The Christmas Project. Maxine Morrey
an architect’s easel, a work station with a large flat-screen computer on it and a bookcase stuffed with books, papers and all sorts of other random items. Under another pile of papers a small two-seater sofa lounged against the wall. Michael walked over and flicked on the lamp over the easel. There was no window dressing of any kind and streetlight shadows from the trees outside danced on the stripped wooden floor. At least, what you could see of it.
‘My office.’
‘You work from home?’
‘I do.’
I glanced around. ‘And do you always know where everything is in here?’
He followed my gaze and I saw something cross his face. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was being sarcastic so I clarified my question.
‘It’s just that sometimes, especially in work areas, what looks like a mess to an outsider is actually a very specific way of working for the person whose space it is. People find their own way of working and obviously I don’t want to do anything to upset your working methods.’
He picked up a mechanical pencil from the desk and fiddled with it.
‘As much as it pains me to tell you this, I can’t actually find a bloody thing most of the time.’
‘OK. We can fix that and find a much better system for you, which will make for a more pleasant and efficient working environment.’
‘Just because it looks a tip doesn’t mean I’m not “efficient” at my job. People might think I’m an arsehole but they still know I’m a damn good architect.’
I tried not to look surprised at his defensiveness. Time to employ some professional soothing. ‘I never meant to suggest that you weren’t. I’m sorry if it came across that way.’
He fiddled with the pencil a little more, then nodded, seemingly accepting my apology. ‘But you are saying my office isn’t pleasant?’
‘I’m just saying that we can make it more pleasant.’
He gave a little shake of his head, that almost-smile flashing briefly. ‘Very tactful.’
I looked up from my notes. ‘So, what’s next?’
Staying on the same level, he pointed to a door behind which was apparently a downstairs loo, before moving on to show me the living and dining rooms. Both were gorgeous spaces, not that it was easy to see that at the moment. But they could be.
‘You play the piano?’ I asked, seeing an upright groaning under another pile of magazines and general ‘stuff’.
He shrugged. ‘Used to. Haven’t played for ages.’
‘Why not?’
He gave the shrug again and then set off for the next floor. Here there were four spare bedrooms, two with small en suites, and one main bathroom. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a mini home gym which, unlike many I’d seen in my time, was clearly being put to good use. I made a note to suggest moving this equipment down to the basement level. There was plenty of space down there and it could always be screened off with a room divider. That would free up the bedroom, which, from what Janey had told me about the size of their family, could be useful. Plus it might be more inspiring for my client to work out looking onto the garden rather than staring at a blank wall as he clearly was at the moment. I snuck a glance at him. Admittedly, from what I could see under the slightly misshapen clothes, he didn’t seem to be lacking in motivation to work out.
As we moved around, it seemed that most of the rooms had generally turned into a dumping ground for random items, boxes for appliances, motorbike parts and goodness knows what else.
‘The master bedroom is on the top floor but you’ve pretty much got the idea as to what it’s like from these.’ He waved a hand at the rooms we’d already seen.
‘It would still be very helpful for me to see it, if possible. So that I have all the information as to what we are dealing with. It’s especially helpful in this case as we’re on quite a short deadline.’
After his comment about one-night stands earlier, I was a little surprised that Michael had suddenly seemed to have turned a little shy. Frankly, I’d half expected that to be the first room he’d shown me, maybe hoping for another reaction. But the truth was, I’d seen all sorts in my time and there was little that could surprise me now. I opened my mouth to reassure him but he took off up the stairs before I could say anything. Quickly, I followed. He opened the door and stepped in.
‘Master bedroom, en suite, dressing room.’ His voice was uncharacteristically flat.
I looked around the room before turning back to Michael. Unexpectedly, not to mention, annoyingly, he had indeed surprised me. Whilst everywhere else in the house was full of stuff, his bedroom – the one place where it should feel the most personal – felt the least. It was almost like a hotel room but with less soul. The room itself, like the others, was beautiful. In fact, it was even more so with its double-aspect windows, high ceilings and finished wood floor. It could be the perfect bedroom. My new client might be annoying, bristly, arrogant and rude but there was one thing he clearly wasn’t short of, and that was personality – however desirable or undesirable its aspects. And yet this room had none. There was no sense of him at all. Of anything really. It was sparsely furnished and had none of the junk that the other rooms had acquired.
Evidently the surprise showed on my face.
‘It seems unlike you to have nothing to say Kate.’
I turned quickly, trying to regain my mental footing.
‘I was…it’s just that…’
Michael raised an eyebrow at me, but remained silent, making no attempt to help me out.
I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair unnecessarily. ‘Do you actually use this room?’ I asked, making a couple of notes.
‘I do.’
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I just couldn’t picture this man in such a bland space. Everywhere else in this house showed aspects of who he was: his work, his motorbike, the food he liked – mostly because it was all on display. But here there was nothing. Not an inkling of the person who spent his nights there. And then it dawned on me. Maybe that was precisely the aim.
‘OK. You seem to have managed to maintain this one a little better, so that’s helpful.’
‘I’m glad you approve.’
I crossed the room and opened the door to the walk in wardrobe, peering in. Much of it was empty and I had to fight the urge to fling myself down and weep for the space he had for clothes – a space that was only a little smaller than my entire flat.
‘Are you all right?’ The deep voice almost sounded concerned.
‘Hmm? Oh, yes! Absolutely. This really is a beautiful room.’
‘Thank you.’ He turned to leave, clearly feeling that I’d got all I needed. As I followed, I gave it another look. It could be so much more for him. I wasn’t a professional decorator but I loved the subject as a hobby and so it was easy for me to see how this could be transformed into a real oasis of calm for him. Somewhere he could escape the day, the stresses of work – assuming that all electronic devices were banned from the bedroom – as they should be.
‘You know, you could really make that into a gorgeous space for you to – ’
‘I wasn’t aware you were here to comment on my decoration tastes,’ he snapped, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.
‘No, of course not. I just…’ I met his eyes and saw there was no argument to be made. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, attempting pacification with a smile. ‘It’s just that it’s an interest of mine and it’s hard not to get carried away in a beautiful house like this.’
‘Perhaps you could try a little harder.’
I