The Perfect Retreat

CHAPTER ELEVEN




Over the next few weeks, Middlemist House was a hive of activity. Kitty had her work cut out for her trying to keep the children away from the diggers and cherry pickers that surrounded it. The minute she and Merritt had signed the consent papers for the filming, an army of crew arrived and set to work.

Merritt was in his element and Kitty couldn’t remember when she had last seen him so cheerful. While at first he had hated the idea of the film being shot at Middlemist, now he chatted with the art director and production designer constantly, bringing out books and old photographs from the library to show them Middlemist’s former glory.

When Poppy had discovered the letters and journals, Merritt had given the journals to Kitty to read. He’d said he would go through the letters, but he had been so busy with the work at the house that he hadn’t even begun. Kitty, however, looked over at the journals sitting on her bedside table each night, and could only feel guilt for not even opening the small books, which were falling apart at the spine.

The ring was now housed safely in Merritt’s room, but only after Kitty and Willow had tried it on. It was too small for Kitty’s ring finger but it fitted Willow’s hand perfectly. ‘It looks lovely,’ she said, holding out her hand to admire it. ‘You should save it for your wife, Merritt.’

Merritt harrumphed. ‘Not bloody likely that’ll happen again,’ he said. Willow looked at Kitty in surprise. There had been no mention of an ex-wife. ‘I’ll save it for Kitty when she gets married.’

Kitty laughed. ‘No chance of that, Merritt. I don’t see the men knocking down the gates for a date with me.’

‘What a fine pair we are,’ said Merritt, and he tousled Kitty’s hair.

‘Don’t forget me,’ laughed Willow. ‘A single mother and nearly thirty-two years old. It doesn’t get much more tragic than that. I’ll be known as a cougar once word gets out I’m on the prowl again.’

‘Oh you won’t have any trouble meeting men,’ said Merritt.

‘You think?’ laughed Willow.

‘You’re attractive and intelligent. Men like that,’ he said.

Willow thought of Kerr with his Russian sisters. ‘It’s not enough for some men,’ she said.

‘Then they’re idiots,’ he said, in a practical tone of voice.

Willow had thought about his comment for days afterwards. Why did she always choose such immature men?

Her mother had warned her about Kerr. ‘I think he has growing up to do,’ she had said when Willow took him to New York to meet her parents.

‘He’s fun, Mom,’ Willow had said.

‘He’s a child,’ said Janis. ‘He’s Peter Pan.’

‘Jesus, Mom, you’ve known him for two days and now you can analyse him?’

‘I know what I know, honey. It’s my job. I think you should have fun, but don’t get serious. He ain’t a keeper.’

Ringing her mother with the news after Kerr left her was hard, but Janis wasn’t judgmental.

‘Let him be, he may come back. See if he gets it out of his system,’ she had advised, but Kerr hadn’t come back. Now the paparazzi photos of him meant Willow couldn’t lie any more – to the world or herself – about her marriage.

It was over.

Not that she and Kerr had ever discussed it. He never returned her calls or her emails. He had disappeared, and now that the news of her taking over the role in Harold’s film had broken, the paparazzi would be coming down the motorway any day, breaking the relative peace at Middlemist.

Even though the house was busy with the production crew, Willow was enjoying pretending Middlemist was hers. Given carte blanche from Merritt and Kitty to redesign the interiors, she thought about nothing else. She spent hours looking at magazines and sending off for expensive interior design books, which she charged to Kerr’s credit card. Actually she charged a lot of things to Kerr’s credit card. She was surprised the bank hadn’t stopped it yet.

As soon as her lawyer had told her she was in dire financial straits she had stopped spending immediately. Since Kerr was refusing to speak to her or send her any money, if he had any, she would live it up on Kerr’s remaining credit instead.

Willow had a new laptop and printer, clothes and toys delivered to her at Middlemist, along with organic groceries, skincare products and makeup that she had ordered online. The local village was out of bounds due to Willow wanting to lay low, but Merritt said the gossip had already started once the film crew arrived. Thankfully he didn’t give anything away about Willow being Middlemist’s houseguest, but Willow knew the peace wouldn’t last for long.

She had managed to avoid Merritt as much as she could, although it was hard in the evenings when the film crew had gone and it was just her and the children, Merritt and Kitty. Once the children had gone to bed, Willow would stay in the drawing room, her favourite room in the house, surfing the net and printing out pictures to stick into her large Hermès notebook.

Just the night before, Merritt had come and stood over her, leaning over her shoulder to see what she was working on. She could hardly breathe with his head so close to hers. ‘What’s that?’ he had asked, looking at the screen.

