The Girl in the Photograph

by Kirsty Ferry

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Stef sat down and crossed his legs, facing Lissy. ‘Nobody has seen inside this box for one hundred years. You’re the first person to handle … her … items. I find that exciting, no?’

  ‘I think I just feel cheated,’ said Lissy flatly. ‘With Becky, I found an amazing writing slope and it had a photograph in it. We found out who she was, you know; she was called Ella. And with Cori, I found her a diary. And Daisy, who wrote the diary, had a fantastic relationship with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood! She wrote all about it. Yet me – my story, if you like,’ she looked up at him, her mouth turned upside down, ‘boils down to a seascape, a few sketches and a blunt pencil.’

  ‘Hmmm. One cannot measure excitement by what other people discover, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ Lissy looked at the little box and replaced the tray with a little sigh. ‘But it would have been nice.’

  ‘Okay.’ Stef wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘What was the lady called who lived here in 1905?’

  ‘Lorelei. Lorelei Scarsdale. Isn’t that a wonderful name? The house was in her husband’s family for generations apparently.’

  ‘Lorelei. Like a mermaid, yes? I like that. Okay. So we have a lady who lived here with a mermaid’s name. Why don’t we, then, attribute this beautiful little paintbox to Signora Lorelei Scarsdale?’

  ‘Yes. Why don’t we?’ Lissy sighed again and her eyes drifted to the window. ‘We’ve got nothing else to go on.’

  Stef couldn’t resist. He rocked forward and dropped a kiss on her hair. Despite the remnants of plaster dust that clung to it, it was still soft and smelled of that shampoo he had always liked – he closed his eyes briefly as he remembered and felt that old pang of regret. How utterly stupid he had been. A complete idiot. One positive thing, at least, was that Lissy didn’t shout at him or tell him to back off; or slash at him with those vicious nails. Progress indeed.

  ‘Nope. We have nothing to work with,’ he said sadly, drawing away, ‘except the name of the lady.’ He picked up the watercolour. ‘Yet this is very beautiful.’ He studied it and then looked more closely. ‘Oh.’ He held it up. ‘Do you mind if I break into the casing?’

  ‘What? No, not at all. It’s not mine anyway,’ said Lissy.

  Stef nodded and began to work at the casing. ‘Aha!’ He managed to ease the picture out of the frame and held it up. He looked at Lissy and pointed to the edges. ‘Do you see this? There are two edges to the paper.’

  ‘So has it not just been mounted?’

  ‘No. It looks different to a mounting. You know, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think there may be something hidden under here.’

  ‘What?’ Lissy leaned forward. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that Laura Knight hid a painting of Alfred Munnings behind one of her own pieces of work. The work was Carnaval from 1915. The hidden work was Alfred Munnings Reading – by her husband, Harold Knight. It was only discovered recently and it’s a mystery as to why she hid it.’

  ‘Yes, I know all about that, but —’

  ‘Well, I’m wondering if this is a similar situation. Only it would predate Laura Knight, would it not? Hey, perhaps Lorelei had the idea first?’ He laughed, and examined the picture again. ‘Oh, my. Do you know, I think we might be right. Your nails, mia cara. I need demon talons on the case. Please – get the picture off the backing board and let us see what we shall find.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Lissy took the picture from Stef and slowly picked at the side of the picture so it was loosened from the backing. ‘You’re right!’ She looked up at him, her face glowing. ‘There’s something underneath it.’

  ‘Why is your hand shaking, Elisabetta? Surely you are not worried about what you might find?’

  ‘I’m not worried – I’m excited!’ Lissy laughed. ‘Maybe my story isn’t over!’

  And ever-so-carefully, Lissy peeled back the seascape watercolour. And ever-so-slowly, the picture beneath unveiled itself.

  A man. A head and shoulders watercolour of a man, wearing a white, open-necked shirt, looking to his right. Behind him, the vast sea. His hair was longish and dark, curling at the base of his neck, his eyes a deep, chocolate brown.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Lissy breathed.

