The Girl in the Photograph

by Kirsty Ferry

  Julian’s dark brown eyes burned in the painting, staring directly out at her and she shivered a little, congratulating herself on how the eyes were quite possibly the best part of the portrait. She didn’t think that she would ever have the courage to show him the likeness.

  But if Fate intervened and he went away at the end of the summer, and they never saw each other again – God, how could she even bear that – then she would at least have his picture. She would put it on the wall for now and that meant she could look at him any time she pleased. All she had to do was take the frame to pieces, remove the seascape – and there he was.

  Lorelei glanced at the clock. Time was creeping up on her and she still needed to find that damn dress. Last time she had seen it, it was in a large hatbox in the built-in cupboard; thrust there in a fit of pique because she had ripped it off and hidden it as best she could in the time she had available before anybody came to find her and coax her to rejoin the party. She had meant to burn it, but then thought it was such a waste, and it wasn’t really the costume’s fault that her husband had been with his mistress – so she had left it there, crumpled and abandoned.

  She cast another look at the small, framed seascape, and decided to hide that as well as her paints – just for now.

  Lorelei locked the little watercolour box, turned and walked over to the wall with the cupboard and laid the items on her day bed. Then she dragged a stool over and climbed up so she could open the door and hence reach the high little shelf inside it, just behind the door. It was a fearsomely annoying little shelf, but it was another secret and not the easiest of things to find; which was something to be grateful for – just until she got the picture hung.

  She leaned on the door frame and peered into the recess. It wasn’t a huge space, but it was big enough to hide things in. And sure enough, there was the hat box. The lid wasn’t on it properly and some white silk spilled out. She tutted and wrestled the box out, throwing it onto the day bed.

  Then she clambered down, picked up the paint box and the seascape, and climbed back up to push them into the cupboard. She felt around blindly for the little shelf and guided the things onto it. There was a tiny rattle – probably the key from the watercolour box falling out again – and she shook her head in exasperation.

  Unfortunately, she managed to bump her head on the shelf with that action, and she swore as the paint box slid off the shelf and landed with a thud in the bottom of the cupboard. Losing patience, she shoved the thing onto a shelf lower down at the back, just to get rid of it.

  And that was it. She climbed down, pulled the stool back to the corner of the room and moved across to the day bed to unpack the dress. The fabric would be rather wrinkled, but she didn’t care that much. The best part of the whole escapade was that she would see Julian again.

  The Cove, 1905

  As the late afternoon crept in, Julian wondered whether she would actually come down to the Dower House or whether she would have decided against it. He felt, deep down, that perhaps he hadn’t made himself clear last night. He was immensely attracted to the woman, but it wasn’t the right situation to take it further. Not in her own home when her husband – terrible as he seemed to be – was away. She would obviously have been feeling fragile and unloved and who was he, a summer visitor, to take advantage of that?

  Julian leaned on the railing of the terrace at the Dower House and watched the path which led down from the Hall. His camera equipment was all ready and he had checked the tide earlier. It was going out, which would make it easier for them to get to the rock.

  It was as he was staring at the rock, imagining what she would be like actually naked on the thing, that he suddenly felt his skin prickle and senses become alert. Sure enough, he turned and saw her walking carefully down the path, a bundle of cloth in her arms.

  Julian didn’t wait for her to reach the house; he vaulted over the railing onto the scrubby dunes and ran across to meet her. The sand was hot against his bare feet and he was vaguely aware of a stabbing sensation as those sharp blades of grass scratched against his ankles – but all he could really focus on was her and getting to her quickly.

  Lorelei stopped when she saw him coming, and he ran faster, waving at her like an idiot – whit a dunderhead, ye look, laddie, said his grandfather’s voice in his head – but it didn’t make him slow down.

  ‘Lorelei!’ He reached her, barely out of breath, and felt his face split into a huge smile. ‘You came.’

  ‘Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? I saw the light last night. I hope you saw mine.’ She looked up at him, her cheeks rosy and her emerald eyes sparkling and he grinned at her.

