The Girl in the Photograph

by Kirsty Ferry

  She ached to find, perhaps, a smuggler’s barrel or a message in a bottle. Or a body. A body would be quite interesting, if rather disgusting. A body, she thought with a smile twitching at her lips, would jolly well chivvy some sort of reaction out of Lord Stuffy.

  She kicked off her buckled leather shoes, the little heels of which would sink most dreadfully into the sand, and picked up her long skirt. Her intention was to reach the bathing machine, don the navy-blue bathing dress she kept there and swim out to sea as far as possible. Left to her own devices, she would abandon the bathing dress altogether – she had been a model, for God’s sake, and there was not one bit of her that had not been sketched or sculpted at one time or another, so modesty was not the issue. Of course, the elderly artist in the Dower House might get a bit of a shock if he saw her swimming naked, come to think of it.

  But the biggest issue was that her husband was quite possibly peeping through the windows at the cove using that ridiculous telescope of his. She did not see why he should be treated to a view of something he really didn’t care for much at all in the privacy of their bedroom, through a lens which would magnify everything for his own pleasure.

  No. The bathing dress it was.

  Lorelei reached the bathing machine and danced up the six steps to the tightly shut door, which she wrenched open against the swelling of the wood. Inside, the place was like a dank, dim little barn, with one shuttered window looking out to sea. The first task was to fling the shutters open and she leaned out, closing her eyes against the wind that gusted across the beach. Walter would tell her it was too cold to bathe, but what did she care for his opinion?

  Lorelei’s next task was to rip her annoying, formal gown off and to drop it onto a chair in the corner. The frock was a ghastly shade of oyster trimmed with cream lace and she was not at all fond of it; but they had been to a luncheon with several of Walter’s associates and therefore she’d had to dress demurely and appropriately. Then she untied her layers of petticoats until she was finally down to the awful corset, which subsequently came off and was dropped onto the floor with a grimace of distaste.

  The bathing dress was stiff and cold, still salty from her visit two days ago, but she couldn’t see the point of taking it to the Hall, having it laundered and ironed, then bringing it back down here. She had clean ones up there anyway, but it was just as easy to leave one here to use.

  And the last thing she simply had to do was to unpin her formal chignon and let her thick, black hair tumble down her back. Then she plaited the heavy waves loosely, stopping half way down and tying the plait with a red ribbon that she kept in the bathing machine. Yes, it was more sensible to keep her hair pinned up for swimming; but she liked the feeling of it flowing behind her as she swam. It was not so pleasant afterwards, when it dripped down her back, but that’s what the pins were there for. The plait could be wound up on top of her head and pinned in place and that helped a little anyway.

  Lorelei left the machine, ensuring her towel was laid carefully on the steps so she could pick it up on the way back in, and headed down. Of course, the machine should really be in the water, so all she had to do to preserve her modesty was slip into the sea unseen – but that made no sense to her and she ran across the expanse of sand towards the waiting ocean. She waded out as far as possible, then began to swim with sure, confident strokes.

  Walter hated coming into the sea, so she knew that as long as she was down in the cove and in the water, she was relatively safe from the violent man she had so casually married.

  It was bliss.

  Walter trained the telescope on the ocean, framing the little figure in the blue dress striking out to sea. Her dark plait was tied with a red ribbon that streamed out behind her, her strokes taking her over to a rock which he knew she favoured.

  He shivered. He had never seen the appeal of the ocean. It was cold, it was salty and it was unpleasant, but she looked as if she belonged there. She was a veritable mermaid, and looked like her namesake. He could see her slim, toned arms ploughing up the water, her long legs keeping pace. He saw her breasts pressing against the wet fabric of her swimsuit as she rolled over and swam backstroke, her eyes blissfully closed while she moved through the water knowing, it seemed, exactly where she should aim for. A few yards away from the rock, she flipped over again, and he imagined those soft breasts suspended in the water, moving with the current …

  He altered the lens setting to keep her in focus and groaned as he felt a strong stirring of desire for her; then he flung the telescope away, disgusted. He turned from the window so he couldn’t see her, and he couldn’t be tempted by the filthy little whore he had married.

