He hated what he thought of as “bits and pieces,” small additions, popping out at each end of a house. Blackie O’Neill’s ideal, his true favorite, was the Palladian villa. That was the style he favored and would build. One day he would own one himself, in fact. And definitely in Harrogate.

Opposite the library was the drawing room, and like the room he had just left, it was light on furniture and clutter.

How he disliked the ornate Victorian style, so prevalent still. Too much furniture, too many objects, and those ghastly plants in big brass pots—mostly palms squeezed in between small tables.

He walked slowly around, noting the sense of calmness. The walls were painted cream, as were the doors and the fireplace. Two small sofas were covered in cream brocade, and the rug on the floor was cream, patterned with small pink, green and blue flowers. The paleness, the austerity, the smoothness, of the room created an atmosphere of tranquility. He recognized that Angela had good taste and a flair for decorating. A style of her own that was unique.

“Here you are!” Angela exclaimed, coming into the drawing room. “So, Blackie, do you like my home?”

“Absolutely,” he answered, swinging around at the sound of her voice. “The library is a gem, and what a sense of calmness ye have created in here. I like yer choices, how ye’ve been very careful not ter fill up space with needless stuff.”

She nodded. “I hate a lot of stuff, as you call it, much prefer a sense of airiness, spaciousness. Well, I’m glad you approve. So, come along, supper is ready. Claudie is about to put the dishes on the sideboard in the dining room.”

Blackie asked, “Who is Claudie?”

Walking alongside him down the corridor, Angela explained, “She’s my helper, a devoted friend of many years. Her mother, Clara, was my aunt’s housekeeper in Harrogate, when I was growing up. They lived with us at the house near the Stray. When Clara died, we kept Claudie on. She had no other family and nowhere to go, you see.”

“That was kind of ye,” Blackie ventured, a strong hint of admiration in his voice. He glanced down at her, thinking what a nice person she seemed to be, thoughtful of others.

The dining room took him by surprise as they entered. After the paleness of the pine-paneled library and the all-cream drawing room, they stepped into a dark-green and white room. Green walls and silk draperies, with white paint on all the doors, wood trim and ceiling. The chair frames were also painted white and all the chair seats were of deep green silk. It was handsome, he decided, and a nice change.

Angela looked up at him. Observing the surprise on his face, she burst out laughing. “A bit of a shock, eh, Blackie?”