  ‘I did see it. Indeed yes. Indeed, I did see it.’ He nodded wildly. Then realising how stupid he sounded he laughed and shook his head then held his hands out. ‘You have no idea how much I want to hold you right now, but I will have to be a gentleman and take the clothing from you, I think. It looks heavy.’

  ‘It’s not really,’ said Lorelei, but she handed the white satin dress to him regardless. ‘I wanted to wear it to walk down here but then I thought someone might see me and ask questions. Or have me committed for dressing up during the day.’

  It was on the tip of Julian’s tongue to offer to help her undress and prepare for the picture in that case, but he pressed his lips firmly together and simply smiled. ‘Probably a wise decision.’

  ‘Probably,’ she agreed. ‘I’m ridiculously excited about this little game, anyway. It’s been so long since I had any fun posing at all, that I’m quite afraid I shall be rather rusty. I hope you will guide me.’

  ‘Every step of the way,’ replied Julian. ‘Come now, let us make a start. The tide is out and the rock is easy to get to.’

  ‘Where will I get changed?’ she asked as she fell into step beside him and they began to walk down to the Dower House. ‘I have the bathing hut, I suppose.’

  ‘You have. Or you have the house,’ said Julian. The satin was warm and slippery, almost a living thing as it spilled over his arms and bumped against his knees through the linen of his trousers.

  ‘I do like the idea of the house, but I think I shall use the hut. At least to put the dress on.’ She looked up at him from under her eyelids. ‘That’s the time-critical part of the exercise, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how long it takes to remove the thing afterwards or how long it takes for me to put my own clothes back on. So maybe that, I could do in the house? Perhaps?’

  Julian swore that his heart missed a beat at that point. He wondered if he was interpreting the words too literally – or whether there was some sort of subtext there. He cast a glance down towards her and there was something in her eyes that told him the answer.

  There was a subtext there; definitely.

  Sea Scarr Hall, Present Day

  Stef did look like an idiot standing there with his hand sticking out and nobody attached to it.

  ‘I need you here,’ repeated Lissy. ‘You’re no good over there.’

  ‘But Elisabetta – you came over here. Just after you screamed and I …’

  ‘I didn’t scream. It would take rather more than a bit of thunder to make me do that. No, I want you here because I wonder if you would be kind enough to lean into the cupboard and see what’s in the back. You’re taller than I am.’

  ‘You are saying then that you are too short,’ said Stef, a little distantly. He looked around him as he spoke as if he’d lost something. ‘Very strange. Very strange indeed. Hmm.’

  ‘Stef. Please.’ Lissy was much too short to reach in and she thought that there was something on a shelf way back, something that had perhaps been overlooked when the house had been emptied – but she needed Stef to have a look and confirm it for her.

  ‘Very well.’ Stef stared around a moment longer and raked his fingers through his hair. Lissy watched the movement, remembering all too well how that hair had felt, wanting to reach out and touch it herself, just one more time. ‘Okay. I will help you.’ He covered the room in a
couple of those long strides and stood beside Lissy. ‘Where is it? Or what is it?’

  Lissy took a wobbly breath, trying not to think about the way his hair fell back into place and looked just as wild and unruly as it always had done. ‘At the back. There’s something in the corner like a box. It’s a bit flat, so I’m not too sure …’

  ‘I have it.’ Stef leaned in, moving even closer to Lissy and she could smell that spicy aftershave he always wore, the aftershave that had clung to his shirt when she had worn it to travel back to the Dower House. He apparently hadn’t changed the brand in the seven years they had been apart. She breathed in quite deeply – she had always liked that scent. ‘It is almost stuck to the shelf. It is … ah! I have it.’

  There was a cracking sound, the sound you get when something has been stuck in the same place for too long, and Stef drew his hand out.

  He was holding a dust-covered rectangular box, which looked as if it was made of wood. Without waiting to be asked, he handed it straight over to Lissy, his dark eyes connecting with hers, amused.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lissy felt that flutter of excitement in her stomach she always got when she discovered a new, interesting artefact. Well – that’s what she told herself the flutter was for. It had nothing to do with his scent and his proximity and those eyes looking into hers.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ asked Stef, his voice low and curious.

