up the long curving flight of stairs, her feet silent on the thick, velvet-soft carpet. At the first landing she stopped and put her finger to her lips. I paused, taking in the wide sweep of space, the little table with a vase of blush peonies just beginning to shed their petals. A corridor disappeared off into semidarkness, lit only by a rose-tinted night-light plugged into a wall socket. Half a dozen doors led off from it. The one at the far end had wonky wooden letters stuck on it, and as my eyes got used to the low lighting, I made out the words. Princess Ellie and Queen Maddie. The door closest to the stairwell was slightly open, a night-light shining dimly in the recesses of the room. I could hear a baby’s soft snorting breath coming through.
“The kids are asleep,” Sandra whispered. “At least, I hope so. I heard some pattering earlier, but it all seems to be quiet now! Maddie in particular is a very light sleeper, so I do have to tiptoe around a bit. Bill and I sleep on this floor, but Rhi sleeps upstairs. This way.”
At the top of the second flight, three more doors led off a slightly smaller landing. The middle one was open, and inside I saw a small cupboard housing a jumble of mops and brooms and a cordless Hoover charging on the wall. Sandra shut it hastily.
The door to the left of it was closed and had FUCK OFF, KEEP OUT OR YOU DIE written across the paneled wood in what looked like smeared red lipstick.
“That’s Rhiannon’s room,” Sandra said with a slight lift of her eyebrows that might have indicated anything from amusement to resignation. “This one”—she put her hand on the knob of the door to the far right of the stairs—“is yours. Well, I mean—” She stopped, looking a little flustered. “I mean, it’s where we always put the nanny, and it’s where you’ll be sleeping tonight. Sorry, don’t want to be too presumptuous!”
I gave a slightly nervous attempt at a laugh as she opened the door. It was dark inside, but instead of groping for a switch Sandra pulled out her phone. I was expecting her to turn on the torch, but instead she pressed something, and the lights inside the room flickered into life.
It wasn’t just the main overhead light—in fact that was turned down very low, giving off nothing but a kind of faint golden glow. The reading light by the bed had come on too, as well as a standing lamp next to a little table by the window and some fairy lights twined around the bedhead.
My surprise must have shown on my face, because Sandra gave a delighted laugh.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it! We do have switches, obviously—well, panels, but this is a smart house. All the heating and lights and so on can be controlled from our phones.” She swiped at something, and the main light grew suddenly much brighter, and then dimmer again, and across the room a light turned on in the en suite bathroom and then flicked off again.
“It’s not just lighting . . . ,” Sandra said, and she pulled across another screen and tapped an icon, and music started playing softly out of an invisible speaker. Miles Davis, I thought, though I wasn’t very well up on jazz.
“There’s also a voice option, but I find that a bit creepy, so I don’t often use it. Still, I can show you.” She coughed, and then said in a slightly artificial raised tone, “Music off!”
There was a pause, and then the Miles Davis shut off abruptly.
“Obviously you can also control the settings from the panel.” She pressed something on the wall to demonstrate, and a white panel lit up briefly as the curtains on the window opposite swished closed and then opened again.
“Wow,” I said. I really wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand it was impressive. On the other hand . . . I found myself coming back to Sandra’s word. Creepy.
“I know,” Sandra said with a little laugh. “It’s a bit ridiculous, I do realize. But being architects it’s a professional duty to try out all the cool gadgets. Anyway . . .” She looked at her phone again, checking the clock this time. “I must stop talking and get the supper out of the oven, and you must take off your coat and unpack. Shall I see you downstairs in . . .