The Girl in the Painting

by Kirsty Ferry

  She needed to be away from Daisy, to try and separate herself from her if she could. But she was running out of places to escape to. She barged through the door into the office room and ran straight over to the garden door. She threw it open and stumbled outside.

  It was still warm out there, even though the sun was dropping behind the horizon. Cori leaned on the railings and closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the metal curled between her fingers. It was quiet. Her mind at last was quiet. There was nobody in her head except herself, thank God.

  ‘Cori?’ It was Simon. He had followed her upstairs and out onto the garden terrace.

  Cori squeezed her eyelids shut. ‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said. She opened her eyes again and stared out at the skyline. ‘I’m sorry you got mixed up in this.’ She attempted a laugh, but it came out in that horrible strangled fashion again. ‘Sylvie would have been a breeze compared to me at the moment. When I left Northumberland, I was normal, you know. I was pretty well balanced and sane. My gran would have killed me otherwise. I just don’t know what’s happened to me.’

  ‘You’re perfect the way you are,’ said Simon. ‘That’s why I like you. And Sylvie was anything but a breeze. I’d rather have you than her, any day.’ He laughed a little, and he sounded embarrassed. ‘I brought you some flowers tonight.’ He came and stood by her, matching his stance to hers and she was grateful for his presence. He was so close, she could have wiggled her little finger and touched him. ‘I put them in the little room downstairs, opposite the kitchen.’

  ‘The estate agent called it the boot room,’ said Cori. ‘At home, we call it a utility room. I only have one pair of boots and that’s rather a big room for one pair of boots.’ She turned so she was facing him. ‘And if you go through there, you end up in my garage. Can you believe it? A garage here in London, in a mews house?’ She laughed, shaking her head. ‘Unbelievable. The place is too big for me really, but I loved it when I first saw it. It needs some TLC though.’

  ‘Yes, your front door leaves a lot to be desired,’ said Simon. ‘Anybody could get in. I mean – look at me. You could probably have me arrested for breaking and entering.’

  ‘No, I’m pleased you did it,’ said Cori. ‘And I am looking at you.’ There was the tiniest shake in her voice. ‘I like looking at you.’

  ‘I like looking at you too,’ he said. He moved even closer to her and took her chin in his hand. Then he dropped his head, still holding her chin, so he was only centimetres away from her.

  She could feel his breath on her skin and smell a minty, toothpaste kind of smell that mingled with his aftershave. The combination made her feel funny inside. ‘Actually,’ he continued, ‘it’s more than just liking to look at you. That day I spoke to you at the Tate – I’d seen you so many times before and promised myself that day was the day. I told you I get to know the regulars. But the reason I knew you, was because you walked in the room and the sun came out. Six months I’d spent feeling bitter about Sylvie, but when you appeared the bitterness went away and I was grateful to her. She’d set me free, although it felt like she hadn’t at the time.’ Cori felt him shudder as he took a deep breath. ‘And, if you’re willing, I want you to come somewhere with me right now,’ he said.

  Cori was more than willing – desperate to go with him, in fact. It didn’t matter where; she would be there in a heartbeat.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ she asked.

  ‘Over there.’ Simon nodded to a garden square, just below them and across the road.

  ‘That square?’ Cori pointed to it. ‘There?’

  ‘Yes. That square there.’

  ‘That’s the garden square for this block of houses,’ said Cori. ‘It’s private. So I need to get my key. Otherwise we’re stuck.’

  Simon smiled into the dusk. ‘Yes. A key. A key would work.’

  ‘Fine. It’s in the kitchen. Would you …?’ She didn’t want to go through the house on her own. With him there, it felt better and she felt safer.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. He looked down at her and smiled. Then he held his hand out. She took hold of it and as their fingers caught she felt a little shock current jump between them. Her lips parted slightly as the sensation caught her and she risked a glance up at him. He looked as if he’d felt it too, and it gave her a warm tingly feeling that had nothing to do with electricity.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  THE GARDEN SQUARE

  Cori had unhooked the heavy iron key from a rack in the kitchen and followed Simon out into the courtyard. She smiled, looking at his car. There was a trail of foliage leading from the driver’s door to the front door of her house and she remembered what he said about the flowers in the boot room.

  He drew her to him and put his arm around her waist as they walked towards the garden square. She realised that he was the one who seemed to be leading her there. His pace quickened a little and there was an energy coming off him. Excitement? Apprehension? She couldn’t really tell, but he was buzzing with something.

