The Perfect Retreat (40 page)

She was good at watching, she had told her school careers counsellor when asked about her skills. The counsellor had huffed and said that unless Kitty planned to be a movie critic or a peeping Tom, there wasn’t much scope for watching as a job.

Kitty had thought about becoming a film critic, but when she realised she would have to write long essays, she put that thought to rest.

What jobs could she do? Some kids grew up with an innate sense of what they wanted to become, or their teachers and parents pointed them in the direction of the things they excelled at. But Kitty hadn’t been told, and nor had she found out for herself.

Her older brother Merritt had found his purpose and no little fame as he travelled the world helping to restore historic gardens, like the one he and Kitty had grown up with at their crumbling ancestral home, Middlemist. But Kitty had nothing to do – no obvious skill or calling. Since she had arrived in London, she’d spent hours wandering the streets, looking at shops and people. She had little money to spare after paying rent and little to occupy her besides watching the television that came with her dingy furnished bedsit.

Coming to London for work after she and Merritt had locked up Middlemist had seemed like a wonderful idea, until she arrived. Now she was tired and wanted to cry or sleep most of the time.

The sun warmed the top of Kitty’s black bobbed hair and she closed her eyes, trying to think of things she was good at. Nothing sprang to mind. A model? She laughed to herself, acknowledging that her short curvy body was the opposite of a model’s. Maybe she could be an artist’s model, they liked big boobs, didn’t they?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a child crying. She opened her eyes and saw a distressed, little curly-headed girl.

Kitty stood up and walked to the child. ‘Are you lost, little one?’ she asked gently.

The child looked at her horrified. ‘I’ve lost Anna.’

Kitty reached down and took her hand. ‘You know people always come looking for lost children. I think we should just sit here in the sunshine and wait for Anna, she’s bound to come along soon.’

The child dutifully came and sat next to Kitty on the seat.

‘I’m Kitty. What’s your name?’

‘Nancy.’

‘What a gorgeous name,’ said Kitty and the girl smiled a little.

‘Is Anna your mummy?’

‘No, she’s my nanny.’ Kitty saw Nancy’s eyes fill with tears.

‘It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.’

They sat quietly for fifteen minutes, Kitty chatting and amusing Nancy as best she could with stories and a daisy chain. Kitty was sure that any minute some stressed and desperate young woman would come bursting into view, frantically searching for Nancy.

‘Well, I don’t know where Anna’s got to,’ Kitty said finally, standing up and stretching. ‘Let’s go look for her. Do you remember where you were, Nancy?’

‘Yes, I was feeding the ducks.’

Kitty smiled. ‘Okay then, let’s start by the pond.’

Nancy held her hand as they walked down the path towards the pond.

‘There she is!’ cried Nancy and Kitty squinted to see a girl about her own age sitting on a picnic blanket and talking on the phone.

‘She’s using my phone that Mummy gave me,’ Nancy said sadly. ‘It’s supposed to be for ’mergencies.’

Nancy ran up to Anna and jumped on her back. ‘Ouch, get off! I’m on the phone,’ Anna said crossly and the little girl toppled onto the grass.

Kitty frowned. ‘Hello, are you Nancy’s nanny?’

‘Yes, I am. What’s it to you?’

Kitty nodded, and then looked at Nancy. ‘Do you ring your mummy often?’

Nancy shrugged.

‘Would you like to ring her now?’

Kitty snatched the phone off Anna and spoke into it. ‘Sorry, emergency.’ Then she handed it to Nancy, who carefully selected Mummy from the list of contacts.

Anna stood up, scowling. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Your job actually,’ Kitty said. She heard Nancy say hello to her mother and gently took the phone from her hand. ‘Hello, my name’s Kitty and I’m at Hyde Park with your daughter. She was wandering about lost. When we finally found Anna, she was gabbing on the phone, didn’t even know Nancy had gone. I just thought you should know.’

Anna’s mouth was opening and shutting like a goldfish as Kitty listened to Nancy’s mother. ‘Of course, no problem. We’re in the Italian Gardens. Absolutely. I’ll be here,’ Kitty said.

She looked at Anna. ‘Nancy’s mother says you’re no longer needed and she’s on her way. I’ll wait here with Nancy until she picks her up, thanks anyway.’

‘You can’t do that,’ Anna yelled.

Nancy moved closer to Kitty and took her hand.

