The Perfect Retreat

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX




Kitty arrived for her first lesson with the specialist reading teacher early, as instructed by Harold.

‘Always be early, it shows respect,’ he had insisted, and Kitty did as he said. Harold’s elegance and refinement permeated everything he touched. Staying with him, Kitty felt like Eliza Doolittle or Miss Congeniality or both. He was gentle with her but he insisted she use the right knife and fork at the formal dinner they sat down to most nights; the right heel with her jeans; the most luxurious cashmere she could afford when she said she needed a jumper. He took her to Liberty’s for a knit and she left with an evening dress by Lanvin, a day dress by Cacharel, new shoes, a Givenchy leather bag, a Chloé evening bag and a Marc Jacobs winter coat.

Harold had insisted he buy the items and she could pay him back later. Kitty felt odd about it until he explained that nothing was expected, but that she had a responsibility to look as good as she could; she was merely performing a public service.

‘No one wants to see someone dressed badly. If you can’t help it, then fine; but if you have a choice then try to make an effort. It’s an act of civic duty to be as well presented as you can be,’ he said, wearing a cashmere beret and a striped sailor top.

Kitty had laughed at his peculiar opinions, but she did feel good about herself as she sat in her jeans, her pretty Kurt Geiger flats and her new Liberty of London cashmere jumper.

Harold had taken it upon himself to give Kitty an education. Not just in reading, but also in life. Manners, art, history, people; even housekeeping.

‘The water for the tea must be almost boiled, but not completely. Put the milk in first. It’s all about the release of the proteins. Milk first, Katinka,’ she would hear him say from the kitchen. As an experiment she put the milk in later, and he knew.

‘Don’t try to trick me, child. Now go and pour me another cup please.’ He tsk tsked at her as she left the room, giggling to herself.

The first reading lesson was always going to be horrifying – like the first time you drive a car, said Harold – but Kitty still didn’t have her licence so she had no benchmark to compare against the sheer terror she felt as she waited.

The door opened and a woman smiled at her. ‘Kitty?’

‘Yes,’ said Kitty shyly.

‘Lavender Macquire,’ she said, holding out her hand. Kitty shook it and followed her into her lovely home.

Books were piled up everywhere, as were CDs, and there was a microphone on a stand.

‘What’s that for?’ asked Kitty, nervously looking at the microphone.

‘I record dialect tapes for actors,’ said Lavender.

‘Wow, so you can do accents?’ asked Kitty.

‘Yes, I can,’ smiled Lavender.

‘Cool,’ Kitty said, and walked to the chair that Lavender gestured to.

Lavender sat opposite her. ‘So tell me about yourself and why you’re here,’ she said, picking up her notebook and pen.

Kitty paused. ‘I thought Harold told you,’ she said, her brow furrowed.

‘He told me a little, but I want to hear what you think.’ She smiled again.

‘Well, I can’t read and I need to learn,’ said Kitty, her face reddening.

‘Need or want?’ asked Lavender.

‘Both.’

‘Good.’ Lavender looked up at her new pupil. ‘What words can you read already?’

‘None,’ answered Kitty.

‘None? Right then.’ Lavender took a black felt-tipped liner from the table in front of her and wrote something on a piece of card from a stack next to it.

‘What does this say?’ she asked, holding the card up.

‘Kitty.’

‘So you can read,’ said Lavender.

‘That doesn’t really count does it?’ asked Kitty.

‘Why not?’ asked Lavender. Then, after a pause, ‘Pick up your coat. We’re going for a walk.’

Kitty stood up reluctantly. She wanted reading lessons, not a personal trainer.

Lavender slipped on her coat and walked to the front door. ‘Come on then,’ she said, and she and Kitty stepped into the busy street.

‘What does that say?’ asked Lavender as she pointed to the sign at the corner of the road.

‘Stop,’ said Kitty.

‘Yes.’

‘But I knew because of the colour,’ said Kitty. Lavender ignored her.

‘What does this say?’

‘No parking?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I saw the letter P with a line through it,’ admitted Kitty.

‘So you know your letters?’ asked Lavender.

‘Some,’ said Kitty.

‘Who taught you that?’ Lavender asked as they continued along the street.

‘Just someone,’ said Kitty. Lavender didn’t push her.

