The Perfect Retreat (38 page)

Kitty had held Ivo’s hand as she wandered through the stunning gardens after lunch.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a fancypants name and title?’ she had asked.

Ivo looked ahead. ‘Because it’s a pain in the arse and I hated it growing up. It’s a hell of a house to have on your shoulders,’ he said.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ said Kitty, looking back at the view.

‘But it’s not a home,’ said Ivo.

‘It could be,’ Kitty had said. ‘A home is about love, Ivo, and we have loads of that. Anyway your parents aren’t – what did your mother say? – “popping their clogs” anytime soon, so we can stay in our lovely home courtesy of darling Harold.’

Ivo and Kitty would be married in September, and besides Kitty finding a dress – Temperley London, if you must know; white silk, goddess-style with Clementina’s lover’s eye
necklace
and an armful of white irises – the rest Evelyn had organised, perfectly and tastefully with a hint of tradition. Willow was to be a bridesmaid and Merritt best man.

Two weeks after Willow arrived at Middlemist unannounced, Merritt had proposed. He had asked Poppy and Lucian for their mother’s hand in marriage that morning.

Poppy, to her credit, had managed to keep Merritt’s
intentions
secret. It was Lucian who had insisted on asking Willow if she still had her hand on, and he had kept checking regularly.

Willow realised something was up when she went downstairs from her bath – in her perfect bathroom – and found Merritt nervously trying to light a fire, even though it was spring. The house was quiet. Too quiet. ‘Where are the children?’ she had asked.

‘Kitty and Ivo have taken them out for the evening,’ said Merritt.

Willow, in her fluffy towelling robe and socks, looked at him. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, and he took her hand and led her to the orangery. It was dark but the full moon lit up the sky, throwing shadows into the glass room.

‘Look,’ said Merritt, pointing.

The humidity felt lovely against her face. Willow looked at Merritt. ‘What am I looking at? The moon?’ She looked up at the glass ceiling. ‘What is that smell?’ she asked, looking around. ‘It’s incredible.’

Merritt led her over to a plant with a huge white bloom. Willow put her face into it and inhaled. ‘My god, that’s incredible.’

‘It’s the Queen of the Night flower,’ said Merritt. ‘I got a sample from Venezuela. I didn’t know whether it would bloom here because it’s so cold, but it has. It usually comes out a bit later in May, but it must know you are going to Cannes soon and wanted to be open for you.’

Willow looked at the large flower in amazement.

‘I read in Clementina’s diaries that they used to have one of these in the house, and they would throw lawn parties and everyone would get drunk and wait for it to open, and they would be up till dawn. Almost like a ritual of some sort. They called it the Queen of the Night Party, and someone would sing the aria from
The Magic Flute
and they would recite poetry and dance. I understand it was quite decadent,’ he said to her softly.

‘All for a flower?’ asked Willow.

‘The bloom only lasts one night,’ said Merritt.

Willow held the bloom in her hand. ‘One night?’

‘Yes, so make the most of it,’ he laughed, his voice cracking a little. ‘Not out again until next year.’

‘I hope I’ll be here to see it,’ said Willow, not looking at him. She had moved back in within two weeks of arriving on Merritt’s doorstop and they had picked up where they had left off – before the fight, of course. Easy domesticity, minus the layers of dust and tension.

The children had never been happier, and Lucian had so many words that sometimes Willow wanted to tell him to be quiet – and then she remembered how long she had waited for him to speak, and she said nothing.

Janis and Alan had arrived soon after Willow had moved in, and Janis declared Merritt a keeper in front of Merritt himself, much to Willow’s embarrassment. He didn’t seem to mind. English people understood eccentricities. Merritt claimed they had to be earned; the more successful you were, the more eccentric you could be. Willow didn’t know how successful her father was in terms of English eccentricity standards, but at least Alan kept his clothes on at Middlemist, even if it was just a sarong at times.

Now they stood in the orangery and Merritt looked at Willow, his love.

‘You will be here next year, and the year after, and every night that it blooms will be the night we remember to make the most of our lives, for nothing lasts – we know that – except love.’

