The Girl in the Photograph

by Kirsty Ferry

  Julian opened his mouth to protest, but his feet were unwilling to turn away from the woman and his eyes certainly didn’t want to lose sight of her any time soon either. Like an automaton, he found himself following her towards the huge glass doors and before he knew it, he was outside on the stone terrace at the back of the Hall, overlooking the gardens.

  Julian was simply staring at her as if he had been struck dumb. His mouth kept opening and then he would shake his head and close it again; all ready for the cycle to repeat. Lorelei felt utterly miserable.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quite pathetically. ‘I was enjoying the anonymity of it all.’ An ironic thing to say, she thought, for a woman who wanted more than anonymity in the paintings she had appeared in.

  ‘Yet I still don’t know your name,’ said Julian eventually. In what might have been a fit of pique, he ripped his necktie off and began twisting it between his fingers. ‘All this time. You just didn’t tell me and you let me find out like this. At a bloody stupid ball in your bloody big house.’ He let go of the tie and pushed his hair away from his face.

  ‘All this time?’ repeated Lorelei, watching the movement covetously. ‘There, now, I beg to differ. It’s simply been a few hours since we met. Not long at all.’

  ‘What are you called?’ he asked, quite sharply, bringing her attention back to his face. His deep brown eyes, even darker in the evening light, seemed to hold a glint of steel as he stared down at her.

  ‘Lorelei. My name is Lorelei.’ She held his gaze in just as steely a fashion.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ snapped Julian. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  ‘It is Lorelei!’

  ‘Oh, yes. Like the famous Siren. Like a mermaid. Of course your name is Lorelei.’ Julian bowed dramatically. ‘No coincidence, then, that I found you sitting on a rock in the middle of the sea, eh?’

  The Scottish accent was magnified deliciously as Julian Cooper became more agitated and sarcastic.

  ‘No coincidence at all,’ replied Lorelei. ‘I like sitting on that rock.’

  ‘Waiting for unsuspecting sailors to crawl up onto it and be lashed to their death, eh? Or unsuspecting photographers. God!’ He shook his head. ‘Unsuspecting photographers.’

  ‘I’d like you to tell me more about your photography,’ tried Lorelei. ‘I’m very interested.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Julian shook his head sadly. ‘I’m just someone who is different and interesting to you. A summer visitor who you can play games with. I don’t like games. And now I really do think I should be going. Goodnight, Lady Scarsdale.’ Lorelei thought there was a slightly venomous tone to that comment. ‘I shall try to keep out of your way over the next few weeks. Running an estate like this cannot be an easy task and I am sure you are extremely busy.’ She saw him look into the seething mass of gowns and suits which clogged up the ballroom and he looked distinctly unimpressed with it all.

  ‘No. You’re not just a summer visitor. You’re an artist – a photographer. Disbelieve me if you will, but I have a great affinity for such people.’

  ‘I would like to believe you, Lady Scarsdale – indeed, I may wish to linger here and discuss the arts with you a little longer. But I see your presence is required within your ballroom. Your husband looks rather agitated and seems to be searching for you.’ The formal tone of voice didn’t suit Julian and Lorelei narrowed her eyes. Then she turned to look inside the room and felt them widen in horror.

  ‘Oh, no. Oh, the stupid girl,’ she cried. Florrie was hanging onto a very worried looking Archie and her hair had tumbled completely out of its chignon. Archie tried to stand her gently upright and she stumbled again, laughing and bumping into one of the dinner-jacketed guests, who then spilled his drink over his gargantuan and over-flounced wife. ‘I told Cook that punch was too strong. Goodness only knows what she added to the stuff,’ moaned Lorelei. She turned to speak to Julian, to beg him to bear with her a little longer, until she sorted the carnage out – but he had vanished into the night.

  All that was left was his necktie, dangling over the balustrade. Lorelei quickly picked it up and tucked it into her bodice, then hurried into the ballroom to attend to Florrie’s disgrace.

  The whore had disappeared. God, it was impossible to keep her in one place. She had begged him to host this ridiculous ball, for the stupid, fat daughter of his delicious cousin Mary, and she had vanished into the night, like the vermin she was.

