by Kirsty Ferry
She opened her eyes and glared at the easel and the window. Then she stood up and stalked towards them, meaning to finally pull the heavy curtains closed and shut out the night and all thoughts of Julian Macdonald Cooper.
Just as Lorelei grabbed hold of the edges of the fabric, a flicker in the distance caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes and peered out into the darkness.
The rain was streaming in rivulets down the glass and she couldn’t see properly, so she let go of the curtains and opened the window wide. She caught her breath as a gust of salty wind blew in and made the flames in the fireplace flicker wildly. Then she leaned out as far as she dared and stared into the distance.
There was definitely a light there. Every so often, the wind blew and branches of trees obscured it ever so slightly; but it was still there when they settled again.
Lorelei realised it was coming from the cove.
Indeed, it was coming from the Dower House.
‘Julian?’ she whispered, hardly daring to believe it. Then the trees parted again and she saw it, seemingly glowing even stronger than before. ‘Julian!’ she cried, as loudly as she could. Her voice was whipped away on the wind, but she didn’t care. She laughed out loud in delight and withdrew her head. Then she hurried to the fireplace and unhooked one of the glowing lamps from the sconces there.
She ran back to the windowsill and hooked the thing on the fixture next to the window. The lamp swung in the breeze, and she shut the window firmly.
The light stopped swaying and settled down in the corner as if it had always been there.
And who knew, she thought delightedly, leaning on her elbows and staring out across the cove, watching the light in the Dower House flicker as if in acknowledgment; it might always have been meant to be there.
Sea Scarr Hall, Present Day
Lissy felt as if she was floating up the staircase. If she closed her eyes, she could almost swear she could hear the swish of fabric around her ankles and feel the starchiness of frills around her elbows. She knew there would be a satin ribbon tied around her waist and there was the fizzing warmth of the man beside her. Her hand rested on his arm, and there was, she knew, a hint of danger with it.
They had to hurry. Her husband might be back soon and …
‘We’re here.’ Stef’s voice woke her from her trance. She realised they were at the top of the stairs and new, exciting corridors led off in both directions. She stared at Stef, disorientated. He was looking down at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
‘Stef, did you feel anything strange when you walked up those stairs?’ she asked him cautiously; yet part of her wondered if it was just the fact that she was so close to a man who, clearly, still had the power to attract her and haunt her every waking moment. Seven years had not been long enough to make her forget – not at all.
And looking back at those stairs, she saw with horror that they must have been utterly mad to even consider walking up them – they looked even worse from this angle.
‘I was there yet I wasn’t,’ he replied. ‘It felt very dangerous, but I was glad you were by my side.’ Lissy saw a reddening under his olive skin. ‘But hey! We are talking crazy talk, are we not?’ He laughed, embarrassed.
‘Crazy talk,’ she repeated. ‘I would agree there.’ She hesitated on the landing and cleared her throat, trying to buy herself some time. ‘I think, if we get the orientation correct, the room with the lamp in the window should be this way.’ She pointed to the right.
Lissy was aware that she was still arm in arm with him and she considered carefully extricating herself, but decided against it. However odd this place was, however it made her feel, Stef at least was solid and real.
A gust of wind rattled down the corridor, scattering leaves and debris in its wake and Lissy jumped. Stef felt her flinch and squeezed her arm again. She seemed very edgy. She was looking along each corridor in turn, hesitating, as if she didn’t really want to go down any of them. Yet she had been so eager to find that room with the light.
‘Maybe a storm is blowing up,’ he said, by way of calming her down. ‘I would not like to have been out on the sea in this sort of weather.’
‘But it’s been simply gorgeous today!’ Lissy turned and looked at him, her mismatched eyes wide.
‘That is no guarantee that the weather will hold.’ He shook his head. ‘Pah! Listen to me!’
‘What?’
‘I talk about the weather! The weather!’ He swore spectacularly in Italian. ‘I have a beautiful, terrified woman on my arm. She and I are in an empty building, unlikely to be disturbed any time soon – by the living at least – and I talk about the weather.’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘This is where I should become some sort of hero and rescue you, sweep you up into my arms and run through the fires of hell with you, just to save your life.’
