The Perfect Retreat (13 page)

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.

‘Over here,’ called a woman’s voice and Ivo, panicking, looked up and saw a woman with a clipboard coming towards him, with a headset and a bumbag.

‘Hi,’ said Ivo. ‘Ivo Casselton,’ he said to the woman.

‘Great. Come with me,’ she said and led the way to the house, where she handed him a large package. ‘Here’s your script, your notes, your schedule and your accommodation details.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ivo, trying to juggle his duffel bag and the heavy papers.

‘Table reading at twelve pm today at the house. My number’s on the call sheet if you need anything. I’m Jenny,’ she said officiously. ‘Who’s your agent again? I haven’t had those details sent to me yet.’

‘I haven’t got one,’ he said, looking round at the house, which was having lengths of fake wisteria strung from it by men in a cherry picker.

Jenny looked at him oddly. ‘No agent?’

‘Nope,’ said Ivo. ‘I’m new to this game.’ He laughed.

‘I suggest you get one quickly.’ Jenny looked at her
clipboard
.

‘Any idea who?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. Maybe ask the other actors?’ said Jenny as her mobile phone rang. ‘Sorry, gotta take this,’ she said, and Ivo smiled as she walked away to answer the call.

Ivo felt out of his depth. When Harold had told him he would play the lead in his new film, Ivo had been struck with insecurities he didn’t even know existed in him. He hadn’t received the script till now and felt a panic slowly rising into his throat. He read through the accommodation details and looked at the map. He was to be put up in a local hotel in a nearby village, the one he had sailed through on the bus up to Middlemist. He had borrowed another few hundred quid from Henry, confidently telling him he would be able to pay it back once he found out what he would be paid for the film. Ivo hadn’t even signed the contract yet and he had no idea what and when he would be paid, but he was sure he wouldn’t be working for free. Well he hoped as much.

Glancing at his watch – a vintage Rolex, the most
expensive
thing he owned – he saw it was ten o’clock and there was no point waiting for the bus to take him back into the village. By the time he got there he would just have to turn around and come back. So he wandered towards the house, and, seeing the front doors open, he stepped over the tracks for the cameras that were set up and walked inside.

The grand foyer was empty and he stood with his bag over his shoulder and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. It was a stunning house. He thought of his own family home. He had wondered if he should tell his mother about the film, but then thought better of it. He decided to save her from the endless lectures from his father about Ivo’s lack of
responsibility
and direction.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned and saw a girl walking towards him. Small with dark hair and eyes, she reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t remember who it was.

‘Hello,’ he said nervously.

The girl stopped and peered at him. ‘Hello,’ she answered shyly.

‘I need to set my stuff down. Do you know where the table reading will be? I’m a bit lost,’ he admitted.

‘Ah, yes, sure,’ the girl stammered. ‘It’s in the ballroom in the other wing of the house.’

‘Great. Do you think you could show me?’ he asked, taking in her lovely face as she blushed. Ivo knew he had a way with women, and this girl was like all the others. Maybe she could provide a bit of distraction on set. She was obviously an actress; too pretty not to be, he thought.

The girl looked upstairs and then back to Ivo as though she was torn, and then she quickly walked in the direction of the opposite hallway. ‘Alright, quickly then,’ she ordered, and Ivo followed her as she expertly guided him through the long hall to a set of double doors. Swinging them open, Ivo stood entranced by the large room. It had French windows on one side leading onto an overgrown terrace. Inside, there were several tables set up in a large U shape.

‘Just leave your things here, I guess,’ she offered, and Ivo dumped his bag and package on one of the tables.

‘I better go,’ she said, and started to walk out the door.

‘Will I see you later at the reading?’ he asked.

‘Um. I’m not in the film,’ she said, confused. How could he think she was an actor?

‘You working on set then?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said, not looking at him. He didn’t remember her, although she had remembered him.