  Mary. Ah, Mary. She was the woman his harlot of a wife should aspire to be like. Mary – a true lady: elegant, decorous, obedient. Yes, Walter. No, Walter. Please, Walter, whatever you want, Walter. Not like the bitch in heat he had married, yelping her pleasure out into the night after they’d coupled. Disgusting. He’d known then, that first time, what she was like. He should have thrown her out there and then.

  He had watched the strumpet in the ballroom, flirting with the men, nodding to them as she passed, swaying her hips as she walked. Provocative. Filthy. He scanned the room, repulsed by the disgraceful behaviour of that little piglet Florence. Where the hell was his wife when he needed her? Where the hell was she?

  His eyes drifted across to the doors leading out onto the terrace. There she was, a sliver of white, talking to yet another man. He was about to stride across and drag her back in, when she turned and saw him.

  That was better. She had started to hurry towards him and the man had melted away. She looked contrite, as she should do. He narrowed his eyes. Did she look contrite enough? If she didn’t, he would damn well make sure she felt extremely sorry later tonight. His breath caught as he momentarily thought of the pleasure that would give him, then he stamped the feeling down.

  Look what she did to him. Look what she made him think about.

  The disgusting little tramp.

  Chapter Nine

  Whitby, Present Day

  Lissy watched through narrowed eyes as Jon pulled up behind the studio in his car. She heard him swear through the open window.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ he said. ‘The woman is shameless.’

  ‘And she doesn’t even look guilty,’ added Becky. ‘That’s a skill in itself.’

  Lissy had deliberately parked squarely in Jon’s parking space and had no intention of moving.

  ‘What time do we have to leave our house to get our parking space?’ asked Jon, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. ‘Eh, Lissy? What bloody time?’

  Lissy’s eyes slid away from Jon and Becky; she tilted her head, looking behind them, trying to see into the car. ‘Where’s my god-daughter?’

  ‘Nursery,’ said Becky. ‘And don’t try to change the subject. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Too long. Because you’re late!’ Lissy turned to face them. ‘I hardly slept, okay? I kept thinking of Stef and what he did and how you had the audacity to invite him here. So yes; I took your car space out of protest.’ She tried hard to keep the wobble out of her voice. This pathetic person she was turning into was not the image she usually projected; but bits of the shiny, varnished Lissy seemed to be crumbling hourly, just like the old cliffs in Whitby. Whoosh. One day, she’d end up in the sea and simply float away, broken into pieces.

  ‘Well you can just unprotest and get the hell out of my space,’ said Jon. ‘I have appointments booked today and I can’t miss them. Oh, and Stef is coming over later. We need to discuss the plans for the photo shoot, so Cori and Simon can just fall in with it all. Stef has some great ideas about it; he’s done similar things before. Do you realise how successful he’s been with his photography?’

  ‘I’ve not made it my business to follow anything he’s done.’ Lissy was thrown for a second as she thought about Stef coming here and the possibility of seeing him again. Despite herself, a few butterflies rose up in her stomach, then subsided. ‘I don’t care what he’s been up to and as far as I’m concerned, he can go back to Italy and back to that woman.’

  ‘So what are you doing here today, then?’ asked Becky. ‘I’m sure y
ou guessed he’d have to come back to see Jon, and perhaps you were maybe planning to casually bump into him? Casually have another slanging match that doesn’t achieve anything? Just for the simple reason that you want to see him, but you don’t know what to do about how you feel? He’s Stef. He’s not a married man, you know, like that arse who screwed you over after Uni. We’re a long way past that one now.’

  The comments took Lissy by surprise; they were so close to the mark that they were enough to break down her last, fragile defences. ‘Oh, Becky!’ She gave up. She sat down on the edge of a flower trough at the corner of the building and put her head in her hands. ‘What am I going to do?’ She looked up at her best friend, who was possibly one of the only people that knew the real Lissy hidden beneath the London veneer. Even Cori, for all they’d been to university together, didn’t know the half of what had happened afterwards. ‘I’m lost. I’m absolutely lost. I always have been as far as he’s concerned. But how can I ever trust him again?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Becky sat down next to her. ‘Whatever went on, went on – but I think you know what you have to do. Between you, you have got to sort it out.’

