by Kirsty Ferry
Julian did not need to be reminded that “he” was Lorelei’s husband.
‘And here we are,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Now let us see whether we can change your mind about those sconces.’
Lorelei threw the door of her sitting room open and walked inside. Julian followed her and saw an easel at the window and a wooden box of watercolours open on a small table next to it. On the easel was a small seascape, half-finished and depicting a much sunnier, cheerful day than he saw out of the window that night.
‘So you see, I really do have an ivory tower,’ she said. ‘Well. The fireplace is marble so maybe not ivory. But I too can see the world pass by from my window. Poor Lady of Shalott. I sincerely sympathise with her.’
‘No wonder you went to the party dressed as she.’ Julian should have felt awkward in Lady Scarsdale’s sitting room – he was the summer visitor renting her property for a start – but he felt oddly comfortable in that little room with it’s bright, floral wallpaper and its collection of – yes – brass sconces. ‘Aha!’ He moved over towards the sconce in the window. ‘So this is what you were telling me about. But I am torn, my lady. Do I admire your painting or your brasses? I truly don’t know which one to be appreciative of first. Or even,’ he looked up at the walls, ‘the plasterwork. It’s wonderful.’
‘Oh, Julian!’ Lorelei laughed. ‘Stop teasing me. Call me Lorelei. Please. Not “my lady” or Lady Scarsdale. That’s an old woman’s name and I’m nowhere near matronly yet.’
‘Very well. Lorelei it is. So – what is it that you want me to see in the sconces?’
She brightened even more and it was like the sun had burst through the storm clouds outside.
‘Well, the pattern, intriguing though it is, is modern and not the most interesting part of the fixture. I had them remould the decoration on them when I took over this room. I tried to put my own stamp on things.’ Lorelei pointed to one of the sconces on the wall and Julian leaned forward, seeing the delicate filigree pattern carved into the brass. Leaves and flowers and what looked like tiny waves were cresting over the surface, and a lamp was attached to the sconce itself.
‘Beautiful workmanship,’ he murmured, looking closely at it. He trained his camera on it and took a photograph.
‘It is. But once again, it isn’t the workmanship I want to show you.’
Julian looked up, surprised to see Lorelei blushing. He tucked his camera away again and she met his eyes for a second, then moved over to the window.
‘This is what I want you to see.’ She ran her finger over another sconce, exactly the same as the one Julian had just been admiring.
He looked at her curiously. ‘What is so different about this one?’
‘The difference is that, if I light the lamp attached to this one, you should be able to see it from the Dower House.’
‘Oh?’ He was, as she had suggested, intrigued.
‘And,’ she continued, ‘if you light the one in your upstairs room at the Dower House, I am supposed to be able to see it from here. It’s a tiny pinprick, or so I’ve been led to believe, but it shines through the night.
‘I’ve done some reading of the old legends, and people suggest that the twin lamps – or candles, in those days, I suppose – were supposed to guide smugglers’ ships in to the cove. Allegedly, there is a cave somewhere around the cove where the smugglers used to store their goods. I don’t really know what happened after they came ashore. As you can imagine, the history books are somewhat hazy, as too many people would be implicated by the stories.
‘There are, however, tales of wreckers and ne’er-do-wells abounding around this coastline. One of my dreams is to see one of those shipwrecks I told you about. There are some that lie just off our coast. In the late eighteenth century, barrels of rum were washed ashore from one of the wrecks, and they were stolen by looters – just about the same time that a previous Scarsdale had to sell off another property to raise some funds. It’s all conjecture, of course, and his lack of money possibly wasn’t even related to the fact he’d lost money through the theft. But isn’t it delightful?’
Julian had ceased truly following what she was saying at some point. He heard the words but most of his attention was caught up by this vision in white before him, talking about the romantic legends of the coast. He imagined that she had not been so animated for quite some time.
He realised he was leaning against the windowsill as she spoke, his arms folded, a smile playing around his lips. It was, he felt, some sort of defining moment and thought that, in years to come, the emotion, the underlying excitement and the sheer attraction he felt for her right then would somehow be indelibly marked on the fabric of the building.
