I arrived at Greenway on a balmy afternoon, the house sits at the end of a long drive, half-hidden by rhododendrons and ancient oaks. It was the holiday home of Agatha Christie for over thirty years, and you feel her presence the moment you step through the gate.
What strikes you first is how lived-in it feels. This is not a house preserved behind velvet ropes. The rooms are arranged as though the family has simply stepped out for a walk along the river with books left open, a half-finished jigsaw on the table, Christie's own collection of objects arranged on shelves with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what she loved.
And what she loved, was beautiful things. The house is full of them: Art Deco ceramics, silver-topped dressing table sets, delicate porcelain, and pieces of furniture that carry the particular patina of a well-travelled life. For those of us who spend our days hunting for objects with history, it is both an education and an inspiration.
There is a particular magic about Greenway: it makes you want to know where things came from, who held them, what they meant.
The gardens are worth the visit alone. Terraced and rambling, they tumble down to the river through walled kitchen gardens, a fernery, and a battery, a Second World War relic that Christie famously incorporated into one of her novels.
If you find yourself in South Devon, Greenway is not to be missed. It is a reminder of why we are drawn to old things: not for nostalgia, but for the sense of continuity they offer and the feeling that beauty, carefully tended, endures.