A London apartment that feels like a country house in miniature
For Chloe Willis, childhood car journeys with her mother, a former interior designer, usually involved a sudden pit stop outside a market or roadside stall. Transfixed by some overlooked gem – a painted French chair in need of reinvention or a dusty kilim – her mother would leap out of the driver’s seat to bag her quarry. But an eye for a diamond in the rough doesn’t make a good designer. What Chloe, now a decorator at Sibyl Colefax & John Fowler, learnt while watching her mother at work were all those pragmatic, behind-the-scenes decisions – “the placement of a side table, the space around objects,”– which as she says, “make a room flow, and easy to live in.”
She had a chance to put those lessons to use in the apartment she shares with her husband, their young son and the gregarious Border Terrier, Poppy. Ranged over three floors of a Victorian conversion, the two-bedroom property feels more like a mini country house than a north London apartment, which is one of the reasons why they bought it. Two bedrooms are tucked under the eaves. Below, a sitting room leads to a dining room where sunlight falls in bars through tall sash windows. From the kitchen you look on to the long garden which leads to the old railway line. In summer, a canopy of trees shimmers like a ribbon of green silk. It is a magical spot.
Another stipulation for buying the place was that it had a wall big enough for a painting by US-born artist Tristan Barlow. “It’s the first and largest picture I’ve ever bought. We lived in the flat for five years doing very little while we saved up, and the painting was stored behind a door.” From time to time she would unroll the canvas and absorb the vivid palette. “I don’t like things to be matchy-matchy, but subconsciously I was finding or buying things that related to it,” says Chloe, who studied Art History at Edinburgh. The “marvellously wipeable” red lacquer of the Chinese coffee table or the lemony-teal walls of the dining room echo the painting which brings a blaze of colour to the sitting room.
Some of the original, 19th-century bones – the stair rail which twirls from top to bottom, the cornice and Gothic-style windows in the bedroom – had survived the conversion, but alterations were needed to enhance the flow. As she has learnt: “The building comes first, the fun stuff later.” At the 1930s-founded Sibyl Colefax & John Fowler, where she works for influential decorator Wendy Nicholls, (designers at the firm are still referred to as ‘decorators’) there are precise ways of doing this. Not pedantic rules for rules' sake, but small, almost imperceptible details – grounded in the proportions of classical architecture - which ensure that nothing jars or dominates.
Instead of an architrave, “which would have been clunky,” as she notes, Chloe used a subtle beading to frame the new opening between the living rooms. We inspect the skirtings. They are painted a deep bronze green in a nod to the Georgian fashion for darker woodwork. They work in a different way now, helping to anchor the room and providing a calming foil to brighter modern pigments.
Before joining the firm in 2015 Chloe worked for a London property developer. ‘The focus was on the spatial planning, but the decoration was underpinned by the budget-focused ‘get the look for less philosophy'. This training has served her well because a downside of working in the design industry is hankering after things you can’t afford: ‘So you learn to improvise.’ Thwarted by the cost of the understated stone fire surrounds favoured by that master of tactile minimalism, Belgian designer Axel Vervoodt, Chloe came up with her own version. A ply box frame, painted and filled with a rough mix of sand and plaster, is almost indistinguishable from the real thing.
‘So much of what we do is thinking up ways to make a place feel interesting and practical, without spending a fortune. It’s not just about having the next best thing.’ This approach came in useful for the kitchen which also needed a rethink. Here, she kept the original carcasses, but added new, panelled doors (by Naked Kitchens) painted a dirty buttercup yellow to sing against white walls. An ungainly wall unit was removed to make room for the table and chairs, and these are positioned for views of the garden: a mass of roses and nodding tulips in high season. ‘The great thing is that there’s now a place for everything, even though it’s tiny.’
We stop to take in all the fun stuff – the holiday souvenirs and market steals - all with a personal, deep-rooted connection. Some pieces, like the lacquered black hat or handmade paper shade in the dining room, recall her early years in Japan, where her father was posted for work. “I was very young, but I remember weekends running around the flea markets in the parks. Our mother would find old kimonos to make into cushions or skirts while my sister and I looked for little things to collect with our pocket money.”
Fabrics like a Jean Monro chintz, Colefax offcuts or the Turkish weave – lugged back in a suitcase – have been made into cushions. Most of the art is by family. A parade of prints, inspired by the poetry of Ted Hughes is by her cousin Cecilia Reeve. They hang opposite a lyrical French scene by her husband’s godfather, James Gracie. Her mother, Cecilia Willis, who recently retrained as a potter, made the bowls and moon jars in clear, bright glazes. A vigorous, 1960s linocut of Chelsea is by her great-grandmother. In later years the formidable, Slade-trained Agnes Reeve would fill a pram with artist’s materials and sally forth in search of picture-worthy views.
Chloe likes the way the scroll-armed spoon back chair “talks” to the deep white sofa in the sitting room. There are side tables for drinks or books, and lamps, positioned at just the right height for late-night chats. Everything is at it should be: comfortable, ‘not too precious’ - and practical.