  He didn’t want to touch her ever again.

  Chapter Five

  Whitby, Present Day

  ‘Hey, a penny for them, mia cara.’

  Lissy stared straight ahead and hurried past Stefano. He had parked himself on a bench half way down the pier and there was no way – no way on earth – she could get past him effectively. And now, now he wanted to speak to her. Well, he knew what he could do with himself.

  ‘May I walk with you?’ He was off the bench and falling into step with her.

  ‘No.’ She hoped her curt response was enough to tell him he wasn’t welcome anywhere near her.

  ‘I am here for the duration, as they say, so you may as well get used to having me around.’

  ‘Duration? What the hell do you mean? Have we declared war or something and I didn’t know about it?’ Lissy retorted sharply. Okay – she had answered him; been drawn into a conversation with him. Again. For God’s sake …

  ‘I am not at war with anyone. However,’ Stefano shrugged, ‘maybe you are at war with me, but it is nothing a peace treaty cannot resolve.’

  ‘I beg to differ. Maybe you should have considered that before you allied yourself to someone else. It’s going to take more than a simple peace treaty to make me forgive you.’

  ‘But you did not know the full story!’ Stefano lost his temper at last. ‘You never listened. You never gave me a chance.’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly towards him.

  ‘You just admitted she was a mistake! You just said …’ Her words were cut off as he sealed her mouth with his. And suddenly it was like the last seven years had never happened and they were on the seashore at Newlyn and everything was lovely again … She closed her eyes and couldn’t help but let herself fall into the kiss and remember all those other kisses and all the times they had …

  And then, at length, he drew away from her, and his dark eyes burned into hers like embers.

  My curse be on the day when first I saw

  The brightness in those treacherous eyes of thine—

  Oh, hell. Now she was quoting bloody Rossetti in her head. That poem about Lady Pietra degli Scrovegni. The image of the painting it belonged to flitted across her mind’s eye, followed swiftly by an image of the very same model – Marie Spartali Stillman – in a photograph by Julia Margaret Cameron. It was her brother’s fault; he wanted to do this damn project and he’d spent all afternoon talking about it and now it was all blending together and then she’d had too much sun and this had happened, this thing with Stef and so …

  ‘No!’ She surprised even herself with force of the word. ‘No. I won’t let it happen again.’

  He was still staring at her, but now he was looking as surprised as she felt. ‘Why not, Lissy?’ he asked quietly. She remembered how much she had liked the sound of her nickname when he said it. ‘We both still feel the same. That just proved it. You cannot pretend.’

  ‘I can never trust you again,’ she snapped, ‘and I don’t need your explanations.’ Lissy pulled away from him. ‘I saw you with her. I saw you with a naked woman, hidden away in a secluded cove. What the hell was I supposed to think?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘No! I don’t want to hear it from you. You’ve had seven years, Stef.’ Lissy was pointing her forefinger at him, astonished, on some level, to see it was
shaking. But that wasn’t surprising, really. Her whole body was shaking. With temper. Yes. With temper. Not with anything else. Like lust. Or passion. Hell, no. With temper. Purely temper. ‘You’ve had seven years to come up with an explanation, Stef,’ she repeated. ‘Forget it. I’m leaving.’

  Stefano stepped back as if she’d punched him. Lissy took the opportunity to push past him and hurry back towards the town; back towards the fish and chip shops and the amusements and the candy floss vendors. Back towards all the seaside tat that proved some people were enjoying themselves this afternoon.

  Lissy cursed under her breath and began to run. The only place she could go was Jon’s studio. And she had to get there before Stef did in order to jump into her car and drive away. She couldn’t deal with any more of Stef today.

  Stefano, sitting on the pavement outside the studio, looked up as Jon and Becky strolled towards him. Grace, tired out, was in Becky’s arms, her thumb in her mouth and her eyes closed.

