The Perfect Retreat (22 page)

And then they lay in each other’s arms and dreamed it would always be like this.

Upstairs an angry Kitty was telling Ivo he was a dick.

‘Spell it out,’ he told her, pencil in hand.

‘Fuck off,’ she said.

‘Can you spell it?’ he asked again.

For two weeks, whenever Ivo wasn’t filming, they had worked on her letters. She had to learn them and the sound they made and she was bored of it. Ivo had come with
flashcards
and tapes for her to listen to that he had bought online, and he worked her hard.

Kitty was practising on Poppy and Lucian, and Willow was pleased to see her work.

‘Excellent Kitty! I’m so pleased you’re starting their
education
already.’ Kitty had smiled and kept on going with a bored Poppy and an unresponsive Lucian.

Twenty-six letters, Ivo reminded her, but it seemed endless to Kitty. And she kept mixing up her ‘d’s and her ‘b’s.

Ivo realised that Kitty wasn’t another bit of skirt he could bed and leave behind. He felt strangely responsible for her, although he didn’t know why. He had taken his own education and intelligence for granted for so long; was this why his father was angry with him?

Mostly he and Kitty had settled into a nice routine. They would work on the letters, and then have a cup of tea, a chocolate biscuit and a chat. Sometimes Ivo would read from Clementina’s journal. Then they would walk the ho
use exploring, to find t
he rooms that Clementina had described.

Kitty showed him the hidden tunnels that led to each wing of the house, and the art studio and the boxes of old clothes and jewellery that Poppy had found.

‘It’s like a museum,’ said Ivo as he stood in the old orangery, now without most of the glass, that had once housed the beautiful fruit. ‘I love doing this stuff with you,’ he said. ‘I feel like one of the Famous Five,’ he whispered.

‘Are you Julian or Dick?’ she asked.

‘How do you know about that? I thought you couldn’t read,’ he said, as he needled her side with his elbow.

‘Yes, well I watched the TV show sometimes,’ admitted Kitty.

Ivo found Kitty’s company soothing. He hadn’t really touched a drink since he had started on the film, he was sleeping properly, and the rest of the time he was either working, reading or helping Kitty. He looked forward to their time spent together and began to see her as more than just a potential shag. Kitty was the first female friend he had ever had that he hadn’t fucked first, and he found that he liked it.

Kitty was the opposite though. She hated the reading lessons, dreading the time spent over the flashcards with her trying to make the sounds and remember the letters. The only thing that got her through was the idea that she and Ivo would be alone. Sometimes, when they walked through the unlit parts of the house with only their torches guiding the way, Kitty would pretend to trip so Ivo would grab her arm to steady her, and Kitty would lean against him for a moment longer than necessary.

Then Ivo would leave and she would have to start the charade all over again. Learning to read and falling in love were the hardest things Kitty had ever done.

Kitty’s routine was to sneak into the Lady’s Garden each afternoon, far away from the hive of activity near the house where no one could hear her, to practise her sounds aloud before she practised on the children.

It was a surprise when Harold, the film’s eccentric director, appeared as if by magic in the garden. Kitty had mostly stayed away from the film crew and the actors, except of course for Willow and Ivo. The others intimidated her, with their jokes and witty puns.

Sometimes Kitty saw Harold wandering around the shoot dressed bizarrely; one day hunting clothes, complete with top hat and whip, and other days all in black, with a fabulous cloak made of peacock feathers.

Today he was wearing what looked to be a yellow silk waistcoat embroidered with pansies, and a linen morning coat so long that it dragged on the ground.

‘Hello there,’ he said, wandering up to Kitty.

‘Hi,’ she said shyly.

‘Practising our vowels and consonants are we?’ he asked with his hands behind his back as though surveying the garden.

‘Um …’ Kitty was at a loss what to say. He had clearly heard her, and now she couldn’t lie. She tried to make up an excuse but was left sitting silent as her mind raced.

Harold smiled benevolently at her, reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a card. ‘I hear you most days, I just never want to interrupt; you seem so hard working,’ he said.

Kitty nodded at him, somewhat pleased that someone had noticed how much she was trying.

‘If you’re ever in London, I know a wonderful voice coach who specialises in working with dyslexic actors. I can set up an appointment with her if you like.’