As they walked along, Lavender pointed out signs and Kitty did better than she thought she would. When Lavender used reading in an everyday way it made sense. It was the books that caused her anxiety, Kitty explained.

‘Books are a while away yet; we need to work slowly and without stress. You’ll enjoy books as soon as you can enjoy the story,’ Lavender said as they walked back to her house. Kitty felt relaxed about the work ahead of her for the first time. Walking had been a good idea – it made the focus about something other than Kitty and the words, she thought.

Back at the house she worked through the letters, and again she did better than she expected.

‘Well done! Your friend who taught you did it well,’ Lavender said.

‘Why?’ asked Kitty.

‘The sounds to go with the names. Some people get stuck by just learning the names of the letters, but not the sounds they make to go with them. You should take your friend out for a drink,’ laughed Lavender.

Kitty softened towards Ivo for a moment, and then she remembered the horrified look on Merritt’s face and the scorn on Eliza’s when Ivo had blurted out her secret. She shut him out of her heart again.

After agreeing to meet with Lavender three times a week, and to practise with Harold if she could, Kitty literally floated home. She felt as though a ton of books had been lifted from her.

‘How did your first lesson go?’ asked Harold, waiting at the front door like a patient father.

‘It was wonderful,’ said Kitty. ‘I know more than I realised!’

‘We all do darling,’ said Harold. ‘We just don’t understand until it’s all too late,’ he said sagely.

‘You sound very low; you OK?’ she asked, as she hung her coat by the front door. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Yes please darling,’ said Harold, and they wandered into the kitchen.

‘What’s the problem?’ she asked as she set about making the tea.

‘I’m not sure I like my film.’ He sighed and sat heavily in the oak chair.

‘Why?’ asked Kitty. Harold had been in post production for days on end with the film, and Kitty didn’t dare disturb him.

‘I don’t know. I think it’s generic,’ he said, waving his hands about.

‘I don’t know what that means,’ said Kitty.

‘It means common, everywhere, usual. Not exclusive,’ said Harold.

‘Like McDonalds?’ asked Kitty as she put the cups and saucers down.

‘Yes, precisely. I am the Ronald McDonald of filmmaking,’ he said sadly.

Kitty laughed. ‘I’m sure you’re not. Is there someone you can ask to look at it for you?’

‘No,’ said Harold. ‘I don’t show anyone what I do before release. It has been chosen to open Cannes, and the final print isn’t even close to being ready. It could take months.’

Kitty sat thinking. She was at a loss as to who could help Harold.

‘Perhaps you might take a look?’ Harold asked, looking for her reaction.

‘Me? I don’t know anything about films,’ she said.

‘I know, that’s why. Just watch it and tell me when things don’t make sense or if you think you have seen them in other movies. You watch movies I assume?’

Kitty nodded; she watched movies all the time. She had seen every film in the local DVD shop and then some more. When you don’t read you have to find something to do with your time, she reasoned.

‘I could try but I don’t think I would be much help,’ she said.

‘Let’s go,’ said Harold, and he stood up.

‘Now?’

‘Cannes is in May, m’dear. We must get a wriggle on.’

‘Harry, it’s November,’ she said.

‘I know! No time at all.’

Kitty followed him up the stairs to his ivory tower.

Surprisingly, it was an open-plan space. The walls were knocked out to reveal a bed opulently covered in cushions and throws, but the soft furnishings were the only decoration in the room.

There was a huge screen and a number of computers and smaller screens. Soundproof walls were covered in linen and a small bathroom, discreetly screened, finished everything off.

‘It’s quite bare compared to downstairs,’ said Kitty.

‘I like my work to be the art,’ said Harold pompously, and Kitty hid her smile from him. He was her benevolent landlord, after all.

She felt nervous to watch Ivo on the screen; it had been weeks since she had seen or heard from him. She scoured the social pages for pictures of him, but there was nothing anywhere. She didn’t ask Merritt about him; there would be no way Merritt would know anything about him. He was stuck with his head in the soil, too busy worrying about some fancy art auction.

Kitty had no expectations of the auction’s outcome, but Merritt clearly did, she thought.

Harold pressed a few buttons and a countdown came onto the screen.

