The Perfect Retreat (35 page)

Willow sat on her hands to stop herself from clapping them together.

‘I’m interested,’ she said. ‘Where would it shoot?’ she asked.

Tom looked down at the slated locations. ‘Monaco, London and Ibiza,’ he said. ‘Pickups and post production in London.’

Willow nodded. Back to Europe, she thought, relieved. She didn’t realise how much she wanted to be there until it was offered again.

‘And when would it shoot, if it gets the green light?’ she asked, thinking ahead to the children’s school year.

‘Starts in May next year, after Cannes,’ said TG. ‘Are you going?’

‘Maybe; I have a film that’s in consideration but I haven’t heard any more about it,’ she said, thinking she must get Lucy to speak to Harold’s assistant.

‘Well the role is yours if you want it,’ said TG. ‘Speak
to your
agent, and if you are interested then we can get started.’

Willow smiled. ‘Sure, I’ll get Simon to get back to you with my answer.’

She stood up and shook everyone’s hands. Tom and TG walked her to the door.

‘Nice car,’ said TG, looking at Kerr’s Porsche.

‘It’s OK,’ said Willow.

‘Yours?’ asked Tom.

‘No, I’m borrowing it. It’s not really kid friendly, huh? I’d have to put their booster seats on the roof racks,’ she laughed.

Tom and TG laughed. ‘We have to put that in the movie,’ said Tom.

Willow laughed, got in, and drove away with a wave. Her life was a fucking movie, she thought, remembering the past six months. Now the film of her life was being made, and she was starring in it, this time with guns. Yes, she would do the film. Why? Because it was in London, and she knew that London was her home now.

Kitty sat with Lavender. ‘My god, she’s got it,’ said Lavender in her best Henry Higgins voice as Kitty read out the sentence in front of her. She placed down another card and Kitty paused to look at it.

‘Is the train on time?’ she said in a confident voice.

‘Oh yes, she’s got it,’ said Lavender again, smiling. Kitty jumped up. ‘I do have it, I do! I know what it feels like to read. It’s amazing!’ she cried. ‘You are amazing.’

‘No,
you
are amazing,’ said Lavender firmly.

‘No, it’s all you,’ argued Kitty, her eyes filled with tears.

‘You have practised hard, and you’ve worked at it with Harold, and you had a good foundation to start with. Things were there but you had forgotten and lost your confidence,’ said Lavender. ‘You need to thank your friend for the initial work they did with you, because it made all the difference.’

Kitty sat down, thinking of Ivo. She wanted to say things to him but she didn’t know where to start. She was beginning to understand, now, what he had done when he told the room at Middlemist about her not being able to read.

Lavender looked at her star pupil. ‘Homework for this week.’

‘Yes,’ said Kitty, waiting for the instructions from her teacher. She was a diligent student, committed to ensuring she excelled for her own sake as well as because she didn’t want to waste Lavender’s time.

‘I want you to write a letter,’ said Lavender. ‘Doesn’t have to be long, but it has to be heartfelt; and to someone who has been there for you through this journey.’

Kitty nodded.

‘And post it to them. OK?’ ordered Lavender.

Kitty agreed and walked back to Harold’s house. She thought about who to write to. Merritt, she decided, and she started writing the letter in her head as she made her way home.

By the time she had arrived at Harold’s front door, she had chosen her words. She rushed upstairs, opened the desk and pulled out the stationery. This would have to do, she thought, and she sucked on the pen and started to write.

To Ivo,

I am verry sory I was horid to you. I have bean doing reading and writing lesons and I think I am doing quiet well. I have to write to some one who helpd me and I was going to write to Merritt but then you poped into my head. I was awful to you. I know and I hop you will forgiv me one day.

I think about you all day. You mad me feel smart and you were patiant with me.

I am greatful and think you are so clevr. Merritt told me abut the paintings and he has used the mony to fix th
e ho
use.

What you tught me helped and my teacher said it made all the diffrnce. I knew more than I thoght. I know more now abut many things.

I wuld like to be frinds maybe, if you can forgiv me, I hope so.

Yors,

Katinka Iris Clementina Ceres Middlemist

(Kitty)

She wrote Ivo’s name on the front of the envelope, but
realised
she had no idea where he lived before she had got round to sealing it. She walked upstairs and saw Harold in his usual place in front of the television screens. The screen was paused on Willow and Ivo in an embrace.