  ‘I would say it’s a box,’ she replied, trying to make a joke to distract herself from the idea of falling into his arms, right there and then. She wiped a thick layer of dust off the box and read the faded, gold writing on the top. G Rowney & Co. ‘I think it’s a paint box. This is a brand of watercolour that was really popular in the Victorian and Edwardian era. I’m sure you can still get Daler and Rowney paints but — oh!’ She suddenly made a connection. ‘You know the Staithes Group of artists? They were plein air Impressionists and a lot of them trained in Paris and Antwerp during the Impressionist movement.’ Lissy rubbed at the gold lettering again. ‘If we think about the time of the fire here, in 1905, the Staithes Group were just starting to break up, but they were still working in and around here. So – it makes sense that we have a box of paints. They obviously inspired someone.’ Lissy smiled at the box. ‘Oh, what stories you could tell!’

  Then: ‘Oh, buggeration! There’s a bloody keyhole, no key in it and the damn thing is locked.’ Lissy shook the box angrily as if that would open it up. An enticing rattle came from inside. ‘Probably the cakes of paint. Oh, Stef, I have to get into this thing – I have to!’ She held it out to him. ‘Can you do anything? I don’t think my nails will pick a lock! Can you see anything else in the cupboard?’

  Stef sighed. ‘Not from here. I may have to get up higher to check right at the back. What can I stand on?’ He looked around the room as if something would materialise which he could use. ‘Nothing.’ He folded his arms. Then he eyed her speculatively ‘Ah. Elisabetta.’

  ‘What? What are you looking at me like that for?’

  ‘You’re small.’ He unfolded his arm and brought his forefinger and thumb together in a small circle. ‘So small that I can maybe lift you up? Then you can stretch inside and you can have a look. Deal?’

  Lissy looked back at Stef, equally speculatively. She was conscious of the fact she was wearing a dress that only skimmed her knees and he would have to lift her up by at least placing those strong hands around her waist.

  ‘All right.’ Her heart was pounding. She placed the paint box on the floor and Stef moved to the side, bowing low and sweeping his arm around as if inviting her into the space. She stood in front of him and waited, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It wouldn’t take much for her to give herself up to him once again. Perhaps his soft breath on the back of her neck, or his warm touch on her waist.

  She felt his hands rest lightly on her shoulders and her heart began beating in double-quick time.

  And suddenly it was seven years ago, and it was Lamorna Cove and Newlyn and Cornwall in the summer. It was the antiques dealer with the clotted cream scone demeanour and the ring she wished she had bought. It was her and Stef together again.

  His hands slipped down her arms, as soft and gentle as she remembered them. They paused at her wrists and drifted over her hands. Then they moved to her hips and his arms came around her waist. She could hear the catch in his breath as their bodies connected and she inhaled deeply, trying to find that spicy scent again; but it wasn’t quite there. Instead, there was the scent of rain and salt and the sea air.

  A chill wafted across her body and her eyelids flew open. ‘Stef?’

  ‘Are you ready yet?’ he asked. ‘Just give me the word and I’ll lift you up.’

  Lissy spun around. Stef was standing a little way from her, his hands in his pockets.

  He grinned at her apologetically ‘Ready when you are. Just tell me when you want me to lift you up. I do not want to rush at you and scare you. You need to be sure you get your balance.’

  Lissy, quite uncharacteristically, was speechless.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sea Scarr Hall, Present Day

  There were a couple of beats where nothing happened. ‘Are you okay, Lissy?’ asked Stef.

  She just stared at him. ‘I thought …’ she started. Then she shook her head. ‘No. My mistake. Yes. I’m ready.’ She turned back to the cupboard, and he noticed her cheeks were slightly flushed.

