Read Online The Perfect Retreat by Kate Forster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Forster
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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
‘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
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