‘Incredible.’ He shook his head gently, his gaze still fixed on her. ‘You astound me more and more, every moment I know you.’
He straightened up and suddenly, he had no words. The woman was staring at him, her voice now silent in the room. But they were saying more with the silence than they could ever say with words. They took a step towards one another. Then another step. His face was inches from hers as she looked up at him. Her lips parted slightly and their hands met, reaching for one another in some sort of final acknowledgement that they were being swept away by something they couldn’t harness. Call it a riptide, call it a tidal wave – who knew?
‘Lorelei—’ he began.
Then the thunder came; a crack so loud it seemed to have ripped the storm open and released it, giving it permission to attack right above the house.
Lorelei screamed and jumped, letting go of Julian’s hands and grabbing hold of his arm as the lightning split the sky and the rain drops began to pelt against the window pane.
‘I’m so sorry!’ she said as she seemed to realise what she had done. ‘Did I hurt you at all? What a shock.’
‘No. I’m not hurt. But I’m the one who should be sorry.’ He stepped away from her and gently released her grip. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. If the thunder clap hadn’t happened, I couldn’t have been held responsible for my actions.’
‘But Julian—’ She gazed up at him, confused. ‘What’s to apologise for?’
‘You’re a married woman. I shouldn’t be feeling like this about you. I barely know you and I’m a tenant of your husband—’
‘My husband be damned!’ snapped Lorelei. ‘Do you really believe he’s staying at Whitby because of this storm?’ She waved her arm at the window. ‘Truly? Because I’ll tell you where he is. He’s with his mistress. I caught them at the fancy-dress ball I talked to you about before. He was in the billiard room with her, and I walked in on them.
‘The fool of a man hadn’t even locked the door. She was sitting on the table and he was in front of her and he was practically naked and her skirts were up around her hips. I’ve had a lot of experience in my life – so don’t for one minute think I’m a prude or even was a virgin when I married. I’m not and I wasn’t. And when he found that out, he practically discarded me there and then. He hates me and what I was and whatever he thinks I am, and that doesn’t always make sense either. For the sake of propriety, I’m still here and I’m still mistress of this Hall. But he has no compunction about being with another woman – she was dressed as a serving wench, that evening – and he didn’t seem to care that he was sullying the woman’s marriage prospects by rutting with her like a damned animal.’
Lorelei sobbed, and suddenly seemed to run out of strength. She flung herself onto a day bed, and for the first time Julian realised that not only did she paint here, she probably slept here on occasion as well.
‘The woman lives near Whitby, but further south. She’s engaged to be married apparently, and I believe Walter is spending as much time as possible with her before her husband takes her away. She’s called Harriet. And I tell you,’ she raised her tear-stained face to him and he felt his heart break just a little, ‘that if he ever asked me for a divorce, I would gladly give it to him and I wouldn’t care about my reputation being ruined. He’s
ruined me anyway. I’m not the same person I used to be, not at all. But what’s that quote from The Duchess of Malfi? Something like “I have youth and a little beauty”. Well I do, I do! And I would be perfectly all right. I just wonder whether that woman’s husband will overreact when he thinks he has a snow-white virgin to take down the aisle and finds he hasn’t.’ She wiped her eye with the back of her hand and laughed humourlessly. To hell with the pair of them anyway.’
‘Lorelei – I had no idea.’ Julian strode across the room and dropped to his knees before her. He took her hands in his and clasped them tight.
‘You wouldn’t have any idea,’ she said on a sob. ‘You wouldn’t be expected to. I know it still doesn’t make what I feel for you right, but I can’t help it, Julian, and I don’t feel guilty. Does that make me a bad person?’
‘Not at all,’ he said quietly. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
‘I would have done exactly what you wanted and more, had that damned thunder not happened.’ She choked out another laugh. ‘I suppose that makes me no better than the harlot. Harriet the Harlot. She suits it.’ This time, her laughter was hysterical and Julian pulled her closer to him, burying her face in his shoulder and stroking her dark hair until she subsided.