  Her hands began to shake even more and Stef leaned forwards, putting his hands on hers, trying to steady her. ‘What is it, mia cara?’

  ‘This man. I’m pretty sure he’s the one I saw on my beach that night.’ She looked at Stef, her face white. ‘He’s the one who had the gun.’

  The Cove, 1905

  Lorelei pulled open the door of the bathing hut and looked down at Julian from the top of the steps. ‘Will I loosen my hair for you?’ she asked. ‘Like the suicidal maiden?’

  ‘No. I don’t want anything obscuring your face.’ He handed the satin gown to her and smiled. She reached out, then seemed to change her mind and pushed his hair out of his face instead.

  Then she let her fingertips slide down his jawline. ‘But your face is obscured and I want to see it.’

  ‘Then we are in agreement,’ Julian replied. He raised the costume and Lorelei took it from him.

  ‘What shall I do with it then?’ she asked.

  ‘Plait it,’ Julian said. ‘Haven’t I already told you I wanted it plaited? Just like when I saw you swimming – or, more to the point – when I saw you sitting on the rock that first day.’

  Lorelei smiled. ‘Very well. Allow me to change, and I shall plait my hair for you.’

  ‘Wonderful. I’ll just wait for you here, then.’ Julian seemed to fold up and all of a sudden he was sitting on the sand cross-legged; all without taking his eyes off her.

  Lorelei laughed and stepped inside the bathing machine. ‘I shan’t be a moment.’ She put the dress down on the chair and closed the door.

  Julian’s amused voice drifted through the cracks: ‘Let me know if you require any help dressing, Lady Scarsdale.’

  ‘I think I can manage, Mr Cooper,’ she shouted back, and began to undo the fastenings on her modern-day clothing.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he replied. Lorelei smiled into the shadows, noticing the little drifts of sand in the corner of the room, and wriggled into the medieval costume. It was the work of a moment to shake her hair loose from its chignon and swiftly plait it, tying it up with the red ribbon and then she was ready. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  Lorelei was rewarded by Julian’s face altering as he saw her. The man was, quite clearly, taken aback.

  He scrambled to his feet and held his hand out to her. ‘You are the very vision of a Siren,’ he told her, helping her out of the bathing machine.

  ‘A vision?’ She laughed as she came down the steps onto the sand and stared up into his dark brown eyes. ‘Well now, that’s a very good start. Shall we head straight out onto the rock?’ She nodded towards it. It had a silvery sheen in the late afternoon light and shimmered deliciously, calling to her.

  ‘I think so,’ replied Julian.

  Lorelei let go of his hand and picked up her skirt. Her own feet were bare and she began to walk through the sand to the edge of the sea.

  ‘Allow me.’ Julian swooped down on her as soon as her toe touched the water, and suddenly she was aloft in his arms.

  She gave a shout of glee and laughed as she clung to his neck. ‘I’m perfectly capable of wading out to the rock!’ she cried. ‘Put me down!’

  ‘No. I shan’t put you down, at least not willingly. But I might drop you!’ He loosened his grip for a second and she slipped down a few inches before his strong hands clasped together again and caught her.

  Lorelei shrieked and kicked her legs as Julian began to wade through the shallows towards the rock.

  ‘I don’t trust you at all, Mr Cooper!’ she said – but there was amusement in her voice and they both knew she was joking.

  ‘You’ll learn to,’ he said.

  They reached the rock, the water well over Julian’s kne
es, and he placed her carefully on top of it, still in the same position she had been in when he had carried her. Lorelei shifted slightly and made herself more comfortable, then turned to look at him. He was wading back towards the shore, looking down and fiddling with the camera he had slung around his neck. She hoped she hadn’t crushed it when she was in his arms.

  Lorelei wrapped her arms around her legs, and watched him as he stood on the shore. He was turning around and holding the camera up; spending a while doing something with it, framing the shot no doubt. She would just wait for her cue. All she had to do was sit there and he would tell her exactly when …

  CLICK!

