Lantern by Charles Edwards.
The entry is the only room on street level, a classic dream of black and white marble floors. Climbing the staircase with the iron railing you can’t help notice the fantastic lantern over-head. Entering the main floor of the townhouse, you are greeted with ebony-stained wood floors, a subtle Empire vignette in the hallway. Zebra rug, leather sofas, big, bold black and white painting over the fireplace.
Miles Redd via Patricia Grey – she has done a fabulous week of zebra.
Billy Baldwin via Patricia Grey, by way of Style Court.
Outside is a terrace that would make Dorothy Draper swoon. Trellis and iron, striped canopies; perfection.
The butler’s pantry is two long walls of ivory lacquered cabinets trimmed in black.
Two walls of cabinets like the box, top. Unbelievable. Boxes, West Elm.
Just to the right is the entry to the master, the doors of which could be by Fornasetti himself.
Screen image courtesy of Fornesetti.com.
If you think bathrooms today are loaded with innovation, you will realize how little progress has been made when you see the bath. Travertine floor and ceiling, sliding doors encasing the sunken marble tub/shower with temperature control and multiple jets.
The bed itself is some kind of brass extravaganza. A mis-step in my book, but when a thing like this show up in a spot like this it makes me question my own taste and not the tastemaker’s. Barcelona chair in the most amazing buttery-camel leather and the most hilarious rickety TV stand and TV that will remind you of your grandmother’s. Pickings must have been slim in this area.
The butler’s room is quintessential English “man” room. Simple, classic, phone by the bed to be on the ever-ready.
OK, he’s a cartoonist, remember? The third floor is his studio. Two levels with soaring vaulted ceilings.
The movie itself is a delight if you like old screwball comedies. Verna Lisi plays the wife in question. The only issue Mr. Blandings had with the plot is why Jack Lemmon wants to get rid of her; she’s gorgeous, wants to fool around all the time, is an amazing cook and speaks no English. “So she’s the perfect wife?” I coyly asked. “No, darling, I have the perfect wife.” I can’t wait for the next fifteen years.