‘I’m not terrified! And I don’t need rescuing! And what do you mean by not being disturbed by the living?’ Lissy looked along the corridors again, still standing on the wide landing at the top of the stairs.
‘I don’t know. Do you not get the feeling there is something else here, spiriti, perhaps?’
‘Ghosts?’ Lissy almost shouted the word, then laughed, mirthlessly. ‘No. I don’t do ghosts. I know people who do, but I’m not one of them.’
‘I disagree. I think the more you dabble in the otherworld, or know people who have seen into it, the more open you become.’
‘Stef, shut up. You’re just doing this to scare me. Stop it.’ His words had the desired effect. Lissy shook herself free from his arm and headed off along the corridor.
‘Excellent,’ Stef murmured. ‘Action as opposed to inaction. I win this one.’ He followed her along the corridor, his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the skeletal rooms as they passed them, wondering what was behind the closed doors.
Stef had a friend whose passion was to break into old, abandoned buildings and take photographs. It was something he was very strongly attracted to himself. But at this present moment in time, he was much more attracted to the small, dark figure a few steps ahead of him.
An image flashed into his mind of her leading him along this corridor once before. The walls lost their grim appearance and the colour came back. That same red carpet he had imagined on the steps continued along where he walked. There were oil paintings on the walls, cabinets of stuffed birds and animals – hideous. The figure in front of him was dressed in white lace which frothed around her elbows, a further two layers of lace swishing around the bottom of her skirt. A square neck that made her look far more modest than she normally was.
Let us hope he stays away tonight …
‘I think this might be it,’ said the figure, jolting Stef back to reality. He blinked and stopped just behind her. The room they were standing in front of was the furthest one down the corridor. He couldn’t help it, but he moved closer to Lissy, so they were almost touching. He needed some sort of contact with her, as if someone was going to try to pull him away – which was, as Lissy would say, utterly ridiculous.
Lissy didn’t complain. Instead, she put her hand on the door handle and turned it slightly to the right. The door popped open and she stepped inside.
‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘This is it. Look.’ She walked over to the window, reaching out and drawing her hand along the marble mantelpiece as she passed the fireplace. This room looked as if it had escaped the worst of the fire. There was still faded wallpaper on the walls – some sort of regular floral pattern – and brass sconces where lamps must have once been fitted. There was one of these sconces still attached to the corner of the windowpane, and this was what Lissy had wandered over to. She touched the delicate filigree pattern carved into the brass and Stef saw her lean into it and rub her fingertip over a section of the brass.
‘This looks …’ She didn’t finish the statement, but instead shook her head. ‘No. Utterly ridiculous and frankly impossible.’
‘What is it?’ Stef asked, reluctantly leaving a section o
f beautifully moulded plaster border he had discovered. He peered at the sconce and saw, in the filigree, leaves and flowers and what looked like tiny waves cresting over the decorations. ‘A floral effect. Beautiful craftsmanship, and a common theme in Edwardian décor.’
‘Oh. Thank goodness.’ Lissy laughed, and Stef was surprised to see that she seemed embarrassed. ‘I’m glad it’s common.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It would just be a bit peculiar, otherwise. I’ve seen it before, that’s all.’
‘It reminds me a little of that Cornish ring you ran away from,’ said Stef. ‘Just a little.’
‘That ring?’ Lissy jerked away from the sconce as if it still held a lamp and the flame had burnt her. She stared up at Stef, her eyes narrowing. ‘You still remember the ring?’
‘Every detail,’ nodded Stef. ‘I still don’t know why you did not buy it.’
‘It was too expensive.’ She wrapped her arms around herself as if she had suddenly become chilled. ‘And it just seemed like it was wrong somehow. I don’t know – no, the ring wasn’t wrong. I loved the ring. It was – oh God, I’m going to sound like I’m mad – but it was as though it didn’t belong to me. As if it was possessed. Crazy. Becky and Cori swear they’ve seen things, but I’ve never seen a ghost. As far as I’m aware, anyway.’
