Trying to write again

 

This is the first thing I have tried to write since I had my cardiac arrest on February 10th 2024.

    “Good evening, Mr. Henderson,”

“Good evening, Mr. Jackson,” I replied to the estate agent waiting for me. I'm sorry I'm later than I said I would be. It took ages to find the place.”

“Not to worry you are here now, that’s the main thing.”

“Are you sure this is right though?” I asked. “I never imagined anyone in my family owning anything as grand as this, let alone leaving it to me.”

“Trust me, Mr. Henderson, this is right. We did all the research we could before even contacting you, and the house, grounds, and everything inside belongs to you.”

“In that case, you had better show me around then.”

“If it’s alright with you, considering the time, I will just leave you to look around yourself,” Mr. Jackson replied, handing me a folder of papers and keys. “Here are all the keys we have. Front door, back door, a couple of others for outhouses hidden around the back and the rest are for who knows what, but I am sure you will work them out.”

As he handed me the keys he shook my hand, firmly, before turning away and making his way over to his car.

“Any problems just call the office,” he called out, through his slightly open window as soon as he was sat behind the steering wheel.

Before I could reply, or even thank him, he started the car and pulled away, not even glancing back as he stamped down on the accelerator and sped off down the driveway. Shrugging my shoulders at Mr. Jackson’s abrupt, and rude, departure I turned back to look at the house and surrounding grounds that I could see, unable to believe it was all mine.

I could tell it was going to take a lot of work to bring the outside back to something close to respectable. There was ivy growing all over the walls, the paintwork had seen better days, and the windows were boarded up, but I hoped that was just to deter vandals.

After placing the folder of paperwork Mr. Jackson had given me in my car I looked at the bunch of keys and made my way to the front door. I just hoped inside was not in as bad a state. Selecting the key, which looked most likely to open the front door, I inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. Although stiff I heard the locks on the door click. Gripping the doorknob, I turned it slowly, pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside.

Before closing the door behind me I reached for where I assumed the light switch would be and was relieved when my fingers touched it. Flicking it down, more in hope than expectation, I was surprised when the entrance hall lit up. Blinking a handful of times, to get accustomed to the brightness of the lights, I froze to the spot and stared in amazement when my eyes finally cleared for me to look properly.

The ceiling consisted of eight evenly spaced crystal chandeliers, four on each side, and the size of the entrance hall was immense, something the like of which I had only ever seen in the movies. The floor, which I was expecting to be covered with a filthy, ripped, carpet had instead been expertly laid with beautifully polished, marble, tiles.

Everywhere was immaculate, as if someone knew I was coming, and had been freshly decorated. But for as good, and perfect, as everything looked the staircase had been the main focal point for guests in the past. Wide enough for at least six people to stand side by side there was a hand-carved, dark, wood bannister on either side. The stairs looked as if they had been handmade of the same dark wood and been polished so much they glistened in the hall lighting and, like everywhere, looked to be in mint condition.

I slowly made my way around the hallway, deciding to save going upstairs until later, and paused at each of the giant pieces of art on the walls. All were larger than any painting I had ever seen and were displayed in magnificently ornate frames. Although the artwork was not something I would have chosen, normally I went for darker gothic images, every single one was a beautifully painted image of a couple walking through the countryside, hand in hand, at various times of the year.