  ‘Where’s Lissy?’ Becky asked.

  Stef got to his feet as they came closer and smiled ruefully. ‘I do not know. She ran away.’

  ‘Ran away?’ Becky repeated. She looked at her husband. ‘Well, maybe that wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had, Jon.’

  Jon pulled a face. He unlocked the studio door and gestured for everyone to enter. Stef stood back and Becky went first. She sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area and rearranged Grace into a more comfortable position. The little girl’s sunhat fell off and Stef stooped down to pick it up. He laid it on the chair next to Becky and wandered over to the window.

  ‘Well her car has gone.’ Jon moved behind the desk where the till was. He produced a set of keys and began to take some of the money out, bagging the coins up and counting piles of notes. ‘Either that or the bloody thing was towed away. I told her those yellow lines weren’t the best place to park.’

  ‘I think she might have been clamped if they caught her,’ said Becky, ‘and she would still have been here causing a fuss if that was the case.’

  ‘She was probably annoyed that I used our space.’ Jon smiled suddenly. ‘I never thought of that. Well. She knows what it’s like around here to park. I’m surprised she even brought the car.’

  ‘We don’t have an airport in the town. That’s why,’ said Becky. ‘She might have taken the train, I suppose …’

  ‘Really!’ Stef had had enough. He spun around and faced them. ‘Does it matter how she got here? I want to know where she has gone. I need to talk to her. I need to speak to her and she needs to listen to me.’ He turned back to the window and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring out into the street. He sighed and swivelled to face Jon and Becky again. ‘Does anybody have any bright ideas?’

  Jon moved over to him and clapped him on the back. ‘Seriously, I have no idea, bright or otherwise, where she is. She could have driven back down to London for all I know. I didn’t think to ask where she was staying.’

  ‘She could have stayed here.’ Becky nodded in the direction of the rickety old staircase up to the flat. ‘The bed’s always made. We always have coffee in, if nothing else, but she must have planned something. She didn’t just call in on spec. We knew she was coming. She told us she was coming – as Jon clearly knew, because he invited you.’ She pulled a face, perhaps wondering if that had been a good thing or not. ‘But I guess she already had something sorted.’

  ‘With Lissy, who knows.’ Jon walked over and gently stroked Grace’s hair. The girl stirred in her sleep and snuggled into Becky. Stef thought she was a very endearing child and saw again, in his mind’s eye, Lissy digging holes with her in the sand. He frowned, the images leading him to places he didn’t want to go to, just yet.

  ‘She might have rented a caravan for all we know,’ Jon continued. ‘The point is, she’s run off and I think you’re to blame, mate.’ He suddenly grinned at Stef. ‘How does it feel to still have that sort of power over her after so long?’

  ‘Power?’ cried Stef. ‘She always had the power in the relationship. She’s temperamental, that’s for sure.’ He frowned again and sat down, resting on the edge of a table and crossing his legs.

  ‘That’s not entirely her fault,’ said Becky. ‘You know about the guy she was with after Uni, don’t you? It’s understandable. She’s only ever tried to protect herself since then.’

  ‘Protect herself and organise everybody else’s relationships,’ said Jon wryly. ‘Me and Becky, Cori and Simon – I suspect she thought of us all as projects in some way. She likes to take credit for us. It’s the only way she feels in control, I think, because she can never control her own love life.’

  ‘But I’ve never seen her so rattled before.’ Becky shook her head. ‘I seriously think she isn’t going to forgive you any time soon, Stef.’ Stef opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Becky shook her head. ‘I don’t want to hear about it. It’s between you two. Now. Have you got somewhere to stay tonight, or is that a really stupid question?’

  ‘No.’ Stef sighed and re-crossed his legs. ‘It is not a stupid question. I’m in a B & B. Well, it’s more an apartment in the town, but it’s like a B & B. I had hoped I would need a little space. I hoped Lissy might decide she would like to stay with me. You never can tell.’ He smiled, mirthlessly. ‘Oh, well. It was not to be. I just hope that she turns up somewhere.’ He stood up and held his hand out to Jon. ‘Goodnight, my friend. I will see you tomorrow. We must discuss the project. Your friends are also visiting, yes? Your artist friend and his partner?’

