The Perfect Retreat (20 page)

Willow looked at the mess of feet and blankets and toys. ‘Perhaps it’s not for everyone,’ she said diplomatically.

‘Well, it’s for me,’ muttered Merritt under his breath.

‘Sorry? I didn’t hear you,’ said Willow, pulling a sultana from her ear.

‘Nothing,’ said Merritt.

Poppy leaned over and said loudly in Willow’s ear, ‘He said, “It’s for me”.’

Merritt felt himself colouring and Willow said nothing, afraid to show her hand, and Poppy watched them both, wondering why they didn’t say what they wanted. Like the time she told Tilly at the park she liked her doll better than hers and Tilly agreed and they swapped and neither nanny noticed. It was easy and all they did was tell each other the truth.

Poppy folded her arms. ‘Mewwitt?’

‘Yes Poppy?’

‘Do you love my Mummy?’ she asked, in her queer transatlantic accent.

Merritt paused. He could feel Willow stiffen in the bed, waiting for his reply.

‘Well Poppy, that’s a big question for a little girl,’ he said, stalling for time.

‘Poppy, don’t ask Merritt such personal things. I am sure he is quite fond of all of us,’ she said, her heart sinking a little.

Merritt listened to the quaver in Willow’s voice when he heard her answer Poppy, and he decided to lay his cards on the table.

‘Actually Poppy, I’m more than fond of you all,’ he said.

‘What’s morethanfond?’ asked Poppy, pronouncing it as one word.

‘I love you all,’ he said, and Willow stared ahead, wondering what he meant and in what way, and she wanted to scream at the children to leave the room so she could question Merritt with a flashlight in his eyes, but she said nothing.

‘I love you Mewwitt,’ said Poppy solemnly.

‘I love you too, Poppy.’

Jinty threw herself at Merritt, knowing there was a conversation of importance in the room, and shoved a sultana into his mouth. Lucian cuddled Custard with great sincerity and Poppy moved away from the centre of the bed.

‘You better kiss Mummy now,’ she said and Merritt leaned over to Willow and looked into her eyes.

‘I love you Willow,’ he said and he kissed her on the lips, briefly but warmly.

Willow felt her heart soar and she kissed him back. ‘I love you too Mewwitt,’ she said, mimicking Poppy; but her eyes were serious and Merritt was happy.

‘Right, Saturday! What shall we do?’ he asked and jumped out of bed in his pyjama trousers. ‘Picnic? Day trip? What?’ he asked.

‘Picnic!’ cried Poppy, and Merritt clapped his hands together.

Merritt took the children downstairs with an old t-shirt over the top of his pyjama trousers and started breakfast, talking loudly. Willow dressed in her old sweats and walked into the hallway.

Kitty rushed past her looking stressed.

‘Hey, you OK?’ Willow asked.

‘I’m going out today and I have nothing to wear. I have one good outfit and I wore that last time he saw me,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears.

‘I’ll help you find something. Borrow something of mine,’ offered Willow as she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail.

‘That would be so weird. You’re my boss,’ said Kitty, frowning.

‘Boss schmoss,’ said Willow, taking Kitty by the hand and leading her towards Kitty’s bedroom. ‘If you hadn’t noticed, I am sleeping with your brother, so I think that allows certain boss–employee lines to be crossed.’

‘I’m fat,’ said Kitty, not listening. ‘Nothing would fit me.’

‘Shut up. You’re not fat and I can dress you for anything. Where’re you going?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. He just said he would pick me up at nine this morning and he’ll be here soon,’ cried Kitty.

‘OK. Who’re you going out with?’ asked Willow, as she flipped through the hangers in her wardrobe.

‘Ivo,’ said Kitty quietly.

Willow spun around and put her hands on her hips. ‘Really? He’s a devil that one,’ she said archly. For some reason she felt protective over Kitty all of a sudden.

‘I know, but he hasn’t tried anything; we just talk. He’s quite funny and he’s really smart,’ said Kitty, dreamily.

‘Don’t expect too much,’ said Willow sagely. ‘I married a man like Ivo. They’re fun, but not the marrying kind.’

‘Oh I don’t plan on marrying him, but when I’m with him, I feel smarter and prettier and it’s nice,’ said Kitty, and her face lit up.

Willow smiled, thinking of Merritt. When she was with him, she felt sexy and interesting. She knew what Kitty felt like.

‘OK, so you have jeans?’