‘Oh?’ It was Ivo’s turn to be confused. ‘It’s amazing,’ he said, looking at the crystal chandeliers. Some of them were missing a few crystals, but they were still breathtaking.

‘Yes,’ said the girl, looking at the way his dark hair touched the collar of his blue shirt.

‘I hope I see you around then,’ said Ivo, turning on the charm and smiling.

‘Perhaps,’ said the girl, and she turned and left the room.

Ivo watched her leave. Yes, she would do nicely, he thought. Small, large breasts, innocent and obviously shy around him. Ivo rubbed his hands together as he dragged the script out of the package and sat down to read. She would be a lovely distraction.

Kitty had been going downstairs to get baby Panadol for Jinty when she had seen Ivo standing in the foyer. She had nearly passed out. It was the boy from Willow’s party years before. He didn’t have any idea who she was, but she knew him. He had stayed with her since that night, and she had a feeling that she should stay away, or else he would be trouble. Big trouble.

Kitty dressed Lucian, put Jinty to bed and left Poppy watching the activity from the bedroom window. She and Lucian went and sat in the tiny sitting room off the kitchen, where Lucian watched Merritt in the driveway waving his hands and yelling up to the men above him.

Merritt turned and saw Kitty and Lucian and he waved at them, smiling. He proceeded to do a silly dance for Lucian, and Lucian waved back. Kitty was shocked. ‘Can you say Merritt?’ she asked the small boy. He never waved to anyone, ever.

The small boy looked out of the window at Merritt and held his hands up against the glass, but he said nothing.

Merritt had approached Kitty with the idea that things with Lucian were not quite right. She knew it was true, but unless Willow accepted it then he wouldn’t be able to get the help he needed.

‘You can look it up on the internet,’ Merritt had said. ‘Aspergers, autistic spectrum disorders. He reminds me of a child I knew in Florida. I emailed the mother and she sent me all this information and links to websites. There is a great teacher who specialises in this sort of thing. Maybe you can give some information to Willow?’

‘I don’t know, Merritt. She doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with him,’ Kitty said.

‘How’s he going to go to school if he can’t talk?’ asked Merritt, concerned.

‘He’s not going to school. Willow believes in homeschooling,’ said Kitty.

‘That’s rubbish. Children need school,’ said Merritt firmly, remembering his days at boarding school. He had loved the culture of school and university: he had had wonderful times, made friends for life, until Johnny had fucked his wife. Merritt had pushed Johnny from his mind and continued championing Lucian.

‘The child needs help, Kitty. I think it’s remiss of you as one of his carers not to see it,’ he admonished her.

‘I’ll look up the sites and I’ll see what Willow says,’ said Kitty to placate him, but she still hadn’t got round to it. She hated the computer, and surfing the web didn’t come easily to her.

Her answer had satisfied Merritt, and since the film crew had taken over the house he hadn’t mentioned it again.

Kitty sat with Lucian in the sitting room and thought about the young man she had just met again. She had imagined him in her life after the night she’d met him, she wasn’t sure why; she had found his energy magnetic and harboured secret fantasies about an unnamed man for the past two years. Don’t be such a fool, Kitty, she told herself. There’s no way he would be interested in you, he’s a film star. He probably just wants you to get him coffee.

Kitty knew she was kidding herself; she would give him whatever he wanted, and he just had to ask. Looking across the trailers and vans that stretched down the side of the house, she saw Willow exiting one of them in full Victorian dress, holding a black parasol over her head.

She looks incredible, thought Kitty, and she watched as Merritt mock-bowed as she walked past. Kitty laughed and tapped on the sitting room window and Willow smiled and waved at Kitty and Lucian.

‘Wave at Mummy,’ said Kitty, and to her surprise Lucian waved his hand at Willow as she sailed past. She stopped at the window and her face broke into a broad smile.

