Page 16 of A Cornish Love Story
‘It’s a miracle,’ I said, because that’s what it felt like compared to before. ‘Are you … a friend of Sarah’s? An estate agent?’
She laughed lightly. ‘No, I’ve come with Ethan. We both live in Bristol.’ I nodded, because I knew his firm, Sparks Architecture, was based there. I had done my own digging, but had never found anything about this build, and I’d obviously missed Sarah’s name on the website, though I presumed it must be there somewhere. It felt like one more thing I’d failed at: no wonder I’d been stuck writing reports about cow elopements and charity bike rides.
‘Do you work together?’ I asked.
‘I’m a friend.’ She examined one of the elaborate bouquets that were placed throughout the house. Cream and pink roses nestled alongside baby’s breath, deep purple orchids, the soft foliage fitting in perfectly with the green accents in the decor.
‘Why areyouhere?’ I was sure Ethan’s perhaps-girlfriend hadn’t meant it to sound so accusing.
‘I’m covering this evening for the local paper,’ I said. ‘Actually, I’d better get started.’
I opened my rucksack and she slunk off, champagneglass in hand, while I took out my old Nikon and checked it was working. I started taking photographs, distracted by all the ways Ethan had let the sea into the house. There were the large windows, framing the coast as the ever-changing focal point of every room, and I could see chinks of bright blue everywhere: in the foyer mosaic, and round the rim and base of the vases; a thin stripe along the chrome staircase railing, and a bright fissure threaded through the black marble surfaces in the kitchen. The chandeliers were textured crystal, the pieces mostly clear but with a few turquoise and aquamarine, like an exploded sea-glass glitter ball.
Standing on the landing, I got held up trying to get the perfect shot through a distorted-glass porthole – which was positioned between the tall, rectangular windows at the back of the foyer – of the stepped garden that ran down to the cliff’s edge, and was halted only by the redbrick wall surrounding the property. My mind drifted to Amelie and Connor, how they had endedThe Whispers of the Sandson opposite sides of the Atlantic, and how Spence and I could bring them back together in this house. It was the perfect setting: a space so beautiful and elegant, it was as if Ethan’s careful fingertips had brushed over every inch.
There was the high ‘ting’ of cutlery against glass, and Sarah’s voice rang out from the kitchen. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to welcome you all here this evening, to celebrate the feat of modern architecture that is glorious Sterenlenn. Please take yourself through the rooms (there is a lot to explore), sip champagneand eat canapés. But, before we leave you to drink your fill of this shimmering cliffside escape, I’d love to introduce you to the talent behind it, who just happens to be my big brother, Ethan Sparks!’ There was a smattering of applause, and I slunk down the stairs to join everyone else.
I leant in the kitchen doorway, one of the Sparks panels on the wall next to me, as Ethan stepped out of a sea of bodies, champagne glass in hand, two pinpoints of colour on his cheekbones as he faced his waiting audience. He had never sought out the limelight, had always talked about his work speaking for itself, and I could see how uncomfortable he was.
‘Thank you all for coming,’ he said. ‘I know this isn’t the easiest place to get to, so I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to make the journey and see what we’ve achieved with this property. It had solid foundations long before we got anywhere near it, so I can’t claim the credit for how grounded it feels to be here, and it has a long history that hasn’t been celebrated enough. It’s been immortalized in fiction, and it’s a part of my own backstory, too.’ He swallowed, and I wondered if he was focused on any particular memory.
‘Now it’s Sterenlenn,’ he continued, sounding more confident, ‘and while I hope my transformation gives it the second chance it deserves, I didn’t want to erase its past. I’ve been sympathetic to the landscape, to the environment and our increasingly urgent quest for sustainability, but I haven’t compromised on luxury. The innovative Sparks system lets users manage thehouse using voice activation, the wall tablets and the accompanying app: temperature and heating options – there is underfloor heating throughout – as well as lighting and air conditioning.
‘The sound system, intercom and speakers are embedded, so you can be in touch with every part of the house – but you can also switch rooms off together or in isolation if you need privacy.’ Someone caterwauled, and a furrow appeared between Ethan’s brows. ‘There are security cameras covering the grounds and the outside of the property, and a sophisticated alarm system that connects to the local authorities if you activate Panic Room Mode, or in case of a threat. It’s as modern as it comes, but it’s subtle, too. Above everything else, I want this to be a home, not a spaceship.’
‘No chance of that,’ a woman called out. ‘The views are magnificent.’
Ethan smiled, back on safer ground, and I remembered that he’d never got over his awe of the Cornish coastline. He’d grown up in London, and his family had moved around before landing in Alperwick, but they’d mostly stuck to cities. He’d been mesmerized by the landscape, and it made so much sense that he’d come back here for his first major project.
