Mr. Rochester and I are having a little work done to Thornfield. My tables are covered in blueprints and soil reports and none of it makes an ounce of sense to me. The contractor and the builders all seem fine, but the architect is a bit of a loose cannon.
Thornfield was restored after the fire but the west side is still a little off. I, of course, say its because there is a crazy first wife running around in the attic but Mr. Rochester insists it’s the manor itself. Thornfield is a stately manor and known throughout the area as a beacon of, let’s see, shall I say – austerity? The last round of renovations left the West Wing a little, saggy, to put it kindly; Mr. Rochester was not happy with the results. Certainly let’s not blame the pyromaniac – no; let’s give her a cozy place to lay her batty head in the attic. Instead, let’s blame shoddy workmanship.
All that said, it is a bit disconcerting to have your second floor bedroom slowly melting into the dry goods storage below it; my picture window now serves as a trap door.
Mr. Rochester heard of this young architect through a few news stories written about him. I am not sure Mr. Rochester actually read those stories because, although it is true Harold Roark is all anyone can talk about, they aren’t exactly glowing endorsements. Mr. Roark certainly has a vision; what substance induces this vision is open to speculation. Mr. Rochester approved the plans for the addition with no alteration. I don’t even think his blindness is an excuse for what he has signed off on.
Mr. Roark has run afoul of the law plenty times before. Far be it for me to judge a person on that type of thing but it appears one of the laws he has challenged is the law of gravity and that may just affect the jutting arm protrusion he has projected off of my sewing room.
While Mr. Roark and reality argue, I am left to entertain his erstwhile girlfriend in the sitting room. Dominique Francon is an odd young lady. She follows Harold around shamelessly but when he is out of earshot, she says the most terrible things about him. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by all this, however. I dare say it makes him even more impassioned.
Mr. Roark came highly recommended based on all of the businesses he’s had. We didn’t realize they had all been lost, but you certainly cannot fault him for standing on principle. Not so much standing on it as stomping it beyond the depths of any placement in civilized society – just the way he likes it.
The truth is, I do not care for what is being built but I hesitate to say a word about it. I am just positive if I begin any polite dialogue to suggest even the smallest of changes, the whole thing will blow up.