‘Yes, but I wore them last time,’ said Kitty mournfully.

‘Jeans again are fine. What shoes do you have with you?’ asked Willow, digging through Kitty’s messy wardrobe floor. ‘These are fine,’ she said, pulling out a pair of black suede flats. ‘Now come with me.’ And she led Kitty into her room and pulled open the drawers of the large oak dresser.

‘This, I think,’ she said, holding up a blue and white striped singlet, with draping on one side and a white strap on the other shoulder.

‘I don’t know,’ said Kitty doubtfully. ‘Stripes? With my boobs?’ She looked down at herself in her t-shirt.

‘These are large stripes. And the draping will actually enhance your breasts, not draw attention to them,’ said Willow.

Kitty took the top and looked at the label as Willow kept moving through the wardrobe and opening the drawers with abandon. ‘Do you like her stuf
f
?’ she said, moving her head in the direction of the top Kitty was holding.

‘Who?’ asked Kitty, confused.

‘Hers,’ said Willow again, and Kitty looked again at the label.

‘I haven’t heard of her,’ said Kitty.

‘You haven’t heard of Vivienne Westwood?’ asked Willow. ‘Really?’

‘Um no,’ lied Kitty, her face flushing.

Willow took a black jacket down from the rail in her wardrobe. ‘This Chloé will work with that,’ she said, holding up a military-style jacket. ‘Tell me you’ve heard of Chloé.’

‘I have,’ lied Kitty again, and she took the jacket from Willow.

‘Alright, pop them on, let’s have a look at you,’ demanded Willow, and Kitty fled back to her room to get changed in peace. Changing in front of Willow would be too weird, she thought, and she pulled on her jeans and the top. It did work, she thought as she looked in the mirror.

Slipping the jacket on, Kitty felt unlike herself, but instead like a fashionable French girl with an eye for style and
handsome
men.

She slipped the lover’s eye necklace on over her head and put her feet into her shoes. Opening the door, she found Willow waiting impatiently in the hall. ‘Let me look,’ she said, and she turned Kitty around.

‘Excellent. Now to gild the lily.’ She pushed Kitty into the bathroom and flipped down the lid of the toilet.

‘Sit,’ she commanded, and Kitty did as she was told.

Kitty threw the hand towel over the front of Kitty’s clothes and started to apply foundation and eye makeup. Skilfully she used the brushes and powders and then finally brushed on a slick of lipstick and gloss that she mixed together on the back of her hand. She stood back and looked at Kitty. ‘Perfect,’ she said.

Kitty looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes seemed wider and deeper set. Her skin was flawless and her lips were slicked in a red lipstick that seemed to work wonderfully with the striped top.

‘It’s a bluey-red,’ said Willow as she saw Kitty’s eyes darting from her mouth to her top. ‘It has navy in it, so it works well with blues,’ said Willow importantly.

Merritt’s voice came up the stairs. ‘Kitty? Ivo’s here.’ Kitty starting panicking but Willow stopped her.

‘Bag, keys, phone, lipstick, condoms,’ she said.

‘Oh my god. No way,’ said Kitty as she rushed to her bedroom.

‘What, no phone? No keys? No lipstick?’ teased Willow.

‘No condoms,’ said Kitty primly.

‘Well, you know best,’ said Willow, pursing her mouth.

Kitty ran down the stairs leaving Willow in the bathroom and saw Ivo in the foyer, with his back towards her. He turned and raised his face up to hers and smiled, his dark hair flopping over one eye. The way he looked at her and took in her whole appearance, and the way she knew he approved, made her turn on the stairs and rush back to the bathroom.

Willow was leaning against the bathroom door holding out a strip of condoms in her hand. Kitty snatched it from her and tucked it into her bag.

‘Not a word,’ hissed Kitty.

‘Never,’ whispered Willow, and Kitty stopped at the top of the stairs.

‘Thanks,’ she said, and Willow met her eyes.

‘My pleasure,’ said Willow. And for a moment, she felt like a real older sister.

Ivo leaned over Kitty in the car and pulled open the glove box.

‘You can be navigator,’ he said, and threw a map onto her lap.

‘I don’t do maps,’ said Kitty. ‘Absolutely hopeless,’ she said apologetically.

Ivo pulled over. ‘Really?’

‘No idea, I’m sorry,’ she said, and she smiled at him so sweetly that Ivo thought for a moment he could forgive her anything.

‘OK, give it here,’ he said, and he traced a line over the map. Kitty shuddered slightly imagining that finger running over her body.