‘Ghosts?’ said Stef. ‘How interesting. You see – as I tried to explain, if your two closest friends experience things, then it is possible that you may also experience things.’
‘I don’t know about that, but yes, those two say they’re real.’
Stef laughed. ‘So they love their ghost-friends. So what? I’m more interested in the ring you talk about.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ Lissy dropped her gaze. ‘It was just the wrong timing for the ring. I loved it. I wanted it. I could have had it. But it was the wrong time and it wasn’t for me. And yet now I kick myself because I didn’t get it.’ She turned and looked at the sconce again. ‘I guess that pattern just brought it all back for a moment.’
‘Still. It was a good summer. Even if you didn’t buy the ring.’ Stef sighed. ‘Most of it was good anyway, although at the end I was very stupid and I curse my Italian temper. And now I have to come grovelling back. For me, it all went downhill after you walked away, and yes, I take full responsibility for that. I haven’t had a decent summer since. Although this year hasn’t been too bad, so far.’
Lissy didn’t answer him. Her gaze travelled from the sconce to the wall behind him. She looked as if she was going to say something, and Stef’s heart began to beat faster. Now, here, would they finally be able to discuss it? Could they come full circle?
And then her eyes widened again. ‘Oh, look. An old cupboard!’ The moment was lost. She darted around him and headed over to the cupboard which was built into the wall. ‘I just love old cupboards and hidey-holes. You never know what you might find inside them.’
Frustrated, Stef watched her, knowing she was shying away from it again. ‘I suspect you will not find very much in here,’ he said. Damn the fact they still hadn’t opened a dialogue about Kerensa and what a disaster it had all been, and how, if Lissy had given him a chance, he wouldn’t have been so irresponsible and picked up with Kerensa, just to hurt the keeper of his heart. Well – it had backfired and backfired big time. He’d only succeeded in wrecking his own life and Kerensa’s for six years. It hadn’t achieved anything after all. It was his own fault for being too impetuous and stupid. But that’s not what Lissy wanted to discuss right now. She wanted to talk about cupboards. Cupboards! Of all things. ‘The place has been empty for so long,’ he commented, ‘it will have given up all of its secrets by now.’
‘Don’t be too sure. There are always secrets to discover, no matter how long things have been abandoned or how many hands they have passed through. That’s what I love about antiques and old books, that sort of thing. Always something new. And I know people mock me about it, I know Simon calls me the Junk Shop Junkie and Becky just generally thinks I’m a pain in the arse if I present her with anything new, but I just have a feel for these things.’
‘I’m sure that old things can be very interesting,’ Stef said, ‘but would you like me to help you at all? You seem to be struggling.’
The whole time Lissy had been speaking, she’d been poking around the edges of the cupboard, which looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades. The old wood had swollen and jammed so tightly into the rectangular spaces that she was going to have a fair old time trying to open them. But, knowing her, she wouldn’t give up. Neither, it seemed, would she accept any assistance.
‘No thank you, I’m fine.’
Stef saw one of her vicious-looking, perfectly manicured nails dig into the gap and he turned away. The nails would either act as daggers and slice through the wood or she’d break the damn thing. Either way, it was easier to let her get on with it. He meandered to the window and studied the brass sconce again.
She’d call him if she needed him, and the more he looked at her, the more he was remembering, again, how those nails had felt when they’d dug into his back. And how her lips had tasted and how her body had responded to his over and over again. He was very much in danger of losing himself to her once more; and this time, if it didn’t work out, and if he messed it up again, he knew he would never get a third chance. He would not, he acknowledged, even deserve a third chance. And so, for now, he must think of other things.