‘Hello,’ she said, trying not to look at the screen.

‘Hello Katinka,’ said Harold, not looking at her. ‘How was your lesson?’

‘Good actually. I had to write a letter,’ she said.

‘Oh wonderful! The art of letter writing is becoming lost,’ said Harold, turning around to face her.

‘To whom did you write?’ he asked.

Kitty looked embarrassed. ‘I wrote to Ivo but I don’t know his address,’ she said, holding out the envelope. ‘Can you check the spelling? Lavender said it had to be heartfelt.’

Harold took the envelope and opened the letter. He read it quietly and then looked up at her. ‘It’s perfect and heartfelt.’

‘And the spelling? Is it OK?’

‘You have spelt the words as they sound, and that is good enough. It’s a wonderful letter Kitty; send it,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

‘But send to where? I don’t know where he lives,’ she said sadly.

‘His last name is Casselton and his father went to Harrow. There are some Casseltons who live up in Middlesex – I think you might find it is them,’ said Harold. ‘Wait a minute, I’ll find the address.’ He turned to his computer and typed into Google. Picking up the cordless phone he dialled the number on the screen from the directory. ‘Hello, is Ivo there?’

There was a long pause, and then, ‘No?’ Kitty’s heart sank. She had hoped Harold would be right about Ivo’s address.

‘Oh lovely, I have some post of his. I will send it on then. Thank you,’ said Harold, and he hung up the phone.

‘That was his mother; sounds dreadfully posh. She said to send it over and she will ensure Ivo receives it,’ said Harold, proud of his detective work.

‘Can you write the address please? I don’t want it getting lost,’ she asked shyly, and Harold scribbled down the address on the envelope and handed it to her with the letter.

‘Seal it with a kiss,’ he instructed, and Kitty rolled her eyes.

‘Don’t roll your eyes, it’s an awful habit,’ said Harold tartly and Kitty laughed at him as she ran down the stairs to her desk.

Having stuck a stamp to the envelope, she put on her coat and headed outside into the cold air to post her precious missive. She stood at the postbox and waited till the person in front had posted their enormous bag of Christmas cards. Finally they left. Kitty’s hands were getting cold. She held the letter to her mouth, kissed the back and then slipped it into the box.

‘You can’t take it back now,’ she thought as she walked away.

Christmas was coming, and she had plans to spend it with Harold and Merritt at Harold’s house. Middlemist still wasn’t finished and Merritt said there was no way they could have Christmas there with the water off – the new plumbing was being installed.

The house would be done by the end of January, he told her, and Kitty wondered what he would do then. Would he live there? Let it? She didn’t know. He seemed preoccupied more than usual lately when she rang him.

Kitty returned to hear the phone ringing, and she knew Harold wouldn’t answer it. ‘Harold Gaumont’s residence,’ she said as she slipped off her coat in the warm sitting room.

‘Hello, it’s Lucy, Willow Carruthers’s assistant,’ said the voice down the line.

Kitty sat down on the chair next to her. ‘Hi Lucy, it’s Kitty.’

‘Oh Kitty, how wonderful to hear your voice. How are you?’ gushed Lucy warmly. She had liked Kitty the few times she had met her and Willow had spoken so well of her. She was sorry things had ended so badly between the two of them.

‘Fine,’ said Kitty anxiously.

‘Are you working for Harold?’ asked Lucy.

‘Sort of,’ she said vaguely.

‘Tell me, is
The Romantics
going to Cannes?’

‘I think so. I can get more details from Harold later and phone you back,’ said Kitty. ‘He said something about some stairs and opening night.’

‘Wonderful. Willow has another project lined up and I am just working out schedules,’ said Lucy.

‘Oh,’ said Kitty at the sound of Willow’s name. ‘How are the children?’ she asked finally after a pause.

‘They are wonderful. Lucian’s getting great help and has a few words,’ said Lucy.

‘That’s great; really great,’ said Kitty, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘I have to go. I’ll call you later,’ said Kitty, and she hung up quickly.

Lucy sat in her home office looking at the phone. She picked it up again.

‘Willow? Hi. I’ve found her. She’s at Harold’s. Yes. You want the number? OK, got a pen?’