‘You cold?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m fine,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘Where’re we going?’ she asked quickly to change the subject.

‘A surprise,’ said Ivo and he started up the engine.

‘Alright. Off we go,’ he said and he drove the little hire car fast through the country lanes until they were on
the mot
orway.

‘Are we going to London?’ asked Kitty, looking at the motorway that she and Willow had travelled on weeks before.

‘Yes. Now stop prying – I want to know all about you,’ said Ivo.

‘There’s nothing to know,’ she said, but with Ivo’s clever questioning and his continual interest in her answers Kitty found herself sounding quite fascinating, as she aired her opinions on education and child raising and celebrity and the perfect bacon sandwich.

In turn Ivo found himself telling her about his schooling, his lack of direction and falling into the film by mistake. His father’s disapproval of his choices and his discouragement of acting when in fact he himself had acted as a younger man.

‘At least he gives a shit,’ said Kitty moodily as they sat in London traffic.

‘True,’ said Ivo, remembering her mentioning her father’s lack of interest in her.

Ivo pulled into a car park and put a disabled sticker on the windscreen. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, shocked.

‘It’s a friend of mine’s mother’s. She doesn’t need it – hasn’t driven for years – so I bought it off him for emergencies,’ said Ivo, and he took Kitty’s arm in his and walked them down the street. Kitty saw a few heads turn as they sauntered down the street chatting.

‘Do you get used to it?’ she asked as they walked.

‘To what?’ he asked.

‘To people looking at you because you are so handsome,’ she said, without a trace of flirtation.

Ivo stopped in the street and looked at her. ‘No, silly. It’s not me they’re looking at, it’s you.’ He laughed.

Kitty made a face at him and he dragged her to a shop window. ‘Look at you,’ he said, and Kitty looked at them both, so casually cool and sexy. She smiled.

‘Maybe they are looking at us,’ she admitted.

Ivo was intoxicating. No man this gorgeous had ever been interested in her, and she wondered what he saw in the shop reflection that she couldn’t see.

They walked and talked until they arrived. ‘We’re here,’ he announced proudly, and Kitty looked up.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘What are we going to do here?’

‘Look at art, silly,’ chided Ivo gently, and he pulled her into the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Kitty breathed a sigh of relief.
I’m glad it’s not a library
, she thought.

Taking her to the second floor, he walked through the imposing doors and took her to a large painting.

‘Look,’ he said proudly, and Kitty looked up at a painting of a woman standing inside a conservatory, surrounded by fruit. She was wearing a white dress with a yellow ribbon around her waist, and Kitty thought she looked happy.

‘She’s pretty,’ said Kitty.

‘She’s you,’ said Ivo, looking at her.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Kitty, confused. She looked again at the woman in the painting; she did bear some resemblance to Kitty. Dark hair, dark eyes; but that was all she could see.

‘Read the label,’ said Ivo, his voice filled with excitement. ‘I knew you reminded me of someone, and I couldn’t think who. Read,’ he said, and he pushed her towards it.

Kitty looked at the words and started to feel the tears prick at her eyes. She blinked several times, aware that Ivo was watching for her reaction.

She looked at him. ‘That’s amazing,’ she said, her voice hollow, and Ivo looked at her, sudden understanding clouding his face.

It all made sense.

‘You can’t read, can you Kit?’ he asked softly, and Kitty felt the tears fall. She ran from the gallery, tripping down the stairs into the light outside.

Ivo rushed to follow her small figure crossing the street.

‘Kitty, Kit!’ he called, but she kept running away from him, away from the words.

You stupid idiot
, she thought,
of course he was going to find out – he’s so clever and I’m so dumb
. She kept pushing through the crowds of people. When she stopped and looked up she realised she had no idea where she was.

She felt herself being spun around. ‘Kitty! Kitty.’ Ivo was breathing heavily.

‘Go away!’ she cried, and she pushed him; but he remained in front of her.

‘Kitty, it’s fine, really,’ he said, and he took her to the side of the busy street, ignoring the faces peering at the attractive couple having a lovers’ tiff.

‘It’s not fine. No, I can’t read, and now you know,’ she spat at him.

‘It’s all OK, really it is Kitty,’ said Ivo helplessly. He had no idea what to say. He had thought something was up when he asked her to read the map, and now it all came together. Her refusing to help him with the script; asking him to read the journals; not wanting a menu at the village pub.