‘Hello handsome,’ she said, and from inside, Kitty could see tears in Willow’s eyes. ‘Merritt, Merritt!’ she called, and Merritt ran over. ‘Lucian waved at me,’ she said, emotion breaking in her voice.

‘Oh yes? He waves at me all the time,’ said Merritt, confused.

‘Really?’ asked Willow.

‘Of course,’ said Merritt. ‘He stands in the windows when I’m in the garden and we have a little waving ritual,’ said Merritt.

Willow reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re a dream,’ she whispered in his ear, and then she walked in the direction of the house to be photographed for Harold’s approval. Merritt watched as she walked away, and he touched his face where she had kissed him.

Kitty watched from the window and saw the look in Merritt’s eyes, the way he ran when she called, the way he closed his eyes when Willow kissed him. The way he drew in his breath as she whispered something in his ear.

Yep, thought Kitty, she wasn’t the only one in trouble here. Merritt had it as bad as she did.

Kerr was positioned between Tatiana’s thighs.

‘See, I can hold you in my grip like this?’ she said,
tightening
her thigh muscles. ‘And then I can flip you like this. Da?’ she said, and swiftly flipped Kerr off the sun lounger onto the decking of her yacht.

Kerr landed with a heavy thud on his coccyx. ‘Bloody hell Tatiana, that hurt!’ he yelled out in his broad Scottish accent.

‘Hmm,’ she said, and readjusted her diamond-encrusted Dior sunglasses.

She was bored with Kerr now. They had been sailing around the Mediterranean for five weeks and all he wanted was blowjobs and coke, which she had an endless supply of, but what was she getting out of it? She was sick of these pieces of shit that leeched off her. What she wanted was a man who had his own life; a man who could do things, make things happen.

Kerr had promised her a recording contract and that he would do a duet with her on her album, but so far nothing had come through. What Kerr hadn’t told her was that he was on notice with his record company, and that he was behind on his deadline for his next album.

He was supposed to be in London, writing and recording, but he wasn’t inspired. He hadn’t been inspired for years, he realised. He didn’t have the music inside him any more, and he wondered how he could get it back. The last time he had written great music was when he met Willow. The songs had just poured out of him, and he had had a hard time trying to keep up with them. That was the album that produced three Grammys and went platinum several times. The follow-up album did alright, mostly because it was filled with songs he had written when he was with Willow, but the album after that had failed dismally and ticket sales for his concerts were slow.

When his lawyers and banker rang to tell him he was out of cash, he was incredulous. How could it be? he wondered, until they sent over the list of chattels and houses and he saw where his money had gone.

Now Willow and the children were gone, his reputation was in tatters, his mother had been emailing him articles about what people thought of him. It wasn’t flattering, he thought.

Kerr ran his finger down her muscular thigh but she moved it away.

‘Don’t,’ she said, rolling over onto her stomach and opening her copy of
Hello!
, the only thing he ever saw her read.

As he peered over her shoulder, still sitting on the deck, he saw pictures of Willow in Victorian costume. Snatching the magazine, he read, ‘
Willow Carruthers has wasted no time mourning the death of her marriage and has stepped into Harold Gaumont’s new picture epic, filming in Bristol. It is believed that Willow will be in Bristol for six weeks with her children filming the multi-million dollar epic.’

Kerr looked at the pictures of Willow. She did look beautiful, he thought, and then he looked at the muscular and groomed Tatiana on the sun lounger.

So different; the Madonna and the whore, he thought. Tatiana grabbed the magazine back from him.

‘That is your wife, yes?’ she said with distaste.

‘Yes,’ said Kerr, looking into the distance. No other boats in sight.

‘She is an actress, yes?’ asked Tatiana, her thoughts ticking.

‘Yes,’ said Kerr vacantly.

‘I think I would like to be an actress. I think I would be good, yes?’

‘Sure, sure,’ he muttered. Three words from the article played over in his mind.
Multi-million dollar
. How much would she be getting paid for this role? he wondered.