The Perfect Retreat

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




Willow and Merritt snuck back into the other wing of the house in a state of undress and bliss. They crept into the hallway and stopped outside her room. ‘I’d ask you in, but the kids come into my bed in the morning,’ she said, and Merritt smiled.

‘I know,’ he said.

They stood facing each other, clutching their costumes.

‘Right then. Night,’ said Willow, embarrassed.

Merritt pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, and Willow felt her knees buckle. She opened the door with one hand and dragged him inside. They dropped the clothes and headed to her bed kissing, and she pulled the covers back so they could slip underneath them, the cool sheets a shock to their warm bodies.

Lying her down on the bed he kissed her all over, and Willow let him take her. This time he lay on top of her and watched her face as he entered her, and together they reached a climax that Willow thought was going to drown her.

They lay together, Willow’s head on his chest, and they slept soundly.

Merritt was woken by breath on his face. He opened one eye and saw Lucian standing in his pyjamas at the edge of the bed, face to face with him. Merritt, startled, woke Willow, and she sat up and saw Lucian.

‘Hi Luce,’ she said casually.

He smiled at her and she felt her heart pound. He never smiled.

‘What you got there?’ she asked, pulling the covers up around her nakedness.

Lucian clambered onto the bed and sat in between them, pulling the covers up over his lap, and held out Custard.

‘Is that Custard?’ asked Merritt, surprised.

Lucian held the bear close to him. Merritt smiled at the small boy. ‘I’m glad you found him, although I have no idea where.’

‘Who’s Custard?’ asked Willow, looking at the worn bear.

‘My bear from when I was a child. Maybe Kitty found it,’ said Merritt, looking at his childhood friend. Willow went to get out of bed and felt Lucian’s hand on her arm pulling her back in. ‘I have to get up, Luce,’ she said, but Lucian held her arm tightly.

‘Alright, just a minute then,’ said Willow, settling back into bed. The three of them lay there in silence while Lucian tucked Custard under his arm. He held his mother’s arm and put his head on Merritt’s pillow.

Merritt lay still, smelling the boy’s clean hair. It was so bizarre to experience this feeling of contentment. He wondered if Willow felt it as well.

Willow, however, was silently freaking out, panicking that Poppy would soon come darting into the room. The door opened quietly and Kitty poked her head around. ‘Sorry, is Lucian …?’ she started, and then saw the three of them in bed. Willow felt her face turn the colour of beetroot.

‘Hi Lucian,’ she said, not missing a beat. ‘Morning Merritt, morning Willow. When you three are ready I have eggs and bacon,’ said Kitty, a small smile filling her voice. ‘Or I could bring them up to you if you like.’ She looked at Merritt, whose turn it was to flush red.

‘No, no, we are just coming,’ said Willow, not moving.

‘Come on Luce, you get first pick of the bacon!’ Lucian jumped over Merritt and ran towards the door and down the hallway. Kitty closed the door, held her hand over her mouth and ran down after him. Well done Merritt, she thought as she served up the bacon.

Willow sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Oh god, I’m so sorry,’ she said, her head in her hands.

Merritt rolled over and ran a finger up her spine. ‘It’s fine. Lucian’s sweet,’ he said honestly. ‘I liked it actually.’

‘You say that now. Wait till you have three of them in the bed,’ she laughed, shivering at his touch.

Merritt nuzzled against her back. ‘Come back to bed,’ he whispered.

Willow tried to stand. ‘I have to get up. God, what will Kitty be thinking?’ she said.

‘She’ll be fine. She won’t care. Kitty’s pretty Zen about things, I think you’ll find.’ Merritt pulled her about the waist and laid her back on the bed. ‘Now, there is something I like to do in the mornings. Want me to show you?’ He laughed, and leant down to kiss her, his unshaven face rubbing against her cheek.

‘Make it quick,’ she said, half jokingly.

‘Not a chance lady,’ he said, and disappeared under the covers.

Kitty fed the children and waited for their mother to come downstairs. Today was Saturday and there was no filming, so Willow had promised Kitty she could have some time off. She sat waiting in the kitchen. It was now ten o’clock and there was still no sign of her brother and her employer. I knew this would get messy, she thought, and she pulled out the vacuum and started to clean the hallway, hoping to disturb them.