‘I’ve never told anybody this before,’ she said eventually. Her voice was muffled and he had to hold her gently away from him so she could speak more clearly. ‘My parents don’t live by the normal rules of society, so why would they expect me to? They’d probably tell me to accept it, and that it was my fault for committing myself to someone. And I don’t have any proper friends anymore. So I’m rather stuck.’ And there, once again, was the voice of the old Lorelei. She took a deep breath and Julian could see the effort she was making to calm down and act more appropriately, as supposedly befitted her station in life. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. As you said, you are simply a summer visitor.’
Julian opened his mouth to respond. But what could he say? He had basically told her the same; that he was just a summer visitor, just a short while beforehand. As if in agreement, there was another clap of thunder and another strike of lightning.
But there was one thing he knew he had to do and it wouldn’t be much fun going back out in this, but what choice did he have?
‘Lorelei, I’m going to leave now,’ he said, standing up.
Lorelei held onto his hand and looked up at him, horrified. ‘Why? Has my history disgusted you as well? Do you think I’m just as bad as she is?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’ He smiled at her and raised her hand again to his lips. ‘If I stay here tonight, I know exactly what I’m going to do and that will be no good in the cold light of day. Tomorrow, we would throw accusations against each other and I would feel I had taken advantage of you.
‘You need to find that dress and you need to come to the cove tomorrow evening. I’m going into Staithes to meet an associate for work and I shall be busy all day. But I’ll be back in the evening, and I want to see you. You can change in that awful little shack you have down there if you need to and this storm will have passed over by then. So we can take your photograph. And then I shall develop it and you will see what a true Siren of the sea you are and we will comment on how idiotic your husband is.’ He grasped her hand tightly and pulled her to her feet. ‘Now. Come and see me to the door safely. Then you have all night to paint. I suggest you do some more work on that seascape. It shows a definite promise. Do you swear to me?’
Lorelei nodded mutely and Julian smiled. ‘Good girl. Let us go.’ He opened the door to the room and ushered Lorelei out in front of him. To give the woman credit, she held her head up high and despite a slight puffiness and redness around her eyes, there was no sign of the fact she had bared her soul to him.
God, had that storm not broken at that moment … Julian felt the colour creep into his own cheeks as he followed Lorelei out of the door. He really, truly, would not have been responsible for his actions.
Chapter Sixteen
The Cove, Present Day
‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’ asked Lissy, watching Jon pack up his camera gear later that evening. ‘Have you got everything? I thought you had more?’
He stood up and shook his head. ‘No, this is it. I have to try and get these developed tomorrow. I need to make sure Simon and Stef see them, so they have to be done quickly. We’ll see Simon when they’re heading back from Northumberland, and Stef – well, he’ll be around for a little while longer anyway. I’ve got an appointment first thing in the studio as well, so I need to be on site early. No offence, Lissy, but you’ll just delay me if I stay here tonight.’
‘Oh.’ She felt deflated. Such a lovely day with everybody around her and now they all had to go. Lissy was independent and confident and nothing seemed to faze her – on the outside, anyway. Inside, she wanted to be as confident as she appeared on the outside. She’d been burned by Stef’s betrayal, and part of her still wanted to resist that pull he’d always had for her. But part of her wanted to run to him and thank the Lord that he’d come back into her life. She had missed him; God, how she had missed him. And she hadn’t mentioned that to anyone; not even Becky. She was far too confused and, truly, didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.
Lissy knew they all had good reason to leave her tonight, though. She wasn’t stupid and, although some people might think she was, not selfish either. Jon and Becky lived just a few miles away and she knew her brother spoke the truth. His studio was important and he’d already lost a day’s trade by coming here in the first place. He didn’t have an assistant he could call on, so he literally was the only person who ran that place, apart from when Becky put a couple of hours in to help him out between her writing sessions.
