When at last he arrived, the house was a grey blur, partially because of the rain, probably because of the tears. It was large, certainly, almost intimidatingly so. On climbing out it took a more detailed form, natural grey stone with all the hues mother nature can provide. The paintwork on the trim was brilliant white, flawless and the path wound to a double oak front door in loose pea shingle. The windows weren't the large ones that are so fashionable now, but more the size she used to see in old country cottages, and like them they were mullioned.