Kitty blushed. Dyslexic. ‘No, I’m not dyslexic.’ I’m just stupid, she thought.

‘Oh right then,’ said Harold, sitting down beside her. ‘You don’t mind do you?’ he said, gesturing to the bench. Kitty shook her head, afraid of being rude.

‘So, the problem is what then? You can read but you need help with the sounds? Or you can’t make out the symbols?’ he asked.

Kitty sighed. ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ she said to the kindly man in his odd getup.

‘It will be kept in confidence absolutely,’ said Harold gravely.

‘I can learn most of the letters; it’s putting them together. My eyes get fuzzy, almost.’

‘Yes, that’s dyslexia my dear,’ said Harold. ‘You know, there are many famous people who have it.’

Kitty looked at him. ‘Who?’

‘Da Vinci, Picasso,’ Harold said.

Kitty looked unimpressed, so Harold thought back to the actors he knew of and had worked with. ‘Keanu Reeves, Keira Knightley, Orlando Bloom. Those names ring any bells?’

‘Really?’ asked Kitty, incredulous.

‘Really. They just need help with their scripts; doesn’t affect their ability to act at all.’

‘I love Keira Knightley,’ said Kitty dreamily.

‘She’s a doll isn’t she? And so clever. So, so clever,’ said Harold as he stood up. ‘Let me know if you get to London, yes?’ he asked.

Kitty stood up and impulsively kissed Harold on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and Harold laughed. If I were ten years younger, he thought, but he had seen how Ivo chased her. She was meant for another, he thought as he walked away.

The conversation with Harold was soon forgotten by Kitty though. Her obsession was with Ivo and his lack of advances. It was made worse by watching Merritt and Willow playing happy families. Kitty was jealous and happy for them at the same time, and she tried to give them time together when she wasn’t working with Ivo on her reading. So desperate was she to learn to read so she and Ivo could concentrate on other things, that she practised whenever she could, with Poppy and Lucian as her unwilling students.

Kitty was walking outside in the driveway practising her sounds under her breath when a young woman pulled up in a battered Golf.

‘Excuse me – I’m looking for Willow,’ said the girl.

‘Um, she’s in the house,’ said Kitty, and she kept on walking, saying her sounds aloud.

Actor wankers and their vocal warmups, thought Lucy as she kept driving towards the house.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she said as she pulled up and parked in front of Middlemist.

A man rounded the corner pushing a wheelbarrow with a small blonde girl on top of a pile of dirt. ‘Hello,’ said the little girl brightly.

‘Hello,’ responded Lucy.

‘Can I help you?’ asked Merritt warily. Willow had said she had seen a few ‘papanazis’ around, as she and Kitty called them, and he was careful with the children around strangers.

‘Yes please. I’m Lucy, I work for Willow. Is she around?’

‘Oh hi, Lucy. I’m Merritt,’ he said. ‘And this is Poppy.’

‘Hello Poppy,’ she said again, and Poppy smiled at her. Lately her behaviour was improving and gone was the rude, brattish child that had once inhabited Poppy; instead a happy, smiling, funny little girl replaced her.

‘I’ll get her for you,’ said Merritt. He went to the front door and poked his head through. ‘Willow?’ he yelled, and he looked at Lucy. ‘Come in then; she’s upstairs changing the beds,’ he said, and Lucy looked at him shocked.

She stood in the foyer and waited till Willow appeared at the top of the stairs, in jeans and an old t-shirt of Merritt’s with the name of a local plant nursery on the back.

‘Hey,’ called Willow, and she jumped down the stairs. She looked amazing, thought Lucy; calm and natural and happy.

‘Hey yourself,’ said Lucy. ‘I have to come and organise you for tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Sign the papers and all that.’

‘Cuppa tea?’ asked Merritt as he padded into the foyer in his socks, having left his work boots by the front door.

‘Lovely,’ said Willow. She and Merritt drank endless cups of tea, and she still hadn’t replaced the coffee pot that Kitty had left in London.

Lucy followed Willow into the drawing room and sat down on the chair that Willow gestured to as though she had grown up there.

Lucy knew not to ask questions of her clients until they offered information, and then she would do what she was best at: running through the good and bad, the facts to be embellished and the ones that needed to be buried. Now she sat and waited for the right time to tell Willow the bad news.