  He hoisted her up in one easy motion and heard her catch her breath, but at least she didn’t flinch or stiffen under his hold. And she smelled very, very good as well; that combination of sun-tan lotion and the ocean he had loved so much in Cornwall. ‘Do you see anything?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s too dark and it smells horrible.’ Her voice sounded echoey and dulled. The weight of her lessened as she rested her hands on the frame of the cupboard and pushed herself up a little further. She must have brushed against the inside as a shower of plaster came tumbling down.

  ‘Oh, my God, it’s disgusting!’ Lissy coughed and shook her hair to get rid of the plaster dust. She shifted position, moving her hands further along the frame. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Let me bring you down!’

  ‘No!’ The answer was quick. ‘No. I’ve got something.’ Lissy leaned in a little further and her weight shifted, so he held her tighter. ‘I’m leaning on it. Hang on …’ She shuffled to the right a bit and lifted up her hand. ‘Ha! I have you. I do think I’ve got the key!’

  ‘Okay, I will bring you down.’ Stef lowered her to the ground and thought she had never looked so lovely – all plaster-dust covered and flushed with happiness.

  ‘Yes. I have the key.’ Her mismatched eyes were sparkling. ‘Here it is. That dust shower must have brought it down.’

  Stef leaned backwards into the cupboard and raised his hand, stretching up as far as he could.

  He felt around, checking the space with his fingertips. ‘There’s a shelf of some kind, just behind the top of the frame. The key must have been on that – when you bumped it, you probably dislodged it.’ His sensitive fingers felt around a little more and fastened on a small, rectangular shape, half hanging off the ledge. ‘Oh, and we have something else as well.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know – let me get it,’ he replied.

  A quick flick of his fingers and the object fell into his waiting palm. He eased his way out of the cupboard and presented Lissy with a small, dirty rectangle. She took it from him, wiping it down her dress, obviously too caught up in the excitement of the moment to care about her clothing, and he saw a gilt frame show through the grime.

  ‘Oh!’ She exhaled on a long breath. ‘Thank you. I think it’s …yes. Look.’ She rubbed her fingertip on the front and drew a line through years of filth to reveal a glass fronted watercolour. She kept rubbing until she’d uncovered the whole picture. It was a small seascape, the colours as fresh as the day they had been painted. Lissy looked at it and then up at the window which faced o
ut to the cove. ‘It’s the view from here. How lovely!’

  ‘Painted with those watercolours, I suspect.’ Stef nodded to the box on the floor.

  ‘Yes! And now we can open it!’ Lissy thrust the seascape at Stef and dropped down onto her knees. She began to fit the key into the lock. ‘It’s rusty or something. It’s … ah! Got it!’

  Stef hunkered down next to her, holding the painting. ‘Is there anything exciting in there?’

  Lissy cracked the lid and the box opened with a painful creak. ‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘Just loose cakes of paint, like we thought. Two brushes. One pencil. Well used. Look, the paints are all worn away, see the blue and the yellow? She must have liked painting the sea and the cove. The brushes are well-cared for, and the pencil is blunt.’ She looked at the corner of the tray which contained the paints and pencils and picked at it with one of those long nails.

  ‘You said “she”,’ said Stef. ‘You said “she” must have liked painting. What makes you think it was a woman?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Lissy looked up at him. ‘I just think hiding things away – it’s secretive, isn’t it? Women are more secretive then men. Or at least I think so.’ She looked back at the box, then studied the corner. ‘It looks as if this is a tray. Let’s see if there’s another layer.’ She lifted the corner and took it out of the box, laying it on the floor. ‘There are a couple of sketches. Nothing exciting. A boat. The cove again. Look – this is the Dower House, isn’t it? So that’s my little beach.’ She smiled, yet seemed disappointed.

  ‘Why so sad?’ asked Stef gently. He laid his hand on hers. ‘Is this not a nice discovery?’

  ‘Well, yes. It’s nice. But that’s all. It’s not very interesting, is it? Just pictures of scenery. And a teeny tiny figure in the boat. But they used to just put random people in pictures for the sake of it, rustic peasants and fishermen and the like.’ She shrugged and sighed. ‘Nothing exciting. Nothing personal.’