The Summer Affair

Episode 1 - The meeting

ELLA

My room looks like a small bomb has hit it. Clothes seem to be everywhere, except for the place they actually need to be - my suitcase. The thought of spending a week at a writing club in the middle of nowhere was not appealing, but I would sell my left, or right foot to be able to spend the three weeks in Ibiza that the girls and I have booked. This was the deal. One week doing something to further my education and I would be rewarded with three weeks of sun, sea and (unbeknownst to dad) s*x. So here I am. The car is picking me up in less than an hour and I still haven’t packed. What do you take with you to a writing camp anyway? Why do they call it a camp when it’s for adults? All I can envision is a group of nerdy adults sitting round a fire toasting marshmallows. I look in my wardrobe once again and pull out the dullest clothes I own and throw them into the suitcase. As I pack my underwear I can’t help but pick up the lacy red babydoll and tuck it carefully under pile of black clothes. I had bought the delicate underwear only a few weeks ago as a surprise for James, to celebrate finishing our exams. Typically, he ended up absolutely bladdered by the time we got back to a rare empty house and he passed out before I’d even had chance to put it on. We’d been dating for just over a year and everybody took great pleasure in telling us what a perfect match we were. The only thing that I could tell we had in common was the fact that our families came from money and there was a standard we were both expected to withheld. My dad only approved of James as his father was his fathers and their fathers old chum. Generations of a false, money induced friendship had forced James and I into each other’s paths. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. He was, absolutely good looking, charming - all the things you’d want from a boyfriend. But he was boring, there was nothing to him, bar the good looks and money. I had felt zero guilt about ending things with him yesterday and with the mantra of new me, freshly single Ella was ready to have an unforgettable summer. I jump as the car horn beeps outside for me and with one last, pitiful look around my mess induced bedroom I let out a sigh. Just one week, one week to get through, and then my summer can really begin.

The car pulls up to a scene similar to the start of any horror movie. Surrounded by thick woodland, tiny wooden cabins sit amongst the marshy grass.

“Miss Ella? We are here.” Peterson gives me an apologetic look as he turns to me. I give him a reassuring smile back.

“Are you sure you don’t just fancy dropping me off at the airport? We don’t have to tell Dad.”

“Sorry Miss Ella. No can do.”

“It was worth an ask.” I say. I take another look out of the tinted windows. I can see people congregating by the largest cabin, suitcases and laptops in tow. Peterson opens the door for me and the smell of pine hits me. As my feet hit the dewy grass, I realise that my phone hasn’t gone off for a while. Great, no signal. A week of no wi-fi, no signal and woods. Peterson slams the boot and carries my lone suitcase to me. It suddenly hits me that I didn’t even pack a book to keep me entertained.

“I’ll be back next week” Peterson says, tapping my arm sympathetically.

“Last chance to take me to the airport.” I say. He just winks at me and gets back in the car. I watch gloomily as he disappears from site.

“Ella Woodhouse?” A voice from behind me asks. I turn to see who’s called me. A girl not much older than I.

“How did you know?” I ask her.

“You’re the last one on the list.” She says, shaking a paper list of names at me.

“Ah”

“Follow me, I’ll show you to your cabin.” She turns on her heel and I have to trot behind her, struggling with my suitcase to catch up.

“Classes start at 8am, but you are expected to join us for morning yoga at 6am, breakfast is served at 7. There is a two hour break at midday. You will have lunch followed by an hours hike with the rest of the group to refresh your body and induce creativity. Another class will follow until 6pm. Dinner at 7pm and then the evening is yours to do as you please.”

“Is there anything to do here?” I mumble. She stops in her tracks and turns to glare at me.

“You do realise this is the most elite writing camp? We have famous authors here every week. Some of the best novels have come from spending time here.”

I raise my arms defensively.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly opt to come here.”

“Great, another privileged white girl.” She mutters. We reach the cabin and she thrusts the key in my hand. “Welcome drinks are in an hour. You might want to dress up a bit, this isn’t just a week of slobbing about.” She eyes up my jeans and hoodie. “You did read the itinerary and dress code, right?”

“Uh yes, of course I did” I say, my cheeks burning thinking of the unread letter on my desk.