  Lissy took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me says I don’t care anymore.’

  Becky smiled and looked at her friend. ‘Lissy. You do care. You care loads. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be in this state.’

  ‘But a big part of me wishes he would go back to Italy and stay there,’ said Lissy. ‘Whatever he says won’t make up for what he did. I can’t believe you,’ she looked at Jon, ‘even brought him here. But I’m sorry, Becky. You’re right.’ Lissy sighed and gave Becky a quick hug. ‘He has got a hold on me. I wouldn’t give a toss if I didn’t care so damn much. I still can’t believe that he would throw away what we had for her.’

  ‘Well, if you feel that strongly, you have to try to salvage something,’ said Becky.

  ‘Maybe. But I can’t think about it now.’ Lissy ran her hand across her eyes to wipe the tears away. Oh, but she could think of him, she could think about those lips and those eyes and how his hair felt, soft and springy, between her fingers … ‘I have tried to do something nice for you. Even though you all think I’m awful. And I did it before he came here, so it’s got nothing to do with that, just so you know. Let me show you.’

  Lissy dug her hand into her pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper.

  ‘Paper, Lissy?’ teased Jon. ‘I’ve never seen you use paper for ages. The information’s always in your phone.’

  Lissy rolled her eyes heavenwards and ignored her brother; she opened the paper up and smoothed it out. ‘Sometimes, you have to use it. Look.’ She directed her comment pointedly to Becky, thrusting the paper at her sister-in-law. ‘Directions.’

  ‘Directions?’ Becky looked confused. She took the paper from Lissy and scanned it. Then she looked up at her and frowned. ‘I don’t understand. This place is just up the coast, isn’t it? I know how to drive north. And if I keep the sea to my right I can’t go wrong, can I? But why would I want to go to Staithes?’

  ‘It’s not quite Staithes. Look again. There.’ Lissy jabbed her forefinger at the map.

  Jon came over and peered at it as well. ‘What’s that? A little bay?’

  ‘Not just any little bay.’ Lissy looked at Jon. ‘It’s my little bay.’

  ‘What?’ Jon stared at her. ‘Your little bay?’

  ‘Yes. Well. It’s mine for the summer anyway. I’ve rented this house here.’ She pointed to a small square marked on the map. ‘The bay – or cove, rather – belongs to the land. It’s private. All sheltered, but with a lovely sandy beach and some rock pools and things. Staithes had a fabulous artists’ colony, you know, back in the late 1800s. They were all inspired by the Impressionists. Harold and Laura Knight had a studio there …’ Lissy suddenly stopped speaking and ducked her head.

  ‘The Knights,’ remarked Jon, ‘from the Newlyn Colony – down in Cornwall?’

  ‘That’s right,’ muttered Lissy, without looking up. Cornwall. Of course Jon would remember that. Of course he would.

  ‘Interesting,’ said Jon.

  ‘Not really.’ Lissy lifted her head up and glared at him. ‘I did all of this before Stef came, remember? I can’t just abandon Cornwall to him and my memories and the Knights are just a link, that’s all. What I was trying to say, was I knew you wanted somewhere for that stupid photography project, so I did some investigation and this was too good a chance to miss. It’s mine all summer, including the beach. Oh, and it’s got a beach hut thing on the bay as well. With a little garden out the back.’ She mimed the shape of a square and looked at Becky. ‘For the child. You can pen her in.’

  Becky burst out laughing. ‘Pen her in? Grace? Seriously?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Lissy. ‘It’ll keep her perfectly safe, won’t it?’

  Becky just shook her head. ‘Grace won’t be penned anywhere. But good luck if you want to try it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lissy. ‘Well. That’s a disappointment.’

  ‘It’s a nice idea though.’ Jon was clearly trying not to laugh. ‘Thank you for thinking of her. And of us. We’ll pop up after work and have a look, if that’s okay? Now – please, Lissy, will you move your car? I’m blocking the access and people need to be along here to get to their own buildings. And my first appointment is in half an hour, so I really need to get set up.’