But then, Becky needed to build up her freelancing as well – she hadn’t really talked about it, but Lissy knew what little hearing her sister-in-law had left was fading. So Becky was using the time now to build up her portfolio and her contacts, making sure she had a steady stream of buyers in case it affected her fieldwork in the future. She was adamant that it wouldn’t – and knowing Becky, she would probably only admit defeat when she was on her deathbed. But Becky wasn’t stupid either, and Lissy knew that she just wanted to plan for the worst; then anything else was a bonus.
And as for Cori and Simon – they lived in London, and they were travelling up to Cori’s grandmother’s in Northumberland tonight. They would have to call into Whitby on their way back to see Jon, then get back to London mid-week. They’d waved as they left her and Cori had blown kisses, and Lissy had felt Stef’s arm snake around her waist as they stood, as if he understood how she felt. For a moment she’d allowed herself to lean into him, but then she stepped away. That way lay danger, possibly more heartache. She couldn’t risk it.
So that left Lissy quite alone and with the prospect of thinking far too much and far too deeply tonight.
‘Don’t worry.’ Jon seemed to read her mind as he always did. ‘Stef’ll come out and play. You just need to ask him.’ Then he laughed and she felt as if she wanted to cry.
‘What am I missing?’ Becky came across the lawn towards them. She had been strapping Grace into the car seat, ready for the off. ‘She’s asleep, by the way. This fresh air’s worn her out. It’s been a lovely day, Lissy. Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome,’ replied Lissy.
‘And promise me you’ll get things sorted with Stef, Lissy. Life’s too short. Please – we’ve all had a lovely day and I know as soon as we go you’ll boot him out back to town again and spend the night cursing him. Don’t do it.’ Becky reached out and took Jon’s hand. ‘When you find your soulmate you just have to ride with it – that’s all I’m saying.’
Lissy saw the affection that passed between them as they looked at each other and felt her don’t-care façade begin to slide away.
Quickly, she stood straighter and gave herself a mental shake before anyone caught her drooping. ‘Yes, like that�
��s going to be the thing between me and bloody Iago over there.’ She nodded to the beach where Stef was scrambling about on the rocks barefoot, looking for a fresh angle for his photographs. Or maybe he was looking for a mermaid. Who knew?
‘Iago?’ Becky stared at her. ‘I know I don’t hear stuff properly but even your lips there – it looked like you said Iago?’
‘Ah, the perfect Shakespearian villain,’ commented Jon. ‘I do wonder why Othello was so taken in by him at times.’
‘Iagos always take people in,’ Lissy pointed out darkly. ‘The reason I called him that was because I’ve been doing my research – don’t look at me like that Becky, you know I enjoy it – and I saw a simply amazing photograph by Cameron. It’s an Italian man.’ Here, she felt her cheeks colour but continued regardless, hoping nobody would have noticed. ‘He reminds me of Stef. He’s not looking at the camera and he’s just seething with hidden depths. He’s the only paid model she used, the rest of them were people she knew. And they think he’s either Angelo Colarossi or Alessandro di Marco.’ She frowned. ‘See how he’s taken people in all these years? He’s always been “Iago” but nobody knows who he really is, except Cameron and the model himself; but if he’s Colarossi, he’s quite short in real life as he was only about five feet tall I think.’ She raised her hand and brought it level to the top of her head. ‘About my height.’
‘And Stef is taller and better looking?’ asked Becky.
‘Yes. No. I mean, yes he’s taller but …’
‘Why are you blushing?’ Becky sent her a teasing smile.
‘Oh, shut up! I’m just saying he reminds me of Iago.’
‘You’ve done some pretty extensive research then.’ Becky’s stare drilled into Lissy as if she too could read her mind.
‘It’s interesting, all right?’ snapped Lissy. She folded her arms. ‘I like research.’
‘You like more than that,’ said Becky. ‘Look, we have to go.’ She broke free of Jon and embraced her sister-in-law. Then she stood back, her hands dropping down to grasp Lissy’s and squeezing them. ‘Just think about what I said okay? If there’s going to be a wedding, I’d quite like Grace to be bridesmaid before she outgrows the cute stage.’