“Right.” She says. “I look forward to seeing you soon then.” She smirks at me as she walks away. s**t, the contents of my suitcase are totally not appropriate for this setting. Where the hell has my dad sent me?

“Ignore Kat, she’s always salty to newbies.”

“I think I’ve made an enemy today.” I say turning to the lady who’s approaching me. I feel rather taken aback by her appearance. She’s dressed in a tight red dress, which clings to her sculpted curves. Her blonde hair is curled immaculately, traipsing down her back like soft waves.

“I’m Greta Farthing” she says, extending her elegant hand.

“The Greta Farthing?” I stutter, taking her hand in mine. She smiles warmly at me, raising her eyebrow.

“I can’t remember the last time somebody was this excited to meet me.”

“My god, I’m a huge, I mean HUGE fan. Your latest book, where you traveled out to Afghanistan was so hard hitting. I cried for weeks after I’d finished it.”

“Thank you -“

“Ella. Ella Woodhouse.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Ella. I’m just in the cabin next to you. Please feel free to stop by anytime.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” She smiles again at me before she heads off to her own cabin.

“Wait!” I shout. She turns back to me, her eyebrows raised. “You don’t happen to have a cocktail dress I could borrow?” She grins at me.

“Come with me.”

I stand in front of the mirror in Greta’s dress. A plunging black midi, with gold chains draping across my chest. It certainly makes me look older than eighteen and as I apply my makeup it’s the first time I’ve really felt sexy. I take a step back, taking my full appearance in.

“Holy s**t” I mutter to myself. So camp definitely seems to be the wrong word for where I am. Luxury writers retreat might be more accurate. If dad had told me this is what it was then I might have taken more time to read the letter they’d sent. The cabin is nicer than most five star hotels I’ve stayed in. The freestanding roll top marble bath in the centre of the room is calling my name. Greta had kindly loaned me the most beautiful array of dresses to wear for the week. She had laughed when I had explained the situation and lavished in being able to dress me.

“You can be my protégée” she had teased, piling dresses into my arms. I was attempting to prepare myself that Kat was indeed correct in saying many famous authors attend here. My white privileged ass was certainly beginning to feel that way and even the Gucci dress wasn’t going to hide the fact that I am a teenage nobody with no writing credentials to my name. There’s a gentle knock on my door and I check my watch. 5pm.

I open the door tentatively and relax when I see it’s just Greta, who’s changed into a flowing baby blue chiffon gown.

“Wow.” She says, eyeing me up and down. “You can keep that, it looks ten times better on you than it does me.”

“I couldn’t possibly keep such a beautiful”- she raises her hand to silence me.

“I won’t hear of you saying no. Now come with me, I want to introduce you to some friends.” She takes my arm in hers, barely giving me time to close the door.

“So, are most people here already published authors?”

“Oh yes sweetie, your daddy must have some good connections to get you in here.” She notices my expression.

“But nobody need know you’re not published, or only eighteen for that matter.” She giggles. “Let’s give you a new identity.”

“A new identity?”

“Yes! Let’s play with these pretentious t***s. You can learn firsthand how selfish authors truly are.”

“Okaaaay” I say uncertainly. “You can take the lead.”

“Naturally” she says.

I can hear the chatter before we reach the room. Sounds of clinking glasses and laughter greet my ears as someone opens the door for us with a nod. Heads turn straight towards us as we enter the room. My senses seem to go hazy as Greta starts to introduce me to people.

“You must have read Kates work?” Shes saying to one elderly gentleman who seems far more interested in checking me out than listening to Greta. We slowly make our way around the room, I grab a flute of champagne off a silver tray and after a quick scout of the room to make sure nobody is watching, I start to down it.

“Thirsty?” A deep voice asks.

WYATT

I knew coming here was a mistake. My publisher had been certain that coming to this ‘elite authors retreat’ would help clear the writers block that had hit me. She had ignored my explanations that after writing a best selling novel I simply now had no ideas on what to do next and insisted that a week of mingling with fellow authors was sure to be the space my head needed. I had scoffed when I’d received the itinerary. Yoga, hiking, meditation. This was everything that I am not. I can’t help but feel exasperated at my appearance. Wearing black tie in the middle of the woods just felt pretentious. I attempt to make my hair look more unkept, a desperate attempt to keep a bit of myself. If I had my way, I would be shutting myself in this over the too luxurious cabin until it was time to attend the classes. With a final look in the mirror I take a shot of the complimentary whisky and head out of the door.

