“Let me show you the rooms that you’ll be decorating,” he said, distracted, as he pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. She was glad to be up and moving again, and hoping to finally get to have a normal conversation, but he was already barking into his phone. “I don’t care how much it costs,” he said. “It’s a car. Just buy it… I’d like it detailed and cleaned before it leaves the lot this time.” After a minute’s more conversation, he ended the call and looked down at her. “I collect cars—mostly Ferraris,” he said, with an air of pride.
“Cars?” she asked. Max collected cars, but she wondered if he might be talking about a slightly different kind.
“There’s a Lamborghini that’s up for auction—very limited number of them. I’ve got someone bidding for me and I’m trying to manage that while I show you around. My apologies.”
She stared up at him long enough to realize that it was becoming awkward, so she looked down at her feet. Her grandfather couldn’t even buy the medicine he needed and this guy was wasting money on luxury cars.
“You need more than one car?” she asked.
He looked at her, the skin between his eyes wrinkling as if he were trying to make sense of what she was saying. “I collect them. I don’t necessarily drive them.”
“Where do you keep them?”
“I have a garage on the property. They’re displayed there.”
She knew that her face was showing her distaste, and she couldn’t straighten it out no matter how hard she tried. She had no right to offer any opinion about what he did with his money. “So who comes to see them?”
He eyed her again. “No one,” he said, his voice sounding slightly exasperated. “I collect them for my own amusement. No one else’s.”
She was quiet after that; the idea of all that money sitting somewhere in a garage helping no one had silenced her.
“Basically, you’ll be decorating all the rooms except for a couple. I know that’s a big job…” He looked down at her as they walked, changing the subject. Had he been able to interpret her opinions? “And you’ll have only a short time to do it.” He stopped, so Abbey did too. “I have family coming and I’m having a Christmas party. I want you to make the house look lived in.”
A punch of laughter rose in her gut, but she cleared her throat to remove it. She remembered the ballroom with nothing but a piano and a set of fluffy sofas, and thought to herself, How can I make a room like that look livable?
If she’d chosen to be a full-time decorator instead of becoming a nurse, Abbey would take something like a cozy corner nook, paint it a warm color, add a pop of white furniture, and fill it full of bookshelves. She’d arrange the books on the shelves between knickknacks from various locations around the world that her client had gotten on his travels. She’d even drape a snowy-white throw across the arm of the chair and add a floor lamp for ambience. That would look lived in. This house was like a museum. It was too big to make it even seem like someone would live in it. But then, her thoughts went to Nick. He lived here. And as far as Abbey could tell, he lived here all by himself.
Caroline had never mentioned a family when she spoke of her grandson. She’d only said that he needed help with his home because he was too busy working to do anything with it. How sad to have to walk these giant hallways alone.
They rounded the corner and headed up a curling staircase to the second floor. Everywhere she looked, she saw lofty ceilings and balconies. It made her feel the need to take a deep breath to release the growing tension she was feeling about this job she’d taken.
All the doors to each room were shut, which was odd to Abbey, but then again, perhaps it was hard to heat such a large house. He stopped at the first one and opened it. It was another colossal expanse of space with vaulted ceilings, ornamental woodwork, and more chandeliers.
“This is a bedroom,” he said as she walked around the room, snapping photos of walls and architectural features. She looked up at the intricate crystal chandelier above her, with its strands of diamond-like jewels dripping down, and took a photo. “There are eight bedrooms in total. I’d like each room to feel distinct, yet consistent with the style of the home. What you do with them is up to you. I trust you.”
Abbey dragged her hand along the ornate woodwork in the recessed doorway, noticing how the patterns in the wood emerged from under the thick coats of shiny white paint. She’d keep that, she decided. She imagined Georgian-style furniture to maintain the integrity of the home, but with a few present-day traditional accents to make the look current. In such a large space, she’d want to focus on breaking the room up into smaller pieces—perhaps put a sitting area at one end of the bedroom. The key was to make this cold space seem warm and more personal. The walls needed neutrals but in inviting colors like light buttery yellows and subtle mint greens, rather than just plain white. She jotted down notes in the notebook that she’d included in the front pocket of her portfolio.