It was very interesting how similar the pattern on the sconce was to that ring. He smiled to himself, remembering the little man who looked like a clotted cream scone. One day, if she ever forgave him, he would like to take Elisabetta back and they would see more of Lamorna Cove and Newlyn. He would see if Jon and Becky wanted to come as well. He didn’t think Jon had been to Cornwall since the Fran incident. Stef thought Jon might like to wipe out the bad memories of that time; heaven knew he, Stef, needed to eradicate the memories of the end of his time there. And little Grazia would love Tintagel Castle. She …
‘Got it! The damn and bloody blasted damn bloody thing!’
There was a massive crack and a hideous squeak, and that combined with Lissy’s voice made Stef turn around. The door of the cupboard was hanging open and there was a horrible smell of mildew and mould and charred wood coming out of the opening.
Stef wrinkled his nose. ‘Are you satisfied, bella? Now you have damaged private property along with trespassing?’
‘Yes, I’m satisfied for now.’ She smiled and inspected the nail she had used. ‘Bloody good, these gel manicures. Look – not a chip on it. Worth every penny. Now. Let’s see what we have in here.’
And it was almost as if someone up above had ordained it. Lissy reached into the cupboard and the sky turned black in an instant. The room was plunged into darkness and the loudest crack of thunder Stef had ever heard seemed to shake the old building to its foundations. He spun around and stared at the window as an extraordinarily bright flash of lightning lit up the opening. Lissy screamed.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. She rushed up to his side and grabbed his arm. He could hear the sob catching in her throat. ‘It is only that pesky storm coming in. I did not think you were this scared of thunder.’ He reached out to take her hand, wanting to reassure her; but his fingers closed on nothing.
Then: ‘What are you flailing around over there for?’ Lissy asked, surprise clear in her voice. ‘I’m over here.’
And Lissy was behind him – standing in the exact same spot she had been before the thunderclap.
Chapter Eighteen
Sea Scarr Hall, 1905
The next day, in the mid-afternoon, Lorelei stood before her seascape, admiring it.
The thing was finally finished. She had rushed it a little, just to get it done and she had already decided that she would be framing it herself. Even now, she had the perfect frame lying on the day bed. She hadn’t slept in the day bed last night. She had used the marital bed, safe in the knowledge that her husband would not be returning; and the marital bed
was far more comfortable anyway; at least it was when Walter wasn’t in it.
Lorelei often wondered if she should simply get a proper bed brought into her sitting room. She would be very happy to do so, but sadly that was a decision her husband had to make. He hated her sleeping in there – but after an argument, being next to him was horrendous. She barely closed her eyes, for fear of what he might do to her. She could be stabbed or suffocated, and who would come in to save her, if indeed anyone even heard the commotion?
She pushed the unpleasant thoughts of Walter out of her head and, instead, smiled at the painting. She took the colourful rectangle from the easel, and laid it on the day bed next to the frame. The gilt frame contained an old picture of an ancient pig that was ridiculously large and fat. It was a stupid looking picture and a stupid looking pig and she had taken the painting from one of the overly decorated guest suites, quite sure that nobody would really miss an ancient porcine depiction.
She cracked open the frame carefully, and the pig was removed and placed securely between the leaves of a book, which Lorelei had liberated from the library earlier. Then, she reasoned, if anyone did query its disappearance, she would replace the damn thing. But really – was anyone that observant? And by anyone, she meant Walter, of course. His name was gall to her very thoughts, but that could not be helped.
There would be no room for the damn pig in that frame by the time she had finished, anyway.
Once the pig was hidden away, Lorelei picked up the seascape and laid it into the frame. It was a very good fit. Then she took it out again and went over to the easel.
Hidden behind a blank sheet of paper, was the painting she really wanted to frame. This hadn’t taken her long at all; and was, even if she said so herself, a very good likeness. She moved the blank sheet and picked up the portrait she had done last night as the lamp had burned in the window and she had known that Walter wouldn’t reappear.
Considering she had done it from memory, it really was a nice picture of Julian. She had captured that freedom he had about him; his too-long hair and his open shirt as he had leaned on the window sill studying her, his attitude that of a young Lord Byron – before the scandal about that worthy poet had broken, of course.