Willow spoke first. ‘So I think you should know. Merritt and I have kind of got together while I’ve been here,’ she said.

‘Oh right,’ said Lucy. ‘I kind of picked something up.’

Willow smiled. ‘Yes, so I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I’m happy, which is a lovely change.’

Lucy looked at her and saw the happiness that emanated from her. She felt a little sick. Maybe she would wait to tell her till after the shoot, she thought.

Lucy opened her iPad and pulled up the schedule. ‘So hair and makeup and wardrobe will be down tomorrow at nine o’clock. I’ll be there. They’re going to video it for the website too – I have all the papers to sign. Sorry I didn’t get here earlier, but I’ve been flat out in London.’

‘It’s fine, I’ve been crazy here also,’ said Willow, as she went to the desk to find a pen. She saw a missed call and a message on her phone but guessed it was either Simon or Janis, so she left it to return tomorrow.

Merritt arrived with cups of tea and a plate of biscuits, Poppy trailing behind him like a shadow.

‘Here you go ladies,’ he said, and set down the tray.

Willow looked up at him and smiled. ‘Thanks sweetie.’

Merritt sat down with his cup and Poppy settled in beside him. ‘Should I stay or go?’ he asked Lucy and Willow.

‘Stay,’ they both cried, for different reasons. They spent the morning chatting, and Merritt gave Lucy a tour of the house.

‘It’s amazing. You must let me know when this is done up so I can get some press about it. You might be able to hire out the ballroom for weddings and parties, or do tours of the gardens, recipe books; it’s endless,’ enthused Lucy.

‘Oh we will,’ said Willow confidently, and then she looked at Merritt and covered her mouth. ‘I mean he will.’

Merritt put his arms around her and pulled her to him. ‘She’s very bossy this American girl,’ he said playfully, but inside he was happy she had used the word ‘we’.

Lucy left to stay at the local B&B and promised to be back in the morning to field any issues and make sure all was going according to plan. She knew she would have to face the matter of what was about to arise in Willow’s world sooner or later, but she and Willow needed this job for Blessings to go perfectly and she didn’t want anything to ruin it for them.

The next morning, Willow woke up to a perfect day and a perfect orgasm courtesy of Merritt, who took it upon himself to wake her while he was under the bed sheets. A light breakfast as Kitty wrangled the children, and soon she was made up as the perfect American girl in the English countryside.

The children were dressed in Ralph Lauren from head to toe and Willow had multiple costume changes. Ball gowns, tweed skirts and wellingtons, silk cocktail dresses and parasols. Merritt and Kitty watched from the sidelines, Merritt in his gardening clothes: his torn jeans, his faded blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his work boots. After the photographer and art director had got all the close-ups of Willow in the Lady’s Garden, they asked the children to come into the picture and play on the lawn with Willow on a bright pink tartan rug.

‘Why won’t the little boy smile?’ asked the photographer, who had been flown over from New York. ‘Come on kiddo, smile!’ he called from behind the lens.

But Lucian remained lifeless, standing in the middle of the rug as Jinty crawled and toddled and Poppy twirled in her pink cotton dress.

Willow tried not to look stressed but she felt her face tightening.

‘Hang on,’ called out the producer, and he spoke to his art director. ‘Take a break for half an hour and then we’ll do it again,’ he called, and Willow stood holding Lucian’s hand, feeling silly in a turquoise cocktail dress with a tight skirt and high heels that sunk into the grass. Her right arm was covered in jewelled bracelets and her fingers were bare of her wedding rings. She played with the bracelets for Lucian, who seemed to be entranced with the colours and the sounds they made.

Merritt wandered over. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said.

‘Do I? Do I?’ asked Poppy.

‘You do, you do!’ laughed Merritt.

‘What’s up old boy? You not feeling it today?’ he asked Lucian.

Willow interrupted. ‘People don’t understand Luce, that’s all. He’s just shy and takes his own time to warm up to things,’ she said quickly.

Merritt looked at Lucian and said nothing. This was the one topic that he and Willow had not touched upon. Instead, he ruffled the boy’s hair.

The photographer came back after half an hour. ‘OK, so I got an idea. I just want you to stand there and watch as I do something and go with it. It will either work or it won’t. I’m just gonna take shots and you act natural, OK?’ he said to Lucian, who stared past him.