Willow picked up the phone and although it was the middle of the night in LA, she felt wide awake. She knew what she had to do to make it right. She dialled the number and heard Kitty’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Kitty, it’s Willow. Don’t hang up, I have to say something.’ Willow took a deep breath.

‘I’m sorry. I am so incredibly sorry for everything. I was selfish and awful and ugly and vile. You don’t have to forgive me, but I hope you can one day. You treated my children better than I ever did and what you taught Lucian really helped him. I wish I had known about your reading problems, and I wish I could have helped. I’m a different person now – you helped me become that, but I hope not at your detriment. You are a wonderful person, Kitty, and you deserve more than working for me and I truly hope you move forward and find something that you can put all your wonderful skills into.’ Willow waited, she could hear Kitty breathing on the other end of the phone.

‘How is Jinty? Walking yet?’ she asked, and Willow felt a flood of relief at the question.

‘Yes, and into everything.’

‘And Poppy?’ asked Kitty.

‘Hilarious! She loves nursery,’ said Willow. ‘She likes the dress-up box.’

‘I can imagine,’ Kitty laughed.

‘And Lucian’s talking a little now; each day he gets more confident.’

‘That’s great Willow,’ said Kitty truthfully. She was thrilled the children were happy, and it was good that Willow
apologised
.

‘How’s Merritt?’ asked Willow casually.

‘Busy,’ said Kitty, thoughtfully.

‘I’m sure. Please send him my love,’ said Willow. ‘I would like to say sorry to him also but I don’t think he would take my call,’ she said. Kitty wasn’t sure if the phone line was breaking up or Willow’s voice was cracking. She frowned.

‘Write a letter,’ Kitty said suddenly.

‘What?’ asked Willow.

‘Write a letter to him. Make it heartfelt and don’t worry about the spelling. Just say it as it’s meant to be said,’ she instructed firmly.

Willow sat thinking. ‘I will. Thanks Kitty.’

‘No problem,’ said Kitty smiling.

‘I’m back in London soon. Will you come and see the children? Have a cup of tea with me? I’ve stopped drinking coffee; I am a true Englishwoman now.’ She laughed.

‘I will. I would like to,’ said Kitty, and just before she hung up she spoke again quickly. ‘Willow?’

‘Yes?’ came the careful reply.

‘I forgive you,’ she said, and she meant it. Christmas was about forgiveness after all, she thought as she looked at Harold’s immaculately decorated pine tree, covered in cupids. Christmas cupids, she thought as she went upstairs. Only Harold would have such a thing.

Ivo drove his new Volvo down the driveway of his parents’ home.

Evelyn Casselton was waiting for him by the front door. As an only child, his appearance on Christmas Day was important to his parents. He felt the heavy weight of
expectations
as he stopped the car.

‘A new car, Ivo!’ exclaimed his mother.

‘Yes,’ said Ivo, but he offered no other information. He would wait until the three of them had run out of things to talk about. He calculated that the car talk could take up at least half an hour, even an hour if he got his father banging on about foreign cars and ownership.

Picking up his overnight bag – he had promised to stay the night – he walked towards his mother.

‘Hello Mum,’ he said as he bent down to kiss her powdered cheek.

‘Dad’s inside; he’s looking forward to seeing you,’ she said.

Ivo doubted that very much. His relationship with his father wasn’t exactly warm. Ivo felt like a disappointment to his high-achieving father – and he was, he thought, in many ways. His father was Earl of Casselton; he ran the large Casselton estate and was a committed member of the local Conservative Party. He was educated and careful. The phrase ‘the glass is half empty’ summed him up perfectly.

Ivo dumped his bag in the large foyer, the paintings of his ancestors frowning down on him, and walked into the drawing room.

‘Hi Dad,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

His father stood up from the leather wingback chair and extended his hand. ‘Ivo. Merry Christmas,’ he said.

His mother walked into the room. ‘Perry, Ivo has a new Volvo,’ she said proudly.

Ivo winced. It seemed the car conversation would be sooner than he had thought.

‘Do you?’ asked his father, surprised. Ivo was forever cadging money from them – well, mostly from his mother, although Perry knew but didn’t say anything.

‘Where did you get that?’ he asked his son.