‘I can, I did and I have,’ Kitty said firmly.

When Nancy’s mother arrived she insisted on giving Kitty fifty pounds for her trouble. Deep in thought, Kitty watched Nancy leave the park with her obviously stressed-out working mother.

Kitt wondered why she found it so easy to stand up for small and vulnerable creatures yet so hard to do it for herself. As a child Kitty had rescued badgers and baby foxes and rabbits. She had protested about hunting and fought her father on his plan to drain the lake, killing all the fish.

What would her life have been like if she had had someone to fight for her like she had just fought for little Nancy?’

And then it came to her. This was something she could do. She could be a nanny. She wouldn’t need to do anything but care for kids and she could probably fudge her way through the rest. How hard could it be?

Kitty went straight back to her bedsit and looked up the numbers of local nanny agencies. She registered with three of them. They weren’t very helpful, though, all telling her she needed a driver’s license and some previous experience. She wanted to tell them about Nancy, how she had saved her from potential harm, but instead she had just meekly thanked them for the advice.

Defeated, she lay on her bed and looked at the cracked ceiling, her hopes wilting like the daisy chain around her neck.

Apparently, nannying was harder than it looked.

Kerr had only been back in the house for twenty minutes and already he was causing a ruckus. Willow was shocked to find his powerful voice with its strong Scottish accent grating on her nerves.

She had hoped he’d arrive home in a good mood and that they could have a moment in their bedroom so she could tell him about the baby, but Kerr had stormed about the house, bitching about the lack of airplay for the band’s new album.

‘It’s not bloody fair,’ he said picking up Poppy and swinging her around by her arms.

Poppy had just had cheesy pasta and orange juice for dinner, and Willow wondered if Poppy’s food was preparing to resurface. Willow didn’t have to wonder for long though.

‘Fuckin’ hell, Poppy,’ Kerr yelled as Poppy threw up over his shoulder and onto the carpet.

He handed a now crying Poppy to Willow saying, ‘Bugger this, I’m going downstairs.’ He thumped down to his basement studio.

With a sinking heart Willow comforted Poppy, wishing she hadn’t given her housekeeper the day off as she scooped the sick into the Alessi dustpan.

Once the carpet was clean and the children were settled in front of Mary Poppins on Blu-ray, Willow walked downstairs to find Kerr sitting at his recording console. The sound of his first hit played through the Bose speakers and Willow was transported back to the Hollywood Bowl and the first night she had seen Kerr.

He was unlike any man she’d known, with his roughness and attitude. He had physically fought a particularly persistent photographer who had trailed them on their first date. Although Willow didn’t condone the violence, part of her had found it thrilling the way Kerr had smashed the man’s camera and told him to ‘leave us the fuck alone’. Kerr didn’t care what he looked like back then, he was just himself. Now he was all designer jeans and arrogance.

He looked up and saw Willow smiling ruefully as she walked towards him. He held out his hand.

‘Sorry, Will, I’m a bit stressed,’ he said.

She took his hand and guided it up under her dress as she slid onto his lap. She knew what would calm him down. ‘Welcome home, Kerr,’ she told him, kissing him deeply and feeling him grow hard beneath her. He tugged the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders and cupped her breasts, stroking and squeezing them until Willow moaned.

‘Such great tits,’ he said, lowering his head to run his tongue around each nipple.

He’d always been a sucker for breasts, Willow thought, arching her back and grinding herself against his bulging cock. Kerr’s hands were now under her dress, pulling at the fly on his jeans, ripping aside her lace thong. She reached down and guided him inside her and she heard him groan.

‘Willow, baby,’ he said in her ear. As Kerr’s song continued to play on loop in the background, they fucked, first on his chair, then with Willow perched up on the console, just like old times.

It was fast and fun, like it had been in Rome. Willow smiled with satisfaction as Kerr came inside her, groaning into her shoulder.

‘God, I needed that,’ he said as he slid out of her, immediately pulling his underwear and jeans back up. ‘You know you’ve never been sexier, babe.’

Willow took a deep breath. There would never be a better time. ‘Well, you know why that is, don’t you? Kerr, I’m pregnant.’

Kerr stood frozen on the spot. ‘What? Pregnant? You can’t be.’

‘But I am,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘And I – I hoped you’d be pleased.’

‘Pleased? You’re joking, right? Willow, we can’t have another baby.’ His face paled.

