Out through the mahogany doors you are led back to the grand staircase and up the carpeted marble rise to the second floor.  The guest bathroom sits before you, an open and inviting space befitting a luxury hotel more than a private home.  There are three guest rooms down the right side of the stairs as you stand there and you wander slowly and inspect each one.  French doors lead to a balcony that surrounds the entire second floor and you stop a while at the open library, enjoying the rows of books and way that the area is set up for sitting and talking, or reading together.  So much of this place is as enigmatic as its owner and he seats himself, gesturing that you continue on without him, delighting in your discovery of his beloved home.

 

A room dead ahead calls to you and you enter it, surprised by what you see.  A nursery, carefully laid out and stocked with everything a child might ever need or want.  But the toys have never been played with, many still unopened, none have ever seen the hand of a child.  There is a strange sadness in this room, a place that should be full of hope and cheer.  Yet the bright colours and the playful toys all add up to one thing – despair.  You quietly retreat from the room and look over to Penn, who is reading a file folder, busy at work.   You understand a little, but say nothing as you wander down the hall, peering over the banister to the floor below, trying to take it all in.  Open double doors lead you into a huge bedroom, decorated in hunter green and dusty rose.  It is a showpiece the likes of which  the fallen domestic diva Martha Stewart would have been proud.

 

The master bedroom is a triumphant tour of life at last in a place devoid of a personality of its own.  Until now the only rooms that showed any sign of living being done in them were the den and the kitchen.  The rest of the place appears to have been built simply to support those two rooms.  But this room is different.  A canopied cherrywood king size bed stands nearly dead ahead, the bed curtains neatly tied back – two sets, one white linen, one dark green velvet with a geometric golden trim.  The bed is neatly made, the predominant colours green on the pillowcases and comforter, though one corner of the comforter is pulled back and the maroon sheets beneath are visible.  The same intricate geometric trim lines the pillowcases and the dust ruffle.  At the foot of the bed is a chest and beyond that, against the far wall is a dresser with a mirror and a scattering of things a man of means uses daily.  Tie tacks, pins, cologne, keys, change, pictures – all the things that comprise a life – all the little details spread out for inspection.

 

You look into the walk in closet, a closet larger than most peoples bedrooms, and no more full than the average persons.  Expensive suits and shirts hang quietly, a row of neatly folded casual clothing to one side, shoes, a dressing table all in this space.  It is living on a grand scale and your mind can almost take no more.  Your last stop is to look into the master bathroom, with its slightly sunken jetted tub, large enough for four people to sit in comfortably, golden marble countertops, open and airy atmosphere.  Retreating into the master bedroom again, you seat yourself by the large picture window and look out over the English style garden, waiting to recover your thoughts.

 

This place is a kingdom for one lonely king.  Everything about it sings that to you, that loneliness is imbedded in the walls, but it is not all sadness.  No.  There is a sense of solitude here, a strength built from one person trying to live his life with all he has, losing and gaining, living as he dies, loving without loss.  Penn enters the room and nods to you.

 

“Come, I will show you the garage, and then after we eat, it will be time for you to go.”