The Perfect Retreat. Kate Forster

crying after Eliza’s onslaught.

      ‘Hi Lucy, it’s Willow again.’

      ‘Hello,’ said Lucy, surprised.

      ‘I just wanted to thank you for your honesty and advice. Suffice it to say there are a few things happening in my world at the moment which are less than appealing,’ said Willow wryly.

      ‘I figured,’ said Lucy.

      ‘Listen, this may seem odd, but is there any chance you would consider working for me as my private PR person? I don’t have any money yet but I think I can get back in front, and I really need people I can trust at the moment,’ said Willow down the phone.

      Lucy was silent, thinking.

      Willow continued, ‘I know it’s a big risk for you but you were amazing in that room, and I honestly think you could help me. And I could help you, I hope.’

      ‘I would need to think about it,’ she said quietly, looking down at her desk.

      ‘No private calls!’ hissed Eliza and Lucy looked up to see Eliza’s reptilian face peering at her.

      At that moment Lucy realised she had had enough of Eliza and her bullshit and she smiled down the phone. ‘Actually that sounds lovely. I’ll text you from my mobile and we can meet in a minute,’ she said.

      Eliza looked at her as she hung up the phone. ‘You’ve had lunch; you don’t get time off to meet people. I need you here,’ she barked.

      ‘Actually Eliza, I’m leaving.’

      Lucy stood up and took her handbag from the filing cabinet.

      ‘When will you be back?’ asked Eliza, unnerved by Lucy’s calmness.

      ‘On the first of never, Eliza. I can’t work for you any longer and I was too well raised to tell you what I think of you, so please consider my notice immediate and final,’ she said, and with that she walked out of the door.

      Eliza started to follow her down the stairs, screaming her name. ‘Lucy, Lucy! Come back here!’ she called, and then the phone rang and Eliza turned on the stairs to go and answer it and lost her balance and reached out to grab something. The only thing her desperate arms could find was one of the hanging fried eggs. She yanked it and fell down the stairs to land on her bony bottom, a giant latex egg on top of her.

      And that was Lucy’s last vision of her ex-boss: at the bottom on her bottom with egg on her face. Perhaps karma did exist after all, she thought.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      Merritt was back from his tour of the grounds with Lucian and Poppy. Kitty watched them as they rounded the side of the house and thought for a moment what a shame it was he’d never had any children, but she pushed the thought from her mind. That would mean Eliza would be their mother, and that was a fate she would not wish on anyone.

      ‘We’re back!’ called Merritt from the foyer, and Poppy echoed him. ‘We’re back!’ her little voice rang out.

      ‘How was that?’ asked Kitty as she took their muddy boots off.

      ‘Awesome,’ said Poppy, using her favourite word of the week.

      ‘Depressing,’ mumbled Merritt. He followed the little party into the kitchen where Kitty had set up a morning tea of pikelets and milk and a pot of strong tea for Merritt.

      ‘Really?’ asked Kitty as she sorted out the children.

      ‘Oh Kits. It’s in such bad shape. I don’t even know if it’s worth saving. Perhaps we should just let the National Trust have it,’ he said, slumping in his chair.

      Kitty sat opposite him not knowing what to say.

      ‘The gardens are overgrown – hideously overgrown in fact. The fences are falling down, some of the trees are in bad shape, will need to be looked at as soon as possible. And that’s just outside,’ he said sadly.

      Kitty frowned. This was not her area of expertise. In fact, she thought, she didn’t even have an area of expertise.

      ‘I am going to write a big list this week of everything, inside and out. I could use a hand when you have a moment,’ he said.

      Kitty thought about the children and all she had to do for them and was about to speak up when she saw Merritt’s forlorn face and decided against it. ‘Of course,’ she said, although she wondered what help she could be.

      ‘We have the money Dad left us but that’s about it,’ he said, thinking aloud.

      ‘We could turn it into a hotel?’ suggested Kitty, having seen it done on TV before.

      ‘What the hell do we know about that, Kit? It would be worse than Fawlty Towers I think,’ he said.

      Kitty laughed. ‘Yes well, I suppose you’re right.’

      ‘I wish there was buried treasure somewhere. Dad always said that his great-great-great-grandmother had said there was something of worth in the house, but I have no idea what he meant. He spent his life searching for it, but who knows what she was talking about?’ he said.

      Poppy looked at Merritt, her eyes wide. ‘Treasure? I’ll find it!’ she said.

      Kitty smiled at her indulgently. ‘Well if you do then you can have some of it,’ she said to the small girl, whose cheeks were flushed from the country air.

      Merritt stuffed two pikelets into his mouth at once. ‘I wonder what the hell she meant,’ he pondered.

      ‘I have no idea. There aren’t even any paintings left of George’s,’ said Kitty as she refilled her chipped mug, referring to their ancestor who had built the house. His paintings, once worthless, were now well regarded by the art community. Their father had watched with painful fascination every time a new painting went up for sale at one of the major auction houses.

      ‘Should be our money,’ he used to say to the children when he saw the rising prices of George Middlemist’s works in the marketplace.

      Family legend was that once George and his wife Clementina had separated, she sold all his works to keep herself and her children in the lifestyle they were accustomed to. Divorce was not an option in Victorian England, Edward’s father had told Merritt and Kitty, and once George had had the affair with his life model Clementina threw him out of Middlemist, where she stayed until she died of old age.

      Clementina had been an artist too, but not of the same calibre as George, and the only paintings left in the house were hers. They weren’t likely to get the same price as George’s art and so the family had them stacked away in the eaves, in what was once George’s studio.

      Merritt stood up and bowed to Kitty and Lucian. ‘Well, Lady Poppy and Lord Lucian, it was my pleasure to escort you today. Please feel free to see me at any time and let me know if I can be of assistance. No matter is too small or too big; I am at your service.’

      Poppy giggled and Lucian looked straight ahead. Merritt walked over to the phone on the bench and took the pen and pad that lay next to it.

      ‘I’m off to see what work lies ahead of me,’ he said, and he walked out the door. Lucian got out of his seat and watched as Merritt walked away.

      ‘He’ll come back,’ said Kitty to Lucian, who was peering through the dirty glass. He turned to Kitty and then looked back out of the window again. That’s odd, she thought, he never notices anyone.

      Kitty forgot about Lucian quickly as Jinty’s wails came crackling through the kitchen on the baby monitor. ‘Your sister’s awake. How about I get her up and we see what she’s up to?’ said Kitty cheerfully, and she took the two other children upstairs to see their sister.

      Merritt walked around the Lady’s Garden, as it was known, taking notes and thinking about Willow’s children. He hadn’t spent much time with children at all, but Lucian