  ‘Yes, Cori and Simon will be here at some point. We need Cori for some of the pictures.’

  ‘It’s just as well she’s so good natured,’ Becky commented, ‘being treated like a sex object.’

  ‘She’s not a sex object!’ Jon protested. ‘She’s like a model or a muse or something. And anyway, she’s used to it by now. She’s sat for so many of Simon’s paintings. Come on, Stef, I’ll see you out.’

  ‘Thank you. And thank you for inviting me, Jon. It might have worked,’ said Stef.

  ‘It still might,’ responded Jon. ‘Don’t give up just yet.’

  ‘I have no intention of giving up. Lissy is what I want, and Lissy is what I will fight for. No more time wasting. I’d walk through the fires of hell to hold her hand properly again.’

  And as he stepped out into the little cobbled street, Stef swore to himself that he wouldn’t leave Britain this time without getting it all resolved.

  He walked back to his apartment in the gathering dusk. The town was still alive, however, and every now and then black, shadowy figures would flit past him. The Goth tourists, of course; maybe seeing if they could raise the dead at the Abbey. Well, he wasn’t interested in the dead. There was only Lissy who interested him, wherever she had disappeared to.

  Not for the first time, he wished he could turn back time – roll back the years and be in Newlyn again with his Elisabetta. Yes, he realised now that he had made a huge mistake and knew what he should have done. It was just disastrous that Lissy had seen them, and it had all stemmed from there.

  He walked up the steps and unlocked the door of the big, white Victorian house and headed up the stairs. He had rented the first floor. It seemed a bit of a waste of time and money now. It served him right; he shouldn’t have been so conceited as to think he could come here and win her back without really trying.

  He walked in the front door of the apartment and placed his camera down on the soft sofa, then headed into the kitchen. Pulling open the refrigerator, he took out a bottle of champagne. Yes, he had been very presumptuous. But as his love was not with him to share the champagne, he felt obliged to drink it himself.

  Chapter Six

  The Cove, 1905

  Julian MacDonald Cooper watched the woman with the long, dark plait race lightly across the sand and strike out to sea. She was indeed a pleasure to behold and his intuition told him that she would make an excellent model and would be just as much of a pleasure to work
with.

  He wasn’t sure who she was. He had just left the Dower House for a walk in the cove after a late lunch and he had come across this vision as he rounded the path down onto the beach. He understood it to be a private beach, so he wondered if she was a member of the Scarsdale household or a friend of theirs they had graced with access to the cove.

  But he was determined to find out. He strode onto the beach feeling the sand between his toes. He never bothered with shoes or formality when he came down here. Formality was for working and impressing clients. Bare feet and an open-necked shirt would do him very well for the beach. He ran a hand through his longer-than-generally-acceptable dark hair and smiled to himself as he remembered the idea he’d had earlier today about finding a barber in Staithes.

  That had never happened, had it?

  Well, there was always tomorrow.

  Julian had heard a lot about Staithes and the artists’ colony that had sprung up about ten years ago. He feared their days were numbered though; their 1905 exhibition had been subsumed into the Yorkshire Union of Artists’ work, and he had heard other plans were afoot to hold an exhibition in August – which would clash terribly with the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy in London. And the art aficionados would be down in the capital along with the wealthy patrons, not up here in a little fishing village on the north-east coast of England.

  So that was why he had come down to Yorkshire from Edinburgh. Firstly, to observe how things were now, and secondly, to record Staithes and its colony for posterity in his favourite medium – photography. He already had a dealer lined up in North Yorkshire to buy and sell his photographs.

  And that woman, who he now realised was swimming over to some rocks with the clear intention of climbing onto them, was just begging to be used as a model in some shape or form. But first, he conceded, he would actually have to speak to her.

  ‘Ahoy there!’