Willow started to cry softly, and Merritt guided her hand into the flower. She felt the cold of metal and pulled out a beautiful lotus-shaped diamond ring. It was exactly the ring Willow would have chosen for herself. Merritt slipped it onto her finger and she looked down at it. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said.

‘But there’s a catch,’ he said seriously.

‘What?’ She looked at him, fear flashing across her face.

‘You have to marry me,’ he said. ‘I know I’m a bit dull and you might get bored and I tend to get stuck on things, you know, fixated; and I can be grumpy and …’ Willow put her hands up to his face and kissed his mouth.

‘Yes, you are all those things, and so many, many more, Merritt. And I can think of nothing I would like more than to be Mrs Middlemist.’

And so she was. They were married at Middlemist at
e
aster in the drawing room, with a party in the orangery. Everyone danced till dawn, and the world-famous opera singer Diana Damru performed the Queen of the Night Aria as a gift to Merritt from Willow.

Willow wore yellow Alexander McQueen, as a tribute to her friend who had passed away, and a smile. Kitty and Lucy were her bridesmaids, in clothes of their own choice. Lucy had allowed Willow to recommend a few designers, and she settled on a navy silk Donna Karan wrap dress, which looked lovely.

Kitty had chosen a Vivienne Westwood polka-dot strapless silk dress in a faded red and white. It made her look like a sexy fifties movie star, Ivo exclaimed, and proceeded to talk like Elvis for the whole wedding, which both annoyed and amused Kitty.

Merritt claimed in his speech that Willow was married and he was happy, but Willow protested that she was happy too, and the guests only had to look at her face to see the joy she felt.

Kerr had sent his congratulations, and he and Tori, his vegan Kabbalah yoga girlfriend, offered to take the children while they honeymooned in Italy. But Willow had said no, they were a family, and Merritt insisted they honeymoon together. The children could go over another time, or Kerr and Tori could even come there and stay in the guesthouse, Merritt had offered.

Marriage suited Merritt, and Willow enjoyed the stability. She was a good wife, but now she had money, she afforded herself a few new things. A nanny and a housekeeper-slash-cook were the first choices, and a new wardrobe from Chanel was the next.

The she had given Merritt his gift. She told him she was pregnant. A wedding night baby, she said, and he cried while she tried not to laugh at the unplugging of his English emotion.

‘I want you to know,’ he said, sitting up and composing himself, ‘I love the children like they are my own – I feel like they are my own – it’s just that I miss having a baby. Jinty told me I was ugly this morning when I asked her to finish her toast.’

Now Willow had allowed herself to laugh. ‘I will have to pull out of the action film,’ she had said, but TG was insistent they hold for her to shoot after the pregnancy.

All she had to do was fulfil her appearance at Cannes, and then she could have the rest of the year off till the baby was born.

And now they were in Cannes. She had arrived with Merritt, Kitty and Ivo. The children were safely in Janis and Alan’s hands at Middlemist, and Willow had no doubt her father would have lost his sarong and Poppy would have stories for days.

She and Merritt had a suite at Hôtel Du Cap with a view over the ocean, and they weren’t planning to leave unless they absolutely had to.

Kitty and Ivo were more excited to be there; they went to most of the parties, where Kitty met directors and producers.

‘They know me from
The Romantics
,’ she said. She had
done as Harold had asked and had overseen the final edit of
the film. She hadn’t changed much, just a tweak here and there, but the response was overwhelmingly positive and those who had seen Harold’s last cut knew Kitty had made important and significant changes that worked in the film’s favour.

‘Someone just asked me if I was free to do a documentary on champagne,’ said Kitty. ‘I haven’t even finished my course yet.’ The London Film Academy had taken her onto their editing course and she loved it. Using Harold’s equipment, she spent hours in the ivory tower, as she still called it, and played with the film and the edits.

Ivo had moved quickly into Harold’s house, now Kitty’s, and they were so in love it was sickening, as Kitty said to Willow.