  ‘Perfect!’ Julian looked up from the camera and grinned. ‘Got you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Lorelei squirmed on the rock, the dress hampering her movements somewhat, and kneeled up, her fists planted on the rock either side of her. ‘Was that it? Have you done it? Oh.’ She was horribly disappointed. That was it? All that build up? For that?

  ‘Sadly, yes. It’s a little different to posing for a sketch or a painting, isn’t it? Much faster for all concerned. But regardless, I truly wanted a candid picture of you so I could remember you like this – no airs and graces, no Lady Bountiful. Just you. On a rock. In the summer. With me.’ He smiled at her, a little shyly, Lorelei thought.

  ‘Really? Am I very interesting when I’m just – me?’ she asked, blinking like a rather stupid sort of owl. She was utterly confused. The speed of him taking that photograph had thrown her.

  ‘You are more interesting like that than you will ever know.’ There was the briefest of pauses, when the look Julian gave her told her more than she felt he would ever be able to vocalise.

  She tried to match his look, wanting to tell him the same thing.

  Then his face split into a smile. ‘I know,’ was all he said in response. ‘I know.’

  ‘Well then!’ Lorelei shook herself a little. ‘You could have at least taken one of me smiling. Let me try again.’

  ‘No need,’ replied Julian. ‘You were smiling on that one. Believe me. I don’t know what you were thinking or what you were planning, but you were very definitely smiling. Now. Let me be content with my work. In fact – I think I shall come out there and join you shortly.’

  ‘No. I insist you take some proper photographs!’ pleaded Lorelei, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. ‘I want to at least enjoy my time in the spotlight for more than a few seconds!’

  Julian laughed and shook his head. ‘Imperious Lady Scarsdale. All right. But just two more. I can’t be wasting my plates when I know the first picture was perfect.’

  ‘Two more will be lovely,’ said Lorelei. ‘Now – tell me what I should do.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ replied Julian. And, as she requested, he proceeded to take two more photographs, posing her and advising her and finally lowering the camera and smiling out at her. ‘That is it. Truly. One cannot improve on perfection.’

  And all of a sudden he was simply Julian again – no longer a professional and clearly just a man wanting to feel the freedom of the seaside. Lorelei didn’t know what his plans were for the photographs and she really didn’t care. On the surface of it all at least, there was nothing to discredit either herself or Julian.

  Below the surface, however, there was an undercurrent that she feared was sweeping her mercilessly along – for the first time in her life, she was caught in a riptide she didn’t want to fight against.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sea Scarr Hall, Present Day

  ‘So what do you want to do about him?’ asked Stef. The empty frame lay between them on the dusty floor, the seascape curled up and abandoned somewhere towards Lissy’s left ankle, the portrait of the young man between them.

  Lissy stared at the picture, her elbows on her knees, her head resting on her hands. ‘I don’t know. Is he a bad guy? Is he dangerous? Or rather – was he dangerous?’

  ‘Do you think he looks dangerous?’ Stef raised his eyebrows at her.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shifted and leaned forward, then picked up the painting and held it up in front of her face. She stared at it with such concentration that her wonderful, beautiful eyes did not blink for oh so many minutes. ‘His eyes are the same colour as yours. I don’t get the feeling that he was bad. He was protecting something. I have a suspicion that Lorelei hid his portrait for some reason. But the way this is painted …’ She ran her fingertips down the picture and Stef could tell she was tracing the profile of the man from forehead to chin. ‘She loved him. Actually,’ she said, ‘you know what this picture reminds me of? It looks like that really famous Byron one. The Thomas Phillips one? Where he sort of looks off to the distance.’

  ‘Byron the poet was a construct of popular appeal,’ observed Stef. ‘Nobody really knew what the man was like.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Lissy nodded, ‘hence all the glorified images of him. He was a Romantic hero to so many women – and this chap looks like he was a Romantic hero to Lorelei. Maybe he was a smuggler after all. Maybe that’s how she knew him. Maybe she was helping him!’

  She looked at Stef hopefully and he laughed. ‘You have such a wonderful imagination, Elisabetta. Maybe he was her lover? Her secret lover and she was scared to let him out of her bedroom and into the real world.’ He looked around him at the bare walls and the rotten wood. ‘Okay, maybe she could have kept him in a better place, but it must have been nice one hundred years ago.’