‘It’s a company that reconditions antique bathtubs,’ she had said, her voice cracking slightly.

‘No, over there,’ he said, putting his large hand over hers and moving the cursor further down the screen.

Willow was torn between wanting him to leave his hand there and snatching her own away. What a silly, sex-starved woman I am. The first man I meet, I get a crush on, she thought. She told herself off. Merritt isn’t vaguely interested in me, she reminded herself.

Kitty was lying on the sagging sofa with her iPod in her ears and her eyes closed. Merritt left his hand slightly longer than necessary on Willow’s and she felt the same butterflies she had had when he’d lifted her up after Harold left. His display of affection and joy at the film had been surprising and it seemed completely out of character for him. She had mentioned it briefly to Kitty in passing but Kitty had laughed, saying Merritt used to be fun and it was good he still had it in him.

Just as Willow was about to turn to Merritt, she heard Jinty’s cries on the baby monitor. Willow looked at Kitty, but she seemed to have fallen asleep on the sofa. Willow got up wearily.

‘I’ll go,’ offered Merritt.

‘Really? She’s probably just lost her dummy,’ said Willow.

‘No problem. I’ll go upstairs and you put the kettle on. I’d love a cuppa,’ he said as he left the room.

Willow walked into the kitchen and set about making the tea. It felt odd having a man offer to help with her children. It was Kitty who had always done everything. Since Willow and the children had moved to Middlemist, she had a true understanding of what Kitty’s days were like and Willow felt guilty for the amount of work she made the young girl do. Not that Kitty ever complained. She was so patient and kind, especially with Lucian, who was still in deep worship of Merritt.

‘You were right, it was just the dummy,’ Merritt said as he walked into the kitchen. Willow felt her body tighten at the sound of his voice.

‘She was so sweet when she saw me. She smiled this big sleepy smile. Gorgeous,’ he said as he reached up for the biscuit tin on top of the cupboard where Kitty had hidden it from Poppy.

Willow turned and saw him stretching, his t-shirt riding up and showing his flat stomach with tiny blond hairs on it. She felt weak at the knees. Stop it, she reminded herself.

Spinning around back to the stove, she put her hand down on the hot stovetop for a second and felt a searing pain through her hand. ‘Ahhh!’ she cried. ‘F*ck it!’

Merritt dropped the tin, grabbed her hand, put it under the cold tap and held it while the water washed over it. ‘God, I’m so stupid,’ she said, tears filling her eyes.

‘No you’re not,’ said Merritt, and he lifted her hand to inspect the burn. ‘It’s not too bad, but you will need some cream and dressing.’ He started looking in the cupboard above the fridge, to see what first aid they had in the house.

‘Here, sit down and I’ll play nurse,’ he said and he gently pushed Willow onto the kitchen chair.

He took out a tube of cream and some dressings that had his father’s name on them, and decided they would do the job unless it got worse. He gently applied the cream, placed a dressing over it and wrapped it up in a bandage. When he had finished he looked down at Willow. ‘All better?’

She nodded. The pain of her burn was nothing compared to the sickness she felt in her stomach when he touched her, and she was slightly breathless.

‘You’re a bit pale. Need a drink?’

Oh, I need a lot more than that, she thought, but she nodded her consent. Merritt pulled out a bottle of brandy from the cupboard along with two small glasses, and he poured them both a drink.

‘Hurts, huh?’ he asked.

‘It’s not too bad,’ she said quietly.

‘Are you OK?’ Merritt looked at her closely.

‘I’m fine, really. Just shock I think.’

‘I know what you need,’ he said playfully.

I’m sure you don’t, she thought, but she smiled anyway. Merritt picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘All better,’ he said proudly.

Willow laughed and smiled at him, and Merritt smiled back. For a moment that seemed like an eternity to Willow their eyes met and she wanted to reach out and touch him. Instead she stood up.

‘Actually I don’t think I want a drink. I might take some painkillers and go to bed. I have this interior design job I’m trying to finish,’ she said, trying to ignore the tension in the room.

‘Yes – when will I get to see your work?’ he asked.

‘Soon, I’m nearly done,’ she said, standing in front of him. There was an awkward pause and then she leant down and kissed him briefly on the cheek. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘No problem.’ He smiled and she went upstairs to her room.

Merritt sat for a long time in the kitchen nursing his brandy and thinking about Willow. Was he imagining it? Was she acting oddly around him?

He was attracted to her; what man wouldn’t be? She was beautiful and elegant and had a sense of self-possession he found fascinating. The idea of her being a parent didn’t bother him at all; he liked her children, although he worried for little Lucian. He stood up, drained the rest of his brandy and rubbed his eyes with his hands. Get over yourself Merritt, he thought.