  Lissy sighed and nodded. ‘All right. Oh – are you going to tell Stef about me coming here?’ Her stomach churned at the thought. Did she want Stef to know she’d been there? Did she want him to think she was bothered? Was she bothered? She didn’t want to answer that one.

  ‘Well,’ Jon said gently, laying his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it, ‘he’ll have to know you sorted the location out, won’t he? And he’ll have to come with us as well, if he’s working with us. Is that okay?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Her voice shook, just a little. ‘I’ll just have to keep it professional. Either that, or I’ll just ignore him.’

  ‘You could, but, to be honest,’ said Jon, looking up, ‘if you don’t move your car right now, Stef is going to catch you anyway.’

  Lissy shrugged his hand off her shoulder and followed his gaze. A tall figure was ambling along the street in the distance. He was unmistakeable. Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt her cheeks burn.

  ‘I’m off. Don’t tell him I came. And don’t,’ she said, directing her multi-coloured gaze at Becky, ‘tell him I’m parking up at the Abbey instead. And please don’t tell him I’ve decided to spend the morning at the Abbey. I’ll never forgive you if you do, okay?’

  And with that, Lissy hurried away and disappeared into the alley behind the studio. She started the car up and pulled away, heading towards the Abbey car park at the top of the hill. She had known Becky a long time – a very long time – and Becky was, to all intents and purposes, deaf as a post; which was sometimes very useful for them both.

  In this situation, for instance, Lissy hoped that Becky hadn’t heard her request. And if Becky had, by some miracle, heard her, Lissy trusted that she would pretend she hadn’t.

  Whitby Abbey

  There she was, just as he had anticipated – wandering amongst the Abbey ruins, stopping and reading the interpretation boards, looking up at the columns of stone and broken arches.

  He lifted his camera and framed her perfectly in the right-hand side of the shot, capturing the moment as she inspected a little bunch of trailing flowers growing out of the brickwork, an archway just behind her.

  The image of The Gardener’s Daughter, he thought. Or at least, his own interpretation of the famous Julia Margaret Cameron photograph. He walked right up to her, and she didn’t even move from the spot; didn’t turn to face him.

  Still inspecting the tiny purple flowers, holding onto the one she had delicately captured between her fingers, she spoke as if to the flower: ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Becky told m
e where you were.’

  ‘I asked her not to tell you,’ replied Lissy.

  ‘She said she didn’t hear your request.’

  ‘Then surely, if she said that, she knew there was a request, so she should have respected it.’ Lissy let the flower drop and it bounced against the warm brickwork, quivering as it settled, and she turned to Stefano.

  He waved his hand around his ear and shook his head. ‘She said not. She said it is a terrible affliction she has. I did not pursue it further.’

  ‘She’s a dreadful liar,’ said Lissy. ‘By that, I mean she’s a good liar. She’s just simply terrible. I know what I’m trying to say. What are you really doing here?’

  ‘Looking for you. And hey! I found you!’ He spread his hands out and smiled.

  ‘Whitby’s not that big a place. You could have wandered around all day and you probably would have found me anyway.’ Lissy started walking away from him, passing a stone-lined hole in the ground. ‘Don’t fall in there. I’m not pulling you out.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. He raised his camera, ready to take a photograph.

  ‘It’s a grave, for dead people.’

  ‘Oh.’ He lowered his camera without taking the shot. ‘I see.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘Pretty nasty.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nasty when you lose a two-year old and find them lying in it.’ Lissy stopped and turned to him, raising a finger and pointing it at him. ‘But don’t ever tell Becky that happened. She doesn’t need to know her daughter thought it was a bath and demanded to know when it would be filled.’

  Stef laughed and took hold of Lissy’s finger, then encased her cool, soft hand in his. Her nails were painted a glossy, deep violet today; they looked amazing. They’d always been amazing. He remembered them digging into his back as they … but no. Not here. Not in this sacred place. Lissy didn’t pull her hand away immediately, anyway. She waited a good three seconds, so that was a start. She could easily have slapped him there and then. Instead, she walked off in front of him again.