The Perfect Retreat (33 page)

The cabby pulled out again into traffic and headed in the direction of Willow’s home.

‘I picked him up the other day,’ said the cabby.

‘Really? What a coincidence,’ she said, looking out of the window.

‘He was with his boyfriend though.’

She looked at him. ‘I don’t think Jack Reynolds is gay. I’m pretty sure of it,’ she said.

‘Oh right,’ said the cab driver. ‘He had a nice young Italian man with him; an actor. Dante or something. Oh well, I must have been mistaken,’ he said as he drove. But he knew he wasn’t. Twenty years of driving cabs taught you a thing or two about people, and he knew a gay man when he drove one. And he knew a heartbroken woman when he drove one, he thought as he glanced at her in the mirror.

Shame, he thought as he dropped her off; young, beautiful and all alone. The world wasn’t fair. And all the while Willow was thinking that she must remember never to drive with that cab driver when she had a secret; it would be all over town by the end of his shift.

Merritt sat in the private viewing gallery that overlooked the auction room. The crowd was swelling and he could hear the hum from below. Kitty had joined him for the auction, as had Ivo, which shocked her when she walked into the room.

‘Why is he here?’ she hissed to Merritt, but before he could explain Henry walked in.

‘So you’re the Kitty I’ve heard about,’ said Henry, shaking her hand.

Kitty smiled. ‘What has Merritt told you?’ she asked shyly.

‘Not Merritt, Ivo,’ said Henry smiling. ‘I understand you have tamed the beast.’

Kitty looked at Ivo in surprise; he was looking back at her, his face flushed. She ignored his gaze.

‘Well, I’m afraid the beast is back in the wild,’ she said, and turned her back on them both.

Henry looked at her in surprise and Ivo mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to him. He had hoped that the excitement of the auction and the anticipation of a potential sale would soften her resolve, but he was mistaken, it seemed.

Kitty held the catalogue. She had had a private viewing with Merritt before the catalogue was released, and together they had chosen a painting each that they loved.

Kitty had chosen a painting of a small child reading a book on a chair in a garden. An auspicious omen, she thought, and Merritt had hugged her when he saw her choice.

‘How’s the reading going?’ he had asked.

‘It’s good actually. My teacher is so nice, and I’m not as bad as I thought I was. Some of it got through apparently. I have dyslexia, so she has this whole method that’s not what they teach kids – it’s designed for adults. It works, but it’s slow,’ she had said.

‘And how’s Harold?’ Merritt had asked, still concerned about her landlord.

‘He’s lovely. I’m really enjoying staying there actually. It will be hard to leave,’ said Kitty.

‘When will that be?’ asked Merritt.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Kitty had said vaguely.

‘You know you can always come back to Middlemist,’ Merritt had said, his arm still around her.

‘I know, but I don’t really feel like it’s my home now,’ said Kitty. ‘For the first time I’m enjoying London. There’s so much to do and see. I hope you’re not too lonely by yourself.’

Merritt had said nothing, promising Ivo he wouldn’t tell her where he was living until after the auction.

Merritt had chosen a spectacular piece. It was of Clementina in the orangery with three of her five children surrounding her and a white peacock in the background. It was romantic and beautiful, filled with lace and satin ribbons and love.

Kitty looked at it and then turned to Merritt. ‘Have you heard from her?’ she asked.

‘Who?’ asked Merritt.

‘You know who,’ said Kitty, making a face. ‘I may not be able to read, but I’m not stupid.’

Merritt shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that ship has sailed,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I saw she’s dating some Hollywood actor now. She had dinner with him and Rose Nightingale the other night. I saw it in the papers.’

‘Didn’t you do Rose Nightingale’s garden in LA?’ asked Kitty.

‘Yeah,’ said Merritt with his arms crossed.

‘Do you think they talked about you?’ asked Kitty.

‘I doubt it,’ said Merritt. ‘I’m sure they have better things to talk about than a gardener.’

Now they sat in a row, Merritt between Kitty and Ivo, as the auction began. The auctioneer went through the history of George Middlemist and the discovery of the paintings, but Kitty didn’t listen. She flipped through the catalogue distractedly, wondering what the hell Ivo was doing spoiling her and Merritt’s special moment.

