Nick Churton of Mayfair International visits a house in New Canaan, Connecticut that give him a rather sleepless night.
Agent: Ruth DeVilliers
Broker: Barbara Cleary’s Realty Guild
My father, an architect, designed and commissioned our family home. My mother, a fashion professional, loved it and was heavily involved in the early consultation process; nevertheless she found minor faults and irritations. It persuaded me, at an early age, that the perfect house was impossible to find, that a nine out of ten almost impossible, an eight difficult and a seven about as good as it usually gets. I often like to rate houses I see. This is of course subjective but I have never yet found a ten.
When I drove up the sweeping drive of 70 Thrush Lane, New Canaan, Connecticut I found myself really appreciating the wooded environment and the imposing, elevated position the house occupied in its three acre grounds. I liked the look of this traditional house too. It seemed to be in two attractive parts – one timber and the other ivy clad stone – all under a slate roof. It looked very handsome indeed.
Inside, the separation suggested by the exterior elevations seemed to disappear through a very agreeable interior layout. The rooms were not that large, but they were not that small either, they were in fact beautifully proportioned. The decoration was not dated but comfortably contemporary with a neutral colour palette. The furnishings showed off the rooms perfectly. The kitchen and bathrooms were extremely well fitted. None of it shouted or argued. It just was.
Outside a rustic stone path led to a pool, fire pit and lovely garden/pool room which was also beautifully decorated. Manicured lawns with specimen trees and rhododendrons set off the house perfectly.
So then came the time for me to rate this property. On the basis that I would be looking for a house close to the excellent facilities of New Canaan (the rail time to Grand Central is just over an hour and you can always get a seat) and this was my correct price range, this house was clearly better than a seven. In fact it was really too good for an eight. Was this a rarer-than-rare nine? I had the beginnings of an uneasy feeling. I decided to try and sleep on it. This house was for me purely and simply a perfect home. I came to the strange realisation that this was not a nine after all. It was a perfect ten. And the final test? My dad would have admired it and my mum would have adored it.