  ‘This is it,’ she said as they walked up to the wrought iron gate. ‘It’s quite nice inside. They’ll be preparing for the Open Garden Squares Weekend soon, so there will be people coming and going all the time during that period. We should do the tour that weekend – I’d like to see what the other squares look like. How about we do a deal and I’ll take you around the squares if you take me around the PRB sights.’ She stopped short, briefly remembering the square she had embarrassed herself in earlier with Becky and then checking herself for assuming Simon would want to spend the weekend with her, trawling around garden squares. ‘Unless you’re busy that weekend, you might be working,’ Cori said. ‘I’m not really sure when it is or anything.’ She started to put the key in the lock of the gate and then realised that it was unlocked.

  ‘I don’t know when it is either,’ he said, stepping back to let her open the gate fully, ‘but I’ll make damn sure I’m not working or doing anything else that weekend .We could make a day of it. Take a picnic or something. I mean – it’s quite a common thing to do in these gardens. See – it looks as if someone’s left a hamper here exactly for that purpose.’

  He stopped and pointed to a wicker hamper placed at the base of a tree.

  ‘Oh, what a shame! Someone’s forgotten it,’ said Cori.

  Simon bent over and opened it. ‘It’s still full of food,’ he said. ‘Look.’

  Cori went over and peered into it. She could see strawberries and a bottle of champagne, a box of chocolates, some tiny sandwiches all cut into triangles, something that looked like a quiche and a large fruit cake, already cut into slices.

  ‘I’ll have to ask around the houses to see who it belongs to,’ Cori said. ‘What shall we do with it?’

  ‘Pick it up and take it with us?’ replied Simon. Before she could protest, he closed it up, fastened the buckles and picked it up. ‘Let’s have a wander over this way,’ he said. With his free hand, he took hers, guiding her towards a winding pathway that she knew led to a willow arch near a fountain and a summerhouse.

  As they turned a corner she caught her breath. The willow arch was strung with tiny solar lights, all in the shape of stars. A little stream, a kind of mini-serpentine, flowed from the fountain through the square and the lights twinkled and glittered, reflecting in the dark pool of the fountain and the gentle sweep of the stream; and more than that, she saw a picnic rug already spread out beneath the arch. There were plates there, champagne flutes and napkins folded into tiny swans. And a huge pile of cushions to sit on.

  ‘Simon …’ she started. ‘We have to go. We can’t stay here. Someone’s coming. I bet it’s their picnic we’ve pinched. We have to take it back.’

  Simon laughed and caught her arm. He drew her in closer so she fitted in between his arms and against his chest. Once again, she felt his wonderful warmth through her clothing. She could live and die in those arms.

  Memories of another picnic. The smell of fresh cut grass and fresh air. A ta
ng of salt, blowing across the Downs, carried on a sea breeze. A wicker hamper and some laughter. Fleeting images of a man whose arms were strong and capable, whose fingers were long and artistic. She could live and die in those very arms and it would be safe. She would be safe. He wanted her. He wanted her so very, very badly and she thought that she would give herself to him, just as soon as she knew what to do about Dante …

  Cori opened her eyes wide and stared into the dusk over Simon’s shoulder. Was that a figure there? A red-haired girl drifting through the makeshift starlight, trailing her hands through the roses and the honeysuckle? Her dress was silvery-white, reflecting in the water of the fountain as she leaned over to look into the depths.

  Cori’s heart began to pound, and she wrapped her arms around Simon, linking her fingers and digging her nails into her own skin to try and stop Daisy’s memories taking over her mind. She blinked and the woman was gone, but the image remained. She tried to focus on Simon, to hear what he was saying, God knew, she wanted to hear it.

  ‘We don’t have to go anywhere,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘It’s ours. It’s our little picnic. Just don’t ask me how I managed to do it all without being arrested for trespassing.’

  Her heart bounced around frantically in her chest as she tried to concentrate on the moment and deny Daisy any access to her thoughts. ‘But how did you know about the garden? How did you get in? When did you do it? All of this? It’s beautiful.’ She ran out of words and questions and just stared.

  ‘I did a little research. I discovered which square it was – I had a feeling you’d have one somewhere. And when I tried the gate it was unlocked, so I came back and did all this today when I was off work.’ He whistled through his teeth and surveyed it. ‘I’m just really pleased nