renovations have taken place.”
“It’s not just renovations though, is it? It’s extensions and removal of the flower gardens.”
“You’re right,” Vincent says, to my surprise. “‘Renovations’ doesn’t encompass enough. What would be a better word?”