Ivo kept glancing at her throughout the auctioneer’s spiel, but she didn’t acknowledge him, although she kept glancing back whenever he wasn’t looking. He looked good, she admitted to herself. Healthy, a bit of colour in his cheeks, and he had put on a little weight, which he needed. He looked handsome, and she hated him for it.

The auction started and so did the bidding. The first piece sold for sixty-five thousand pounds, and Merritt jumped up.

‘That’s the new wiring!’ he cried.

And they were off and running. Every painting sold, and each time Merritt called out a new part of the house that would be able to be fixed.

‘Twenty-five thousand pounds, that’s the glass in the orangery.’

Merritt’s excitement was infectious, and she danced with him when one of the larger pieces sold for over one hundred thousand pounds. Ivo stood up, and she stopped in front of him as Merritt put her down from his bear hug. She sat down, ignoring him but catching the pained look on his face.

Ivo bent over and whispered in Merritt’s ear, then looked over at Kitty who kept her eye on the auction. Merrittturned and nodded to him and made a sorrowed face.

Kitty watched Ivo leave in the reflection of the mirrored glass. She saw him pause at the door and then walk away, but she kept her head held high as the auction drew to a close.

Henry watched the board and turned to them. ‘That’s it!’ he cried. ‘Over a million pounds.’

Merritt sat with his head in his hands and Kitty sat stunned. ‘Oh Merritt, it’s amazing. Well done!’ she cried.

‘I have to go and sort out the details and paperwork,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll have champagne sent up to you.’

Merritt turned to Kitty. ‘I can’t spend it all on the house. I’ll split it with you,’ he said suddenly.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Kitty sternly. ‘You want to do the house up and you should. I don’t care about money, I never have. You know that,’ she said.

‘But it’s so much money, and you don’t even want to live there,’ he said, his eyes glassy.

‘I know, but things will work out, won’t they?’ said Kitty. ‘I don’t know what the future will bring to either of us but I’m happy to not know for a while. Middlemist deserves to be brought back from its malaise,’ she said.

‘
Malaise
?’ asked Merritt, laughing a little.

‘Harold uses it,’ said Kitty, blushing. ‘Did I use it in the right way?’

‘Yes, I think you did,’ said Merritt.

‘I can do it up and sell it, perhaps,’ he said.

‘Perhaps,’ said Kitty. ‘Who knows?’

Merritt opened the champagne that a staff member had brought in to them and poured her a glass.

‘To Middlemist.’ She smiled.

They drank and then Merritt raised his glass again. ‘One more toast,’ he said.

Kitty looked at him expectantly.

‘To Ivo,’ he said finally.

‘Ivo? Why? Why was he even here? He ruined everything,’ she said angrily.

‘Oh Kits. You’re wrong,’ said Merritt, tired of keeping secrets. If Ivo wouldn’t tell her then he would have to.

‘Ivo is the reason we are here now. He found the paintings, Kits. He did. We owe him everything.’

Merritt was knee deep in the renovation of Middlemist. Having realised early on that he couldn’t do it all, he had hired an interior designer whose number he found in the Yellow Pages.

‘I have so many ideas,’ said Harriet the interior designer, wearing too much lipstick in a shade of red that clashed with her red curls. So far in her burgeoning career, since leaving Laura Ashley to start her own company she had done a few country sitting rooms and three kitchens.

‘No ideas,’ said Merritt gruffly. ‘Everything you need is in here,’ he said, and he shoved Willow’s lined notebook at her.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, opening it up.

‘Your ideas,’ said Merritt. ‘I want everything done as
specified
in this book, and if you come across any areas that aren’t in the book, then do what you think the person in this book would do. OK?’

He was so forceful she didn’t dare argue with him. She leafed through the pictures. ‘Can I add my own little accents?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Do you want the job or not?’ he asked impatiently, watching the digger move towards the pond.

Harriet paused. A house like this could make her career; she could be the next Nina Campbell or Tricia Guild or even Laura Ashley. She nearly crossed herself at the thought of her inspiration’s name.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said quickly, just to make him get away from her.