Ivo was happy at Harold’s, writing and musing. He was born to be an academic, he decided, and he had been commissioned to write another art book, this time on J M Turner.

So Kitty was dragged from gallery to private house to gallery searching for paintings, and Ivo, with his incredible nose for a mystery, actually unearthed two supposedly lost Turners.

His new moniker in the art industry was Ivo the Discoverer, and soon he was loaded with requests for books and art projects. He didn’t miss acting – he hadn’t done it enough to miss it, he told Kitty – but he still liked to dress up, mostly at home with Harold’s hilarious costumes. He and Kitty would play like children until Ivo, inevitably, turned it into something more lewd.

Not that Kitty minded. Life with Ivo was fun in and out of bed, and she was practising reading and writing with someone who loved her even when she couldn’t quite manage. What else could she ask for? she thought, as she watched him on the steps with Willow.

Her friend, her sister-in-law, and once upon a time, her boss. Kitty didn’t like to think back to those days; they were all different people back then, she thought.

Ivo waved to her from the steps and she smiled and blew him a kiss. Willow looked for Merritt, and Ivo pointed him out to her. She made a face and then smiled at him and he laughed. He laughed a lot these days; at the children, with Willow, at Willow and her attempts to become the next Nigella Lawson in the kitchen, and mostly at himself.

At the top of the steps Willow and Ivo paused and they both looked for a moment to the sky.

‘Harold would have loved this,’ said Willow with a little tear.

‘He would have indeed,’ said Ivo next to her.

And somewhere up there, Harold, sitting between Alfred Hitchcock and Stanley Kubrick, was loving the red carpet at Cannes.

‘I do love a happy ending,’ Harold said to Alfred, who nodded his agreement.

‘Wouldn’t it be nice if it were all as simple as in the movies?’ said Alfred.

‘Oh, but it is,’ said Stanley mysteriously. ‘It is.’

And the three directors in the big sky laughed together. Perhaps they were directing all along, they thought.

‘And now we have
Fini
,’ said Harold.

‘Not yet,’ said Alfred. ‘What will they call Willow’s baby?’

‘Harold,’ he said proudly.

And so it was.

Not everyone can head off to a super expensive weekend retreat to restore the mind, body and soul.

With this in mind, I recommend you plan the weekend retreat at home.

It is possible to do this, even for a day if you’re organised and committed.

Step one
– Let those closest to you know this is what you will be doing. Ask them to respect what you need to do for yourself. If you share your home with kids and partners, ask them to honour your space and rely on each other for the day or weekend.

Step two
– Clean your house or the space you will be retreating into. The last things you want is to be trying to ‘Zen out’ and worrying about the dust on the side table. Change your bed sheets.

Step three
–
Stock your fridge with healthy food and snacks. Nourish the body and the mind.

Step four
– Buy yourself some treats. Nice magazine, a scented candle or bubble bath or all three if you can afford it.

Step five
– Organise an ‘at home massage’ if you can or give yourself some lovely indulgent facial treatments like a mask or a body scrub.

Step six
– Unplug your online world. Don’t check emails or voicemails. If a true emergency occurs someone will come and inform you.

Step seven
– Take a walk and take out the headphones of your iPod. Be present in the walk, look at the world around you and open your perspective.

Step eight
– Do something creative or if you don’t feel
confident
, read a real book.

Step nine
– Watch gentle movies or try a yoga DVD. Try meditating or at least relaxing for a period of time.

Step ten
– Go to bed early and turn off the alarm for the morning. Let your body find its natural sleep rhythm.

Reading this back, I have to say, this all sounds really quite nice! I know what I’ll be doing soon …

Taking care of your self is so important, especially when times are tough. When you give yourself the time to ‘just be’ in the world, you will be surprised at what comes up. Write down your thoughts and see what needs to be given attention.

It’s okay to retreat every once in a while. There are so many demands on our lives and we put such heavy expectations on ourselves that a little time out is helpful to recharge.

Stay present and know you are worth investing in.

Kate

x

Thank you to my editor Sammia Rafique, for ‘getting’ my work and then polishing it with no irritation to me whatsoever.