Harold turned to her. ‘Do you know much about the story?’ he asked.

‘Sort of. Willow’s character is sad about her husband dying and tries to bring back his ghost, and then Ivo turns up and she thinks he’s her husband reincarnated. But Ivo just wants to marry her and send her off to the mental ward?’

‘Pretty good,’ said Harold smiling.

He pressed play and Kitty sat back. ‘Oh, Middlemist looks wonderful,’ she said, smiling at her beautiful home on the screen.

She jolted when she first saw Ivo, but as it continued she became more involved with the story and less with his presence. Occasionally she would ask Harold to stop and ask questions or make comments, but mostly she just watched. When the ball scene came on, Kitty hid behind her hands when she saw herself on screen. Harold stopped the film. ‘Does this scene make sense? I’ve had to play with this edit a bit.’

Kitty shook her head. ‘Fine, why? Did I do something wrong?’ she asked.

‘No, no – not at all. It’s just that young Ivo couldn’t keep his eyes off you,’ he laughed.

‘What? Really?’ asked Kitty, trying to remember that night.

Harold flicked to another screen. ‘These are the outtakes,’ he said, and he pressed play. Kitty watched as the extras and the actors milled about. She saw herself talking to Willow and Merritt; taking a drink; the whole time Ivo was across the room, his eyes following her at every turn. Kitty felt her stomach flip as she saw herself so oblivious to his lust and admiration.

‘He is madly in love with you, you know,’ said Harold, matter-of-factly.

Kitty looked down. ‘He betrayed me,’ she said quietly.

‘Did he sleep with someone else?’ asked Harold, leaning back on his Herman Miller chair.

‘No,’ answered Kitty, ‘not that I know of.’

‘Did he treat you badly? Hurt you?’

‘Not really,’ said Kitty, and then she burst into tears and told Harold the whole story of her secret coming to light, Willow’s treatment of her, and the end of Merritt and Willow’s union.

‘He’s to blame for everything,’ said Kitty.

‘Really?’ asked Harold gently.

‘Sort of. Some of it,’ admitted Kitty, letting the emotional noose on Ivo’s neck relax, just a little.

‘So, would you be here now with me if you hadn’t had the run-in with Willow?’

‘Probably not,’ said Kitty, looking down.

‘Things have a way of working out, Kitty. Be here now and learn from me and Lavender, and then see what comes. I have a feeling you and Ivo will work it all out.’

Kitty said nothing. She disagreed. Ivo had all but dis-appeared anyway, she thought.

She watched the rough cut of the film and was transported into Harold’s world. At times she forgot she was watching her former boss and lover in her childhood home.

‘The film’s really good,’ she said when it came to an end.

‘Do you really think so?’ asked Harold eagerly. ‘Not generic?’

‘Not at all, I think,’ said Kitty truthfully.

‘Are there any bits you didn’t like or didn’t understand?’ he asked.

Kitty sat thinking for a long time.

‘Tell me please,’ begged Harold.

Kitty frowned. ‘Well a few times I got a bit confused,’ she said, and slowly she began to tell Harold the bits she liked, the bits she didn’t like, and what she would move. ‘I think that scene after the séance should go in a bit later. It kind of spoils the waiting, you know.’

Harold nodded. ‘I wondered about that.’

They spent the rest of the evening watching the film again, Kitty looking at the extra scenes and eating scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. By one in the morning, she was exhausted but happy, as was Harold.

‘I think you’re a genius,’ he said, clapping his hands together.

‘Not really; I’ve just seen a lot of movies,’ she said, smiling from his praise.

‘You should be a film editor.’

‘Ha. That’s funny,’ laughed Kitty.

‘I’m serious my dear. You have a natural gift for seeing the arc of the story.’

‘I didn’t see an ark anywhere in the film,’ said Kitty, her brow furrowed.

Harold laughed. ‘It’s the natural rise in the story; the way things evolve.’

‘Oh,’ said Kitty feeling silly.

‘I’m going to keep working on this. I’ll show you again soon,’ Harold said, elated.

Kitty sat downstairs, proud of herself. Today was a good day, she thought; even though she had seen Ivo on screen, it hadn’t hurt as much as she’d thought. A film editor, she thought to herself. I wonder how much reading I would have to do to become one of those.