Worst Impressions

Chapter Forty Six

Henry put his hand on my back as if to guide me. We walked briskly until we were around the corner and out of view of our respective parents. Then, we ran full tilt towards the house like a couple of kids, each determined to get their hands on the door first. My attire was better suited to an impromptu race, and I won easily before we broke out in breathless laughter while we leaned against the back door.

Childish, but fun.

The house was open and modern. The spaces seemed to flow into one another, which made it feel tranquil and natural rather than by design. The windows were enormous. Some took up entire walls from floor to ceiling. Had the light not glinted from them, one would have been mistaken in believing that they could step through and out into the garden. The views they afforded were stunning; woodland, a hedge maze with a staggeringly beautiful fountain in the middle, and rolling lawns dotted with budding flowers.

The floors were all lightly stained and highly polished wood. They gleamed as the sunlight pooled upon them. It glanced from the corners of glass-topped coffee tables and illuminated modern white vases atop plinths which could have been works of art on their own. It felt minimalist but occupied. The furniture was squared off, all straight lines and sharp edges, which was a stark contrast to the building. Yet, that contrast seemed to work. It made the chosen pieces of furniture feel like purposeful statements, designed to stand out against the Zen house.

'Nice, right?' Henry asked. 'Down here it's all open plan, massive windows, and a kitchen that'd put most restaurants to shame. The dining room is ridiculous and there are only three of them in the family. My university dorm could fit in the downstairs loo.'

'Isn't there a ballroom down here?' I asked. 'Don't all mansions have ballrooms?'

'Nope.'

'Wow, they're failing at the rich people game. How will people know how important you are if you don't have a whole room for your balls?'

Henry snickered. 'Maybe you should come back when they're home and ask them?'

'I might! On behalf of all normal people, I'll come back and ask them about their balls.'

'You can ask them why three people need five bedrooms, too,' he suggested.

'Just five? How can they possibly cope?'

'I think they drown their sorrows with whatever's in the wine cellar,' he whispered.

'Hey,' I said, 'do they at least have a music room? Like, with expensive guitars and stuff?'

'Not really, but there's a piano on the next floor. Come on, I'll show you.'

As eager as I was to see it, and as much as I joked about the ridiculousness of the house, I felt like we were invading someone's privacy by poking around their house without their knowledge. We climbed the stairs and turned a corner onto a grand galleried landing which looked down over the living area below. At the front of the building, standing swathed in sunlight against the towering windows, stood the most beautiful instrument I'd ever beheld. It was like something from a painting, standing grand yet unassuming against one of the most beautiful views in the entire country. It was the sort of sight that one imagined to be accompanied by a chorus of angels singing heavenly praise.

In short, it was inspirational.

'Is that a Fazioli?'

'I don't know,' Henry admitted. 'Is it?'

'Hell yeah. They have one of these at my school, but we're not allowed to touch it unless there's a big recital going on. They're seriously expensive.'

'Do you want to try it?'