It worked, and Willow, wearing a robe, poked her head out of the door. ‘Just going to have a shower and then you can head off, Kitty,’ she said casually, as though she hadn’t just been f*cking her brother all morning.

‘Thanks,’ said Kitty. She left the vacuum where it was, went to her bedroom and looked at her reflection. She had the urge to head to the village where she knew Ivo was staying and hang around until she saw him. She had tried to think of a better plan but couldn’t come up with one. It had worked in school, so why not now? she thought.

Dressing carefully, she pulled on her jeans and her black boots. She wore a white t-shirt with a blue jacket of her father’s over the top, the sleeves rolled up to show the pink silk lining.

She went into the nanny quarters where she had left the piles of clothes that Poppy had found in the eaves and she pulled at them till she found what she was looking for: a silk paisley-print scarf in purples, pinks and greens, almost a shawl, that she rolled up and slung casually around her neck.

As an afterthought she pulled a thin gold chain out of the box of costume jewellery and put it around her neck. It hung long on her, and it was a little tarnished. On it hung a gold pendant: a circle of seed pearls surrounding a painting of a man’s eye. Hair curled around the image.

It swung between Kitty’s breasts and she liked the weight of it around her neck. Applying a small amount of lip gloss she skipped down the stairs, where she found Merritt waiting for her by the front door, dressed for gardening.

‘Sorry about this morning,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Doesn’t bother me,’ she said cheerfully, as she grabbed her bag.

‘Where you off to?’ he asked. ‘You look nice.’

‘The village. Need anything?’ she sang as she swung open the huge front door.

‘No,’ said Merritt, wondering what had put such a spring in her step.

Kitty walked down the driveway and went to the bus stop at the end of the street.

The buses ran every half hour on a Saturday, so Kitty sat down to wait. She thought about Merritt and Willow. Although it seemed odd, they kind of made sense together. Her brother was misunderstood, but he was inherently good; he just didn’t always know how to deal with people, she thought. He was smart and clever and could grow anything. Why did all the talents in the family bypass her? she wondered.

Kitty saw the bus rumbling towards her and she stood up as it came to a stop. There was someone waiting at the door and she stood back to let him step off. It was Ivo.

‘Hello. I was coming to pay you a visit,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ said Kitty, flustered and pleased to see him. ‘I was heading into the village,’ she said, and they stood awkwardly, Kitty on the ground and Ivo on the bus steps.

‘On or off?’ called the impatient driver. Kitty jumped on and Ivo grabbed her as the doors closed behind her and the bus lurched forward.

Ivo led her to a seat and squashed in beside her. They were the only ones on the bus. Kitty tried to act cool as she looked out the window.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I was coming to see you?’ asked Ivo, nudging her with his elbow.

‘Oh yes, right. I forgot. Why?’ she asked, staring out of the window at the green fields.

‘I thought about you all night,’ he said, and Kitty turned to look at him. ‘I was reading your journals.’ Kitty nodded.

‘Oh,’ she said for lack of anything else to say.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that your great-great-great-grandfather was George Middlemist?’ he said.

‘I didn’t think it was important. Why?’

‘Those journals you gave me are written by his wife, Clementina,’ said Ivo.

‘Really? That’s amazing. What does she say?’ asked Kitty excitedly.

‘I’ve just started them and the language is very formal, but it seems to be her diary of her marriage,’ said Ivo.

‘Amazing,’ said Kitty, her eyes widening.

‘Do you know much about her?’ asked Ivo, looking at the necklace between her breasts.

‘Nothing really. Maybe Merritt knows something. It’s all a bit sad really. We don’t have one painting of George’s in the house; it was the bane of my father’s life,’ she said.

‘Not one?’ asked Ivo, surprised. ‘I thought he was quite prolific.’

‘Do you know much about him? I would love to know more,’ said Kitty, turning in her seat, her knees pressed against his.

‘I know a bit from university. I rather liked his work. Some people thought it was a bit poncy but I like how he painted women as women. Women who looked like you,’ he said, his eyes searching her face.

Kitty felt herself blush.

‘You can read the journals after I’ve translated them,’ he said, and Kitty looked away.