It was worse than I imagined. The room is full of authors far better than I and they all seem to know who I am. After thirty minutes of being asked what the plans are for my next novel I manage to escape to the back of the room, grabbing a flute of champagne as I go. As I hide in the shadows someone almost backs into me, totally oblivious to my presence. She looks around to make sure nobody is watching her and downs the champagne in one.

“Thirsty?” I can’t help but ask.

She jumps slightly in surprise and turns to me. I don’t recognise her and I can’t help but notice how attractive she is. Her dark hair cascades onto her shoulders, a fringe falling into her equally dark brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She murmurs softly. We are joined suddenly by someone I do recognise.

“Wyatt Brown.” Greta chimes. Before I know it she’s swooped in and kisses both my cheeks.

“Greta, it’s always a delight to see you. Especially when you look so beautiful.”

“Oh he always knows what to say!” She laughs, putting her arms around the stranger.

“Kate, this is Wyatt Brown. He recently made the Globers best selling list, beat me by what, four million copies?”

“Something like that.” I respond, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Wyatt, darling, this is Kate Gammack. You must have heard of her.” Kate smiles awkwardly at me. Her red lips parting slightly to reveal dazzling white teeth.

“I do apologise, I don’t think I’m familiar with your work.”

“Please don’t apologise.” She says dryly. “I’m afraid I have to say the same about you.” Ouch. Greta laughs and squeezes Kates shoulder.

“Please excuse us Wyatt, we are just making our way around the room.”

“Sure.” I say as the two of them walk away. I see Oscar Rimi spy Kate and make his way over, obviously making a much smoother introduction than I did. Now she’s laughing at something he’s saying. Typical. Slimy Oscar Rimi. I grab another glass of champagne and head back to my room.

I’m dreaming. I can’t work out where I am but I am surrounded by trees and bird song. It feels peaceful here. But there must be a woodpecker somewhere in one of these trees. The rhythmic tapping is very annoying and it seems to be getting louder. Now I can hear my name being called.

“Mr Brown?” A voice repeats. The knocking intensifies. “Mr Brown?”

My eyes fly open and as my head spins to work out where I am, I realise the rhythmic tapping is someone knocking on my door. What time is it? I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I’m sure I only had a few drinks last night.

“Mr Brown?” The voice repeats again, a little more urgently this time. I slide out of bed and throw on the hideously fluffy gown I’d tossed on the floor at some point. I open the door just as the girl with red hair moves to knock again.

“Mr Brown.” She gasps. “You scared me.”

“Apologies. You were the one knocking on my door however.”

“Yes!” She says shaking her head. “You’ve missed morning yoga and breakfast and you are now late to class. I’ve been sent to remind you that these things are compulsory.”

“s**t. s**t I’m sorry.” I groan. “I’ll get dressed, I’ll be there in like ten minutes max.” I shoot her an apologetic, puppy dog eye grimace and close the door in her face. I run to the elaborate marble sink and wash my face with cold water. The water helps wake me up and within five minutes I’m out of the cabin door and entering the classroom. I recognise the lady running the class as the bestselling author Isabelle Freight and instantly feel guilty for my tardiness.

“Why Mr Brown, how nice of you to join us.”

“Please accept my sincerest of apologies, the whisky last night must have had a delay reaction.” A few people titter and Isabelle raises a quiver of a smile.

“Take a seat please. We are exploring what seduces the reader to our work.”

“Great, great.” I nod, pulling my laptop from my bag I try to sit down as quietly as possible and opening my laptop for the first time in nearly a year I’m greeted by the familiar face of Farrah. A photo taken what seems like an eternity ago in Rome. Her beaming face stares out of the screen and I stare back for a moment. It was true that our breakup had led to the worst case of writers block i’d ever had. The muse for my best selling novel had left me before it had even started selling. With enormous effort I quickly change my background and force myself back into the room.