The Perfect Retreat (36 page)

Ivo stiffened. ‘From my wages,’ he said.

‘As what?’ asked Perry, folding away his reading glasses and putting them next to his cup of tea.

‘I made a film,’ said Ivo.

His mother gasped. ‘Not pornography Ivo?’

Ivo looked at her in horror. What did they think of him? he wondered.

‘No Mother, not porn. Jesus,’ he said crossly.

‘What sort of film?’ asked his father, gesturing Ivo to be seated in front of him.

‘A period romance. Directed by Harold Gaumont,’ said Ivo, waiting for their reaction.

‘Oh how lovely,’ said his mother, relieved; and sitting down next to him, she patted his leg. ‘So, you’re an actor now?’

‘No,’ said Ivo slowly.

His father rolled his eyes. ‘What now, Ivo? If you want to be an actor, I suppose it’s OK with us if it buys you
Volvos,’ he s
aid.

Ivo licked his lips. ‘Actually I’m a writer now. I wrote a book, and it was the best thing I think I have ever done.’

‘What sort of a book?’ asked his mother, worry returning to her face.

‘A book about art,’ said Ivo, trying not to laugh. She
probably
thought it was erotic fiction to go with his porn film, he thought.

‘An art book? I’m intrigued,’ said Perry. ‘Do tell.’

So Ivo launched into the story of Middlemist and the film and Merritt and the paintings and the auction and his parents sat gobsmacked. And then his mother stood up.

‘Oh it’s all too perfect!’ she screamed, and practically ran from the room.

‘Jesus, is she alright?’ asked Ivo as he watched her leave.

His father jumped up – he, too, was beside himself with excitement.

‘You wait my boy, you wait! Stay there,’ he ordered, and hurried after his wife. Ivo sat perplexed as Evelyn walked back into the room.

‘We have your Christmas present,’ she announced, and Perry walked into the room holding the same painting that Ivo had admired so much from the Middlemist collection.

‘It doesn’t have a name,’ said his mother.

‘
The Proposal
,’ said Ivo, stunned.

‘Oh, is that what it’s called? Well, makes sense. Your father and I bought it at the auction.’

‘I was there. I didn’t see you,’ said Ivo, thinking back.

‘We didn’t go. We did it over the phone; all very private that way,’ said his father, searching his son’s face for an expression.

‘Do you like it?’ asked his mother, dancing around him. ‘I know you don’t have a permanent address yet but it can hang here until you do.’

‘I love it,’ said Ivo, and he reached out and gave his ecstatic mother a hug and a kiss. And then he walked over to his father and pulled him into a hug too, which delighted his father more than Ivo realised.

‘We went to London to see this new Russian artist’s
exhibition
at the Wimple-Jones Gallery, but it was awful. And so
rude
,’ said Evelyn. Ivo tried not to laugh. He had heard Tatiana’s show was a sell-out, but it certainly wasn’t to his parents’ taste.

Ivo knew through his newfound friends in the art world that Tatiana had made a sculpture of Kerr, naked, gilded, with a vagina instead of a penis. The piece was entitled ‘Rock Out With Your Cock Out’
.
Apparently Mick Jagger had bought it and housed it in his chestnut grove in France, where his guests, out of it on expensive wine and enormous joints, would dry hump Kerr all night.

‘Come on then! Time for lunch,’ said Evelyn. ‘Champagne is in order, I believe.’

‘I would have liked to have written a book,’ said Ivo’s father as they settled down at the large oak table.

‘You still can Dad,’ said Ivo, laughing.

‘Did you know I trod the boards at Harrow?’ Perry said, thinking back.

‘No Dad, I didn’t. Tell me about it,’ lied Ivo, remembering the actor from the set talking about him from his schooldays. He listened as Peregrine talked about his brief but successful appearance in a production of
The Merry Wives of Windsor
.

It was a lovely lunch, filled with conversation and laughter. Ivo kept glancing at the painting, which he had taken with him into the dining room.

‘I do love it,’ he kept saying, over and over. ‘It was my favourite.’

‘One day that might be you,’ said Evelyn, a little tipsy from the vintage Krug.

‘I don’t know Mum. There’s no one special in my life right now,’ he said, thinking of Kitty. ‘My mail box isn’t exactly filled with billets-doux.’

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Evelyn, and she got up from the table and left the room.

‘Not another painting, I hope,’ laughed Ivo.