‘So, why were you heading into town? Looking for me perhaps?’ he said, noticing her carefully applied eyeliner and lip gloss.

‘Does every girl fall for your routine?’ asked Kitty, not looking at him, feeling more stupid than usual thanks to him guessing her plan.

‘Yes,’ answered Ivo with a shrug. ‘Usually.’

‘I’m not one of those girls, so you needn’t bother,’ said Kitty, wondering why she had bothered to dress up. Ivo wasn’t boyfriend material; he was a major player and she was fooling herself.

‘Alright. Friends then?’ asked Ivo and he held out his hand. Kitty took it. It was smooth and soft; the hand of a man who didn’t know hard work.

‘OK,’ she said softly. Maybe being friends with Ivo would be OK. She knew his type; he reminded her of Johnny the lying bastard, she thought, and she looked back out of the window.

‘So, what shall we do in the village? Not much to do – I had a look around; took me all of ten minutes,’ laughed Ivo.

‘Yes, it’s not London, I’m afraid,’ laughed Kitty. And they sat easily together as the bus rounded the corner into the village centre. Kitty alighted and waited for Ivo to descend from the steps.

‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked.

‘I have to go to the shop and buy a few things,’ mumbled Kitty.

‘That will take all of five minutes. Then what?’ he asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

‘Um, then I guess I’ll go home,’ she said, squinting into the light.

‘No – how about a pub lunch?’ he said, pointing in the direction of the pub. ‘It’s the least I could do for a friend.’ Ivo had checked his bank account the night before and had been thrilled to find it topped up. His first instalment for the film had come through.

‘OK,’ said Kitty shyly.

‘I’ll meet you there then?’ asked Ivo, his face searching hers.

‘Yep,’ said Kitty, and she walked in the direction of the store.

Wandering about the small store, she pulled random items out and put them in her basket. Tampons, nail polish remover, a magazine, chocolate, hairspray; she didn’t need any of them.

She stood at the counter as Mrs Turner, the wife of the shop owner, rang up her goods.

‘You’ve set the village in a tizzy,’ she said.

‘Pardon?’ asked Kitty, wondering how the town knew of her lascivious thoughts about Ivo.

‘The film,’ said Mrs Turner. ‘It’s all anyone is talking about. All the B&Bs are full up and you can’t move in the pub at night,’ she said knowledgeably.

‘Ah yes,’ smiled Kitty politely.

‘What’s she like then?’

‘Who?’ Kitty feigned ignorance.

‘Willow Carruthers. I read all about her in OK! magazine. Poor thing, with her husband being such a cad and all,’ she said as she put the items into a plastic bag.

‘She’s very nice,’ said Kitty.

‘Ooo, you met her then,’ said Mrs Turner.

‘Just briefly,’ said Kitty, knowing that if she said anything to the town gossip, Willow would never get any peace. The Middlemist family had always kept to themselves, and Kitty was happy to keep the tradition going.

‘Thanks Mrs Turner,’ said Kitty, and she went to leave the store, wondering if Ivo would be waiting for her. She thought of his eyes when he was sitting with her on the bus; she knew he was looking at her breasts but she found herself not minding. She had actually hunched her shoulders and pushed them closer together at one point when she saw him looking at her. This behaviour was new to Kitty. The sex she had had was pleasant but not earth shattering, but she had the distinct feeling Ivo would know his way around a girl’s body. Just thinking about it made her groin throb. She felt dirty and blushed as she stood by the counter.

‘Is it all sex then?’ hissed Mrs Turner, as Kitty turned to leave.

‘Sorry?’ asked Kitty. Was the old bat reading her mind?

‘On the film set, in the house – you know what you read about in the magazines.’ She pointed at the rack of magazines near the counter.

Kitty opened the door to the shop and looked across the road. She could see Ivo sitting at a table outside in the sun nursing a pint, with another one waiting for her. Kitty admired the easy way he leaned back in the chair. He was pure sex, and Kitty knew that if she wanted, she could have him, no strings attached. She thought about Merritt in bed with Willow, a sight she was both comforted by and envious of, and she saw Ivo wave at her. Kitty waved back and turned to Mrs Turner.

