Page 39 of A Cornish Love Story
‘It would be better if we could clear the windows,’ Ethan said. ‘We knocked the original one out here, so we could make this wall glass. When you’re in the bath it’s supposed to feel like you’re in the ocean.’
I nodded. I could see that – when the glass wasn’t dark – the view would be straight over the back garden, to the cliff edge and the wild sea beyond. Pebbles and shells in greys, creams and dusky pinks were set into the sink surround, and I could feel the lingering warmth of the underfloor heating beneath my bare feet.
‘This is a light catcher, too.’ Ethan gestured above us, to another crystal chandelier. It was turned on now, but I could imagine that when sunlight came in, it would snag hold of the crystal drops and cast rainbows across the tiles and the plush, upholstered bench nestled in the corner of the room. ‘And in there,’ he pointed to a featureless section of the wall, ‘there’s a massage table.’
‘Show me,’ I said with a grin.
Ethan pressed a discreet button, and a smooth, near-silent mechanism got to work, a padded table sliding out of the wall until it was roughly waist-height. He pressed another button and feet slowly lowered to the floor, then he unlatched the table from the wall and pulled it into the middle of the room. ‘This is so the masseuse can walk all the way around it,’ he explained.
‘So, when I said earlier that the house doesn’t give you a massage, it basically does?’
‘There are no robotic arms,’ he said with a smile. ‘You need an actual human to get involved, but … I suppose so.’
‘Ethan,’ I said with a laugh, ‘your house is insane.’
I ran my hand over the padded table. It was soft, less plasticky than the ones in Alperwick Spa, where Spence had taken me to celebrate my birthday. I always felt self-conscious in spas, being mostly naked and extremely vulnerable in front of a stranger whose job it was to put their hands on me. Spence, of course, had acted like she owned the place, but for her themassage was more than just a treat, as it helped relieve some of her pain.
‘Maybe this is the way to go.’ I thought of how, when the masseuse had asked me to turn from my stomach onto my back, the towel had slipped and I’d shouted, ‘My boobs!’ as if they were escaping and she needed to chase them down.
‘You think it’s a good addition?’ There was something in the way Ethan said it, an inkling of hope, as if he was happy I approved.
‘Yup,’ I said. ‘I’m going to replace my kitchen worktops with a massage table and one of those puffy atomizer things that changes colour.’
He stared at me. ‘I’m not doing this just so you can mock me.’
I glared back. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, Ethan. It’s just … this is so far beyond what’s normal.’
‘I know. But for this size and style of property – it’s what buyers want. I put in a plan for something more traditional, something without all these bells and whistles, that was more in keeping with the original house and its features, but the investors didn’t … they wanted all this.’
‘Sarah wanted a massage table?’
‘She wanted what the investors wanted. These days she’s just … she’s wholly focused on supporting me, and the business. And sometimes she has a much better idea of what I need than I do.’
‘Right.’ It was still hard for me to reconcile this newSarah with the one I’d known at eighteen. I examined the huge shower cubicle that was similar to the one in the en-suite. ‘Disco lights here, too?’
‘Of course.’
‘And the special Ethan Sparks temperature setting?’
‘The ambient temperature is twenty-one degrees,’ the house announced, and I rolled my eyes.
‘You could never live in one of your own houses,’ I said. ‘It would get too annoying.’
‘I don’t often say my surname out loud.’ Ethan leaned against the shower glass and crossed his arms. I would have to stop annoying him so he didn’t keep doing that, or else find a shirt that was two sizes too big for him. ‘And what is thespecial Ethan temperature setting?’
‘You know what it is.’ I took a step towards him. ‘You love showers that are so hot you’re basically poaching yourself.’
‘Nothing wrong with a hot, steamy shower.’
‘I prefer not to boil my brain while I’m getting clean. I lose enough brain cells coming up with inane headlines for the newspaper.’
‘And have you improved on your original attempt for this calamity?’
‘“Sparko: the story of the house that couldn’t”.’
‘You can do better than that.’ His eyes blazed. ‘If you’re going to be the catalyst of my downfall, then I want something really fucking good, OK? I want to go out with a bang. And you know what …?’
‘Please tell me.’ I folded my arms, mirroring him.
