wide awake. She knew what she had to do to make it right. She dialled the number and heard Kitty’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Kitty, it’s Willow. Don’t hang up, I have to say something.’ Willow took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry. I am so incredibly sorry for everything. I was selfish and awful and ugly and vile. You don’t have to forgive me, but I hope you can one day. You treated my children better than I ever did and what you taught Lucian really helped him. I wish I had known about your reading problems, and I wish I could have helped. I’m a different person now – you helped me become that, but I hope not at your detriment. You are a wonderful person, Kitty, and you deserve more than working for me and I truly hope you move forward and find something that you can put all your wonderful skills into.’ Willow waited, she could hear Kitty breathing on the other end of the phone.
‘How is Jinty? Walking yet?’ she asked, and Willow felt a flood of relief at the question.
‘Yes, and into everything.’
‘And Poppy?’ asked Kitty.
‘Hilarious! She loves nursery,’ said Willow. ‘She likes the dress-up box.’
‘I can imagine,’ Kitty laughed.
‘And Lucian’s talking a little now; each day he gets more confident.’
‘That’s great Willow,’ said Kitty truthfully. She was thrilled the children were happy, and it was good that Willow apologised.
‘How’s Merritt?’ asked Willow casually.
‘Busy,’ said Kitty, thoughtfully.
‘I’m sure. Please send him my love,’ said Willow. ‘I would like to say sorry to him also but I don’t think he would take my call,’ she said. Kitty wasn’t sure if the phone line was breaking up or Willow’s voice was cracking. She frowned.
‘Write a letter,’ Kitty said suddenly.
‘What?’ asked Willow.
‘Write a letter to him. Make it heartfelt and don’t worry about the spelling. Just say it as it’s meant to be said,’ she instructed firmly.
Willow sat thinking. ‘I will. Thanks Kitty.’
‘No problem,’ said Kitty smiling.
‘I’m back in London soon. Will you come and see the children? Have a cup of tea with me? I’ve stopped drinking coffee; I am a true Englishwoman now.’ She laughed.
‘I will. I would like to,’ said Kitty, and just before she hung up she spoke again quickly. ‘Willow?’
‘Yes?’ came the careful reply.
‘I forgive you,’ she said, and she meant it. Christmas was about forgiveness after all, she thought as she looked at Harold’s immaculately decorated pine tree, covered in cupids. Christmas cupids, she thought as she went upstairs. Only Harold would have such a thing.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ivo drove his new Volvo down the driveway of his parents’ home.
Evelyn Casselton was waiting for him by the front door. As an only child, his appearance on Christmas Day was important to his parents. He felt the heavy weight of expectations as he stopped the car.
‘A new car, Ivo!’ exclaimed his mother.
‘Yes,’ said Ivo, but he offered no other information. He would wait until the three of them had run out of things to talk about. He calculated that the car talk could take up at least half an hour, even an hour if he got his father banging on about foreign cars and ownership.
Picking up his overnight bag – he had promised to stay the night – he walked towards his mother.
‘Hello Mum,’ he said as he bent down to kiss her powdered cheek.
‘Dad’s inside; he’s looking forward to seeing you,’ she said.
Ivo doubted that very much. His relationship with his father wasn’t exactly warm. Ivo felt like a disappointment to his high-achieving father – and he was, he thought, in many ways. His father was Earl of Casselton; he ran the large Casselton estate and was a committed member of the local Conservative Party. He was educated and careful. The phrase ‘the glass is half empty’ summed him up perfectly.
Ivo dumped his bag in the large foyer, the paintings of his ancestors frowning down on him, and walked into the drawing room.
‘Hi Dad,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas.’
His father stood up from the leather wingback chair and extended his hand. ‘Ivo. Merry Christmas,’ he said.
His mother walked into the room. ‘Perry, Ivo has a new Volvo,’ she said proudly.
Ivo winced. It seemed the car conversation would be sooner than he had thought.
‘Do you?’ asked his father, surprised. Ivo was forever cadging money from them – well, mostly from his mother, although Perry knew but didn’t say anything.
‘Where did you get that?’ he asked his son.
Ivo stiffened. ‘From my wages,’ he said.
‘As what?’