  ‘It was. Can’t you see it? This was her room, and her bed would be about there.’ She stood up and walked over to a wall. ‘Just here. So she could sit in it and turn her head and look out of the window. And she would have had her easel here.’ She moved over to the window and stood staring out at sea. ‘So she could watch for him coming, but look as if she was working if anyone found her.’

  Stef stood up and walked over to join her. He stopped next to her and dared to put one arm around her waist. He pointed at the view with his other hand, joining in the game. ‘You are correct. The light here. It would have been perfect. This was her sacred area. Her husband was not allowed in here without a damn good reason. It was not the marital bedroom.’

  ‘Nope. No way.’ Lissy shook her head and leaned on the crumbling window sill, looking out at the storm-washed vista. There was still a big cluster of black clouds just passing over the cove and heading out to sea, taking the rain with it. ‘The marital bedroom thing died a long time ago. They’d had separate rooms for so long, she was living an absolute lie.’

  ‘All for the sake of propriety,’ murmured Stef. ‘How sad.’

  ‘But there was more to it than that.’ Lissy turned so she half sat on the window sill, looking up at Stef and resting her weight on her hands. ‘But I’m damned if I know what it was. And anyway, this is all conjecture. How can I find out so much for other people and so little for myself?’ Her gaze slipped over his shoulder so she was looking at the cupboard they had broken into, the door of which was still hanging open.

  ‘Sometimes, one cannot see what is staring one right in the face.’ Stef held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her gently up from the windowsill and drew her towards him so she was in his arms. The movements were so smooth, it was as if they were choreographed.

  And perhaps tomorrow he would be able to show her what he had travelled all this way to bring to her attention. He just had to persuade her to come back to the beach hut with him. Which might be easier than he had anticipated, judging by the fact she had come into his arms so willingly – and also, thanks to the fact that, in this room, he got the oddest feeling that he had persuaded her to go back down to the beach a thousand times before.

  Which was, in itself, incredible; because trying to tame Lissy was like trying to tame the sea itself, and persuading her into anything was a feat few people were capable of.

  Lissy was quite unaware that she was moving towards Stef so naturally. The whole thing was slowed down, softly-focused; dreamlike. She was wearing that white dress a
nd he was standing there with his hand out, asking her to go with him, down to the beach, to their special place. He was half in shadow, and his hair was like the man’s in the picture and his shirt was open at the neck, just in the same way. His eyes too were definitely similar; dark brown, intense, as if they saw magic that nobody else was aware of.

  She came to a stop, fitting into his arms perfectly, staring into his eyes as if she could read every thought he possessed; knowing that she was at the heart of everything he held dear.

  ‘Oh, Lissy …’ His voice was soft.

  Lissy looked around her and saw the place for what it really was; a slightly damp, cold, bare room with vestiges of grandeur. It was such a shame. She looked at the sconce by the window and imagined it lit with a flame, glowing into the night for the smugglers to see. She wondered whether it had guided people into the cove, even as Lorelei painted her seascapes and her secret lovers in her ivory tower.

  At the thought, a chill crept across Lissy’s shoulders and goosebumps prickled her flesh, despite the warmth of Stef’s arms around her.

  ‘Do you feel it too?’ whispered Stef, pulling her closer. ‘You’re shivering. There is something different about the room. I get the sense that the house wants us out, now we have delved into its secrets.’

  Lissy looked around, her eyes catching every shadow, noticing every nook and cranny. It felt as if something was drawing closer to them, the heartbeat of the house increasing.

  Stef followed her gaze and smiled a little. ‘But to what sound her listening ear stoops she? What netherworld gulf-whispers doth she hear,’ he murmured as he turned his attention back to her. ‘Rossetti’s Sea Spell. It seems appropriate, somehow. There are echoes in here, for sure.’

  Lissy nodded, hardly daring to breathe, not wanting to leave his arms. ‘I can feel it too.’