‘Yes Mrs Turner, I’m afraid it is. All sex, sex, sex and then some more sex. That’s why I’m in the village – to get away from the sex,’ said Kitty seriously, and she heard Mrs Turner’s little cry as she danced across the road towards the waiting Ivo.

‘Get everything?’ asked Ivo.

‘Yep,’ said Kitty, and she drank from her pint.

‘Want me to get a menu?’ asked Ivo.

‘No, I always have the same thing when I come here,’ said Kitty. ‘Fish and chips.’

‘Alright, then I’ll have the same,’ he said, and he went inside to order. Kitty felt pretty good, sitting in her village with such a handsome man.

She smiled to herself and Ivo walked out.

‘What you laughing at then?’

‘Nothing. Just nice to be out,’ she said.

‘I like your necklace,’ he said.

‘Thanks, I found it in a pile of crap from the attic this morning.’ She held it out for him to see.

‘Do you know what it is?’ he asked.

‘Nope,’ said Kitty, looking at it again.

‘It’s a lover’s eye pendant. The Victorians made them,’ he said. He reached over and brushed her breast with his fingers as he took up the pendant in his hand. Kitty felt her nipples harden.

‘This is real hair. Perhaps it was Clementina’s – a picture of George,’ he said excitedly.

‘Why do you know all of this stuff about art and jewellery? Are you sure you aren’t gay?’ asked Kitty.

‘Nope, not gay. Not everyone who knows about this stuff is gay. I studied art and art history, and the reason I know about the necklace is because my mother has one,’ said Ivo easily. He was so sure about his sexuality Kitty felt dizzy from the testosterone pouring from him. She wasn’t used to men like Ivo, so sure of themselves and so unapologetic about who they were and what they wanted.

Ivo opened the satchel he had been carrying and pulled out a journal. ‘Here; read this,’ he said, and he pushed the book over to Kitty.

Kitty sat still. ‘You read it. I find it hard to make out the letters,’ she said, and she pushed the book back towards him.

Ivo took the book and read. ‘I sit in the orangery and I feel the baby inside me. George is painting me and I wonder if anyone could be happier than I at this moment. Rempli d’amour et de soleil, c’est le meilleur des jours, mais combien de temps ils durent? Rien ne dure toujours, tout meurt.’

Ivo’s voice was low and resonant, and although Kitty had no idea what he was saying when he spoke French, she leaned forward, mesmerised by his voice.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Kitty, watching his lips as he spoke.

‘Filled with love and sun, it is the best of days, but how long will they last? Nothing lasts forever, everything dies.’

‘Well that’s depressing,’ said Kitty as she sat back in her chair.

‘Maybe, but you know Victorian times; they were used to death. Perhaps Clementina was worried about childbirth; you know so many women died in childbirth back then,’ Ivo said.

‘Why are you so smart?’ asked Kitty.

‘I’m not smart, I just know a lot of things. That’s different. I know silly useless things that are of no help to anyone,’ said Ivo, laughing.

Kitty wasn’t convinced. Ivo was above her in every way: intellect, looks, even his casual style made her feel dowdy and unimpressive.

Kitty looked across the village. There were more people around than usual, she noticed. She felt Ivo’s eyes on her.

‘You dress like an artist,’ he said.

Kitty was unsure as to whether his comment was a compliment or not, so she said nothing.

‘Your jacket, the scarf, the necklace, your hair. It’s all very French,’ he offered as an explanation, aware she was bewildered by him. ‘I like it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kitty. ‘I don’t really think about clothes. I wear the same things all the time for work; kids are messy.’ She laughed.

‘I’ve heard that. Do you paint?’ he asked.

‘No,’ laughed Kitty, ‘I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.’

‘You look like you do. Perhaps you channel it through your style.’

‘Are you sure you aren’t gay?’ asked Kitty again.

‘I’m very sure.’ And the way he said it and the look he gave Kitty erased any doubts.

Kitty pulled her sunglasses from her bag. ‘I’m not sure what you want from me,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You. Your attention? I’m not the type of girl who sleeps around. So you might as well head off now if that’s what you’re after,’ said Kitty, her directness startling Ivo.

‘That’s good; I’m not that type of girl either,’ he said flirtatiously.