Evelyn came back holding a blue envelope. ‘This came for you here,’ she said, and she handed him the letter. ‘It looks like the name was written by a child. Perhaps it’s fan mail,’ she said hopefully.

‘I doubt it, no one’s seen the film yet,’ he said as he studied the front of the envelope. His name was scrawled across it but the address was written in perfectly formed letters in an almost copperplate script.

He used his bread knife to open it and started to read. His eyes welled up with tears of pride and happiness.

‘Who’s it from?’ Evelyn pried, watching his face.

‘It’s from a woman I love,’ said Ivo, looking up at his parents.

‘I thought you said there was no one special,’ said Evelyn excitedly.

‘There wasn’t, I thought, but it seems in fact there could be,’ said Ivo thoughtfully. He stood up. ‘Would you mind terribly if I nipped back to London? You see I lost her once and I don’t want to lose her again,’ he said honestly.

Evelyn clapped her hands. ‘Of course! Go, go,’ she said.

Perry stood and shook his son’s hand.

‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘Women are a mercurial lot.’

Ivo laughed and ran out the door towards his new car. Evelyn stood watching him tear off down the driveway, and decided that buying the other Middlemist, of the woman holding the baby in the orangery, hadn’t been such a mistake after all. It would make a lovely wedding present, she thought.

Kitty and Merritt were walking off their Christmas lunch through the streets of London.

‘My trousers are too tight,’ complained Kitty. They had left Harold asleep on the sofa, propped up on cushions with a silk quilt over his knees. He had spent the entire Christmas lunch in angel wings, much to Merritt’s amusement. Kitty was used to his eccentric costumes. Sometimes he was a gladiator, other times Napoleon Bonaparte. ‘Christmas is about angels,’ said Harold after he’d answered the door and Merritt had looked questioningly at the white-feathered wings with gold tips.

‘You can undo them,’ said Merritt.

‘I can’t! I’m in the street,’ said Kitty, horrified. ‘I ate too much pudding.’

‘Me too,’ said Merritt, burping just a little.

They turned the corner and were walking towards the house when Kitty stopped.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Merritt, and then he looked and saw Ivo in the distance standing outside Harold’s house. Merritt looked at Kitty, then waved at his friend. They walked closer and Ivo met them halfway. ‘Hello mate,’ said Merritt and shook his hand. ‘Merry Christmas.’

Ivo shook Merritt’s hand warmly. ‘Merry Christmas to you, my friend.’

Kitty stood looking at the ground.

‘I might take a bit more of a walk, try and get rid of the third helping of pudding,’ Merritt said, and he walked away, hunched over in his large coat.

Kitty stood in front of Ivo. ‘Hello,’ she said shyly.

‘Hello. I got your letter.’ Ivo’s eyes searched her face, hoping for something more than just small talk.

‘Oh,’ said Kitty, looking down at her feet.

‘I loved it.’ Ivo leaned down so his eyes met hers.

‘Oh.’ Kitty felt a blush travelling up her neck to her cheeks.

‘I forgive you if you forgive me?’ he said, looking at her delicate face which he loved so much.

‘I forgive you.’

‘I love you, Katinka Iris Clementina Ceres Middlemist.’

‘I love you too, Ivo …’ She paused.

‘Peregrine James Casselton.’

‘I love you, Ivo Peregrine James Casselton. Just don’t ask me to spell it,’ she laughed. Ivo pulled her to him and kissed her in the cold air and she felt herself melting into his arms.

‘Come in and see Harold,’ she said, and she held his cold hand in her gloved one as they walked up the front steps. She fished the key out of her pocket and they kissed on the doorstep.

‘Harold?’ asked Ivo. He had read the address on the letter, but there was no name on the stationery.

‘Yes, I’m Harold’s protégée, houseguest and assistant,’ said Kitty proudly to a surprised Ivo.

‘Harold, Harold! Look at my Christmas present!’ she yelled, even though he abhorred yelling. There was no sound.

‘He was asleep when we left,’ she said, and she rushed into the sitting room with Ivo following, laughing at her elation. She stopped as she entered the room and looked at Harold, peaceful on the sofa, his wings still on and spread out behind him like an ethereal cloak.

‘Harold?’ she said, and then she moved closer. ‘Harold,’ she said again. Her voice rose.

Ivo stepped forward.

‘Harold?’ He asked for the man’s attention and then held his hand.

‘Call an ambulance,’ he said quickly. He took the cushions away from behind Harold, laid him back and started chest compressions.