Merritt stomped off to review the clearing of the pond. As he watched them drain it and clear away a hundred years’ worth of debris from the bottom, he saw a glint of yellow in the mud. He reached down and picked it up. ‘Sophie,’ he said to himself.

It was Sophie, Jinty’s yellow rubber giraffe that she had lost. She must have dropped it in the pond when she was out in the stroller with Kitty or Willow. They had spent hours looking for it when she cried for her ‘Ophie’.

He walked to the tap, rinsed it off and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, and then he went back to the pond.

The weeks passed. Ivo had moved out after the auction. Merritt had returned from London to find him gone, leaving only a note.

Thanks for everything Merritt. Sorry I can’t come up with a nickname for you. I appreciate your hospitality and friendship. I’ll let you know about the books.

Ivo

P.S. Tell Kitty I’m sorry.

Merritt was sad to see Ivo leave, but he was too busy with the house to be lonely. His days started early and finished late. It was a full-time job overseeing the renovations and the restoration. Artisans were brought in to paint the decorative iron gates, replace some of the walls in the gardens and match the Minton tiles in the orangery.

It was arduous and endless, and every day Merritt thought about Willow and the children. They were with him when he approved the paint in the bedroom and when he planted one hundred orange, lemon and clementine trees.

Kitty came down with Harold to visit.

‘I have to see how this old dame is coping with her facelift,’ said Harold as he alighted from his car.

‘She seems to be doing OK,’ said Merritt, looking up at the elaborate scaffolding around the house.

‘Wow,’ said Kitty as she walked inside. ‘It looks so different already. It looks cleaner.’ She laughed.

‘Two hundred years of dust,’ laughed Merritt. ‘Who knew there were actually ornate carvings under there?’

Merritt took Kitty and Harold on a tour of the house and garden and took pride in their exclamations. ‘You have done her proud,’ said Harold.

‘Yes, she will look beautiful,’ agreed Kitty.

Merritt thought for a moment how beautiful Kitty looked. More than her clothes, which looked new, he thought, looking at her soft leather bag, but she seemed more confident than he had ever seen her.

They ate lunch in the orangery, the glass replaced and the new trees surrounding them. It was lovely in the autumn sun. Harold entertained Kitty and Merritt with his stories about his films and his hopes for the one he was yet to make. Merritt found him inspiring, and Kitty was clearly as entranced as he was. Merritt understood why Kitty was spending time in Harold’s world. It was a place of beauty and wit, where troubles could be put to rest over a fine cup of Assam tea and Scottish shortbread.

Finally it was time to leave as the sun dipped in the distance. Kitty held on to Merritt for a long time. ‘Come to London soon,’ she ordered in his ear.

‘Maybe,’ he said.

Harold shook his hand enthusiastically. ‘You have done and are doing a wonderful thing, Merritt,’ he said. ‘Houses like these deserve to be lived in with families, generations pounding the stairs. I know Kitty said that Willow is no longer in your life – a shame by the way – but keep looking. Fill the house with children and noise, Merritt; she wants it.’

‘Who?’ asked Merritt, confused. Did he mean Willow? he wondered.

‘The house, darling; the house wants it,’ said Harold.

Merritt smiled at Harold. ‘I will definitely try,’ he said as he waved them back to London. He walked inside Middlemist. The house did deserve a family using it. He was loath to put all this work in, only for the National Trust to have people wandering through it pointing and stealing treasures.

He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling, at the lions in the corners of the roof with their newly fitted lights. Yes, he thought, Middlemist needed people to live in it. And he made his decision.

The plane touched down at LAX and Willow stood up and opened the cabin above her.

The stewardess walked down the aisle. ‘Excuse me, Ms Carruthers, but you must stay seated until the seatbelt sign goes off and we have taxied to a stop.’

Willow glared at her. ‘I have three children, including a toddler, and I am flying alone. I need all the time I can get. And you and your staff have been noticeable only by your absence on this flight,’ she accused the snooty girl.

‘I’m sorry Ms Carruthers, but we have other people in the business class section and we cannot give all our time to you,’ answered the woman, her face reddening.

‘Any time would have been great,’ said Willow under her breath as she sat down again, ignoring the stares from her fellow travellers. She had flown to LA after Kerr had announced he was setting up home there and summoned her over for a visit with the children.