‘No really. I’m not.’ Kitty was firm in her decision, although the pulling in her groin was trying to convince her otherwise.

‘Listen here, p-ssycat. I have no friends here, no girlfriend, and I am stuck here for six weeks. I thought it would be nice to make a friend; maybe meet some of yours.’

‘I don’t have any,’ said Kitty.

‘None here?’

‘None anywhere,’ said Kitty, thinking back to her horrid time at school, her loneliness in London.

‘Why not?’ asked Ivo, taking his turn to be direct.

‘I don’t know,’ said Kitty. ‘I’m not very good with people, just with children.’

Why was she being so honest with him? And why was she so pleased he didn’t have a girlfriend if she had just told him she didn’t want to be involved with him? God, she was so stupid, she thought.

Ivo changed the subject. He thought she looked as though she might cry.

‘Tell me about your family. The journals of your great-great-great-grandmother are delicious to read,’ he said as the waiter brought their fish and chips over to the table.

Kitty salted her meal and shrugged. ‘Well, the house was built for Clementina. That’s all I know. All of George’s paintings have disappeared and the only art left is Clementina’s, which isn’t worth much. When my father died, he left the house to Merritt and me with the instruction not to sell it till after ten years.’ Kitty popped a chip into her mouth and munched, waiting for Ivo’s response.

‘So now what? How long has it been since your father passed away?’

‘Three years,’ said Kitty.

‘Were you sad when he died?’ asked Ivo, his own father’s face flashing before his eyes.

‘Not really. Didn’t know him very well,’ she said without any emotion.

‘Why, did you live elsewhere?’ asked Ivo as he ate his lunch.

‘No, I was at home with him,’ said Kitty.

‘Where was your mother?’

‘At home too, but she died when I was twelve.’

‘So, what happened then?’ asked Ivo, leaning forward.

‘Nothing really. My father was an angry man; about what I don’t know. I never understood him. He kind of ignored me really; not outright, but he didn’t worry about me or wonder about me. He was all about Merritt, which I think was hard for Merritt to live with. After Merritt’s marriage fell apart, my father was angry at him. I think he hoped Merritt would solve all the financial issues and take over the house.’

‘Right,’ said Ivo, thinking of his own father and his disappointment at Ivo’s choices.

‘So after he died you went to London.’

‘Yes, I fell into a job with Willow and I’ve been there ever since.’

‘Did you like London?’ asked Ivo.

‘Not really; it’s so busy and dark. I like the country more,’ said Kitty, realising she sounded like a hick and that she didn’t care.

‘So the state of the house now? You and Merritt planning to fix it up?’ asked Ivo with his mouth full.

‘Maybe. It would cost a bomb which we don’t have, and what would we do with it once we’d finished? I’m not married, neither is Merritt. I doubt he will marry again. It’s only good for a family or the National Trust,’ she said.

‘Maybe Merritt will marry Willow and then you can all live there happily ever after,’ said Ivo, laughing.

‘I doubt it,’ said Kitty. ‘I think it’s just a sex thing.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Ivo in a low voice.

‘No, I guess not, but some people want more.’

‘Is that what you want, Kitty?’ asked Ivo, leaning further forward. There was a simplicity about Kitty that appealed to him; no designs or expectations, and even a primness that he found intoxicating.

Kitty pondered the question. She wanted so much; she wanted to love and be listened to, to be read to and caressed, to be touched and told she was clever; to be loved. And yet she said nothing.

Ivo could provide none of those things. And while it was fun to flirt around the edges, she knew not to get too close; men like Ivo burnt a girl’s wings if they flew too near to him.

‘I don’t know what I want yet,’ she said, and concentrated on her meal.

They ate in silence and then she stood up. ‘I might pay and head off home.’

‘My shout,’ said Ivo, wondering when the conversation had halted and why the awkwardness now.

‘Thank you,’ said Kitty, and she was standing wondering whether to shake his hand or kiss his cheek when Ivo made the decision for her and pulled her into a warm hug.

‘Nice to see you Kitty. If I come across any revelations in the journals, I’ll let you know.’ And Kitty let him hold her for longer than necessary.

Then she turned and walked away to the bus stop. And as she left, Ivo was surprised to find he was very sorry to see her go.