‘Nothing I create can match this stretch of coast for beauty,’ he said, ‘but I’ve tried to work in harmony with it. I’ve focused on bringing the outside in, and the bifold doors in the lounge,’ he gestured to his left, ‘open onto the gardens and the sea beyond. You cantint them against the sun’s glare without ruining the view, and we’ve adapted the roof throughout, installing skylights, so each bedroom can be exposed to the sky, the stars at night. That’s probably the closest it gets to a spaceship, actually.’
There was a ripple of laughter, then Sarah added, ‘Wait until you see how they work. They’re one of the most impressive features, and we’re starting with a long list. It’s a genius touch.’
They sound magical, I thought, then jumped when Sarah’s eyes found mine through the crowd and she said, ‘You’ll love them, Georgie.’
I shrank back. Things were going seriously wrong if I was blurting out my thoughts without realizing.
‘Speaking of genius,’ Ethan said, ignoring our exchange, ‘I have to talk about the experts: builders and craftsmen, electricians, plumbers and structural engineers who turned my vision into reality. It has been such a solid team, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have had them on my side. This is Andy – AP.’ He gestured to a wide-set man with thinning brown hair and twinkling hazel eyes, who was holding an empty champagne glass, his shirt untucked as he leant against a marble countertop. ‘He was our foreman, so he’s the one who made this happen.’
Andy raised his glass and grinned at the applause, then exchanged a nod with Ethan that was full of affection. I wondered if they were friends; whether they’d gone for pints together, celebrating the wins, strategizing over beer mats when the build went wrongor they hit a hurdle. I’d seen enough episodes ofGrand Designsto know a thing like this could break you completely, and Ethan hadn’t just been a passive architect, focusing on the maths and physics, every tiny calculation that needed to be spot on to avoid disaster. Despite our years apart, I knew how much of his heart was in this building, how desperate he would have been for his ideas to work. I tried not to imagine a sultry brunette – like Yellow Shoes – giving him a massage at the end of a long day, working out the kinks in his broad back.
‘Tell us about the name,’ someone said, and my neck prickled, because I recognized the polished voice. It was Jean Durand, field reporter for the local TV news. I had seen him on countless bulletins, all floppy dark hair and smug smile. He’d asked the question that had me freezing, breath held, my eyes back on Ethan in time to see him blanch.
‘If you didn’t want to answer,’ I murmured to myself, ‘you should have named it something else.’
‘Sterenlenn,’ Jean went on, when Ethan didn’t respond. ‘Literal translation “star blanket”, so I guess you’re saying this house is under a blanket of stars. Why did this name make the cut, above all the other possibilities?’
The room fell to a hush. The sweet scent of roses suddenly seemed overpowering, and I knew that this was what really mattered: not the nuts and bolts of the build, the materials they’d used and the sustainable features factored in, but why it was so personal – whatsomeone felt about it, and why they’d made certain choices. What was inside someone like Ethan, who seemed so restrained, cut off from everyone, even though he was standing in the middle of them? How had this design come out of his head, and why did he give a fuck?
Would he admit it? I didn’t want everyone looking at me, but I also didn’t want him to dismiss my role in it. I wanted him to acknowledge that part of the reason he cared about the house was because, once upon a time, he’d cared about me. We could be pleasant with each other tonight, then go our separate ways, but I was desperate for him to admit the real origin of the name he’d chosen.
I realized he was watching me. He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, then looked away. The few sips of champagne I’d had curdled in my gut.
‘I got to learn a little of the Cornish language when I lived here,’ he told everyone. ‘It’s as lyrical as the landscape, and I knew this house needed a Cornish name. Here on the cliffs, away from any light pollution, the stars are almost unbelievable. You won’t get a chance to see them tonight, because they won’t appear until long after this event is over, but those of you who are local know what I mean. You feel small beneath them, you feel covered, overwhelmed by them and so …’ He shrugged. ‘Blanket of stars.’
A few people cooed, Jean stupid Durand seemed satisfied by his bland answer, but the champagne had fully turned to acid in my stomach. I’d been writtenout of the story, which would have made sense if I hadn’t come tonight – I would never even have known. But I was standing right here, we’d spoken to each other calmly,warmlyalmost, and I’d felt drawn to him, as I’d known I would, the moment I realized he was behind the transformation; the moment I’d known he’d be here.
But he’d left out the important fact that I had given him the name, that it was his and mine, together, woven through the memories of this house before, when we’d been falling in love. I caught his eye, saw his shame, and then quietly turned away from him and his speech, and the crowd of sycophantic onlookers smiling up at him.