‘Why?’

‘I thought we’d at least talk about it first.’ He shook his head. ‘This isn’t what I want.’

‘But we can afford it, we’re married, we love each other … what’s the problem? It’s not like I have anything else to do,’ she said, a reminder that he was the one who’d wanted her home with the kids, not out making movies.

Kerr swallowed and looked away. ‘I don’t want another child, Willow. I’m sorry, I just don’t.’

Willow felt sick again. The quiet finality in his voice made her panicky. ‘Kerr.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Please, we have to talk about this.’

He spun around and grabbed her wrist tightly. ‘No, Willow, we don’t. The two we’ve got are already too much for us. Look, I love them. But I don’t remember signing up to play happy families. I’m a muso, I’m out on the road half the time. And I need you to be there for me. But you’re not, are you? You’re always home with the bloody kids!’

‘I can get a nanny,’ Willow said, her eyes filling with tears.

‘You can get whatever you want, Willow, but I’m telling you now, if you do this, you’ll be doing it alone.’ He dropped her wrist. Willow was shaking as she stared at Kerr’s red face and dilated pupils. Was he on coke again? she wondered.

Before she could say any more, Kerr turned and left the studio, thumping back up the stairs. Moments later Willow heard the front door slam. Hot tears of shame fell down her face. What about what she wanted? When did Kerr ever ask her that? He made all the decisions, from her not working to the art they put on the walls.

She walked up the stairs and through to her perfect family kitchen. But we aren’t a family, Willow thought, as she watched Kerr back his gleaming silver Bentley out of the garage. Not really. And we won’t ever be unless Kerr grows up. But he’d be back, he had to come back, didn’t he? Willow knew she had to make a choice. She wanted to have a baby, not be married to one.

One thing was for sure, though: she wasn’t going to do it alone.

‘Yes, hello?’ Kitty said into her prepaid mobile phone.

‘Ah, hello. This is Joanna Whatley Smythe from the Belgravia Nanny Agency. I’m looking for Katinka Middlemist.’

Kitty rolled her eyes at the sound of her own silly name. ‘Kitty, I prefer Kitty,’ she said.

‘Right. Well, are you available for an interview this afternoon?’

‘Yes, sure, of course,’ said Kitty excitedly.

Finally, someone had seen her application and didn’t mind her not being able to drive.

The woman gave Kitty the address and time and Kitty listened carefully, keeping the details in her memory.

‘The client has two small children, and it’s a live-in position, is that a problem?’

‘Not at all.’ Kitty thought about her horrible bedsit, where the hallways smelt of semen.

‘And just one more thing.’

‘Yes?’ Kitty waited for the guillotine to fall.

‘She’s very famous. You’ll have to sign a privacy agreement when you arrive.’

‘Okay,’ said Kitty, momentarily too shocked to ask who the person was.

It was more fun to guess anyway, she thought later, as she washed and blow-dried her hair. Was it Elle Macpherson? she wondered as she put on her stockings. Or maybe a Royal, she thought, not that she was impressed by Royals. Titles and stately homes meant little to Kitty. A title didn’t pay the electricity bill. Perhaps it was Charlotte Church? She had children, didn’t she? Kitty wondered as she zipped up her dress and put on some lipstick.

Kitty’s mind was filled with celebrities as she slipped her feet into her shoes and picked up her bag and coat. As she walked out of the bedsit she passed two men arguing loudly in the grimy street, and then nimbly sidestepped some dog shit on the pavement.

The woman’s voice from the nanny agency rang in her head: ‘It’s a live-in position, is that a problem?’

No, not at all, Kitty thought as she hailed a taxi. She didn’t have time to waste and she didn’t want to be late, she reasoned as the taxi drove her though the city. Besides, she had the money Nancy’s mother had given her in the park. Eventually they stopped in front of an elegant white three-storey house with a tall iron fence.

Kitty pressed the button on a speaker with more confidence than she actually felt. She wished Maria Von Trapp would come and sing her the song about confidence from The Sound of Music. Kitty had always loved that scene and she lifted her head the way Maria would have done, plastering on a beatific smile.

‘Yes, who is it?’ she heard.

‘Kitty Middlemist. I’m here for the interview.’ Kitty said into the intercom as a tiny camera on the other side of the gate adjusted its angle to focus on her. She smiled and gave a little wave.