‘Ambulance! Now!’ he yelled at Kitty, who ran crying to the phone. Ivo could hear her stuttering hysterically as he concentrated on his task. Once she’d finished she called Merritt on his mobile phone to tell him to come back to the house.

‘Come on,’ he said between breaths, but Harold’s body was lifeless. Merritt came running back and took over from Ivo, who was exhausted, and then the paramedics came inside and did their job.

Kitty was inconsolable. ‘Harry, Harry!’ she cried into Ivo and Merritt’s arms as Harold’s chest was punched and shocked by machines.

Although it felt like minutes, it was almost an hour before the men stopped. ‘He’s gone,’ said one of them kindly.

‘No!’ cried Kitty, and she rushed to his side. ‘Harold! Harry, come back! I’m no good without you.’

Ivo watched helplessly. Kitty lay across Harold’s body and wept painfully, and Merritt felt his own tears on his cheeks. Harold’s kindness to Kitty and him was beyond anything he had ever experienced. He knew the world had just lost a great man.

Ivo helped Kitty away from the sitting room while they waited for Harold’s body to be collected. He led her into the kitchen and sat her down while he made tea.

‘They think it was a heart attack,’ said Merritt, coming into the kitchen.

Kitty said nothing. She was in shock. Merritt sat next to her and held her hand. ‘He didn’t feel anything Kits; he was exactly as we left him.’

She nodded. ‘I know. It’s just that I love him,’ she cried.

‘I know,’ said Merritt.

‘And I feel terrible,’ she said.

‘I know,’ said Merritt. ‘It’s an enormous loss.’

‘I feel terrible because I’m sadder than when our own dad died.’ She wept and Merritt held her in his arms.

‘Oh darling Kits. Just because he wasn’t your actual father doesn’t mean he wasn’t one to you. He was. He was more of a father to you than Dad ever was. Just because you’re not blood doesn’t mean you’re not family,’ he said softly.

Kitty nodded into his chest and her breathing slowed down. ‘I will miss him so much,’ she said.

‘We all will,’ said Merritt. Ivo was sitting on her other side.

‘Kitty? Lovely Katinka. I will look after you.’ Ivo held her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. Kitty looked at him with wide eyes.

‘What?’ asked Ivo.

‘You called me Katinka,’ she said.

‘Yes, sorry about that,’ said Ivo, blushing. ‘It just popped into my head. I don’t know why.’

Kitty smiled. ‘It’s OK, I like it. Harry used to call me that,’ she said, and she kissed his face all over. ‘He would be so happy we’re together.’

And above all the chaos, Harold looked down on them and was happy. He had known it was coming; he had felt it for a while. He straightened his wings and greeted his old pals. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said as they started to walk away, and he watched Kitty and Ivo hold each other as his body was carried out of the house.

‘Fin.’

He was the last of the romantics, he thought, and he turned and walked towards his destiny.

Willow flipped the pages of the magazine as she sat by the pool. LA was boring, she had decided. Everything was done for her, and she was actually surprised to find herself missing her kitchen and her little garden back in London. I hope the snow hasn’t ruined my bulbs, she thought, and she laughed to herself at her changed priorities. She had asked Lucy to FedEx some English magazines because she was homesick, and now she sat with the children reading
House & Garden
.

‘Poppy no!’ yelled Lucian from the side of the pool as Poppy swam underneath him pretending to be a shark. ‘No shark!’

Willow looked up from the magazine.

‘Good talking Luce! Poppy, no sharks OK?’ she said, and went back to her reading. Kerr had dropped the children off again after a successful overnight visit. He had changed also, which would never cease to amaze her.

Eliza was long gone. Once she had found out he was almost penniless, she had headed to New York. Kerr was now dating his yoga teacher, something Willow found hilarious. He had only joined because he heard this was the place that people in LA did business, but he soon found himself in a downward dog lusting after the teacher. She was a vegan Kabbalist with her own cable TV show. She called Kerr on his shit, and Willow was grateful to her for enlightening her ex-husband.

Kerr’s new job as a celebrity judge on a talent show was going well. It wasn’t quite the stardom he had hoped for, but he was happy, and Willow was free. But free to do what?

She had signed onto the action film and could do anything she pleased. She was wealthy again, and yet all she wanted was to tend to her bulbs and make pikelets for the children.

She turned the page absently and then looked down. She gasped. There was Merritt in front of her, looking rugged and indecently handsome, she noticed, and behind him was Middlemist looking divinely beautiful. She looked closely at him, and then turned the page over. She gasped again.