It had been over a year since he had had sex. His last lover was a woman he met in Jodhpur, at the hotel whose magnificent gardens he had designed. It was the opening night party and he’d felt uneasy in his dinner suit surrounded by celebrities. He watched as Madonna sat at the bar waiting for people to present themselves at her feet, her new boyfriend by her side. Hers was the only face he recognised, but he’d had no doubt there were many other celebrities there judging from the stench of self-importance in the air. He had headed out to the immense stone balcony to escape the heat and bullshit, and found himself alone with a beautiful woman.

‘Hello,’ she had said in her soft Indian accent.

‘Hello,’ he said in return, and they watched the stars as they emerged one by one in the dusky pink and blue Indian sky. They stood for what seemed like hours and watched as the sun set and the sky darkened.

‘You like the party?’ she asked.

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I’m here because I have to be.’

‘Me too.’ She laughed and they looked at each other and smiled. ‘Want to escape?’ she offered.

Merritt looked back at the room, filled with flesh and ego. Nobody had bothered to turn up for the tour of the gardens he had been asked to give. He felt alone and far away from anything real.

‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked, turning to the woman impulsively.

Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the back stairs of the balcony, took off her shoes and ran down the steps into the dark. Merritt paused for a moment and then ran after her. They walked through the gardens he had spent so much time on and she put her arm in his. It was companionable and felt right even though they didn’t know each other’s names.

‘The gardens are lovely. I walked through them today,’ she said in her lilting accent.

‘Thank you. I designed them,’ he said humbly.

‘Well you are very clever.’

Merritt said nothing. Her praise didn’t matter to him; he was saddened that people didn’t care for gardens any more. It used to be an art, he thought, now people just wanted quick overhauls with instantly grown plants.

He and the woman walked down towards the pool, which was silent, the air thick with the scent of gardenias. She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. ‘Swim?’

He looked at her confused.

She peeled off her cerise silk slip and stood opposite him in tiny cream silk pants. She was in her late twenties and her body was toned and taut. He felt a stirring in his groin and looked back up to the palace. The music echoed out and Merritt realised no one there missed him – hell, no one in the party knew him.

Pulling off his dinner suit and shoes, he stood naked opposite the woman, his cock jutting out in front of him. She didn’t look at him, but instead dived into the water. He followed her in. She swam around him and threw her pants onto the side of the pool, and he swam over to her, reached down into the water and pulled her towards him. The nipples on her tiny breasts were erect and he sucked them gently. She was naked except for the rings and necklaces that glittered in the water, and he held her as she wrapped her legs around him. They rubbed together in the water and kissed gently until he felt himself slip inside her, and they f*cked in the water, breathlessly. He pushed her against the tiled walls and she grabbed at his back, her long nails digging in, and then they came together. Afterwards she had lifted herself off him, swum underwater to the other end of the pool, and pulled herself out of the water.

‘Thank you,’ she had said as she tied her hair into a bun. He had wondered how she did it with no pins to hold it. Taking a towel from the trolley at the side of the pool, she dried herself and then pulled her dress back over her head. She took her pants and dropped them into the bin by the side of the pool, and then she bent down next to Merritt at the water’s edge. ‘Enjoy your stay.’ She smiled and walked in the direction of the party.

Merritt had stayed in the pool, unsure of what had just happened and if it was real. The scratches on his back would sting under the shower when he finally made it back to his room, reminding him it was true. He wondered who the woman was.

Leaving the next day, he sat in his business class seat and pulled out the airline magazine while he waited for the plane to finish boarding. There was an article about the wedding of the year that was about to happen between one of India’s richest men and the daughter of a Maharaja. The man was thirty-five years her senior and the woman was a rising Bollywood star. Merritt looked at the pictures and recognised the woman he had had sex with the night before. Merritt closed the magazine and sat back in his seat, wondering when his life had become so devoid of intimacy.

Now he was back at home, pining after a Hollywood star, not a Bollywood star, and this time she came with three kids and what sounded like an idiot of a husband. Merritt hadn’t allowed himself to even entertain a crush since Eliza had broken her promise to him, and he had managed successfully to limit himself to no-strings, even nameless sex occasionally, and by travelling the world, to stay away from England and its memories.

Part of him, though, was excited to know he felt something again. He had wondered if Eliza had broken him for good. He had loved her but he had let her have control, and she had made a fool of him with his best friend.

Merritt wondered now about Willow. There was no way she even spared a thought for him, he decided, and he went to bed.

Upstairs in her bed, Willow heard Merritt heading to bed and she willed him to come into her room. Outside her door he stood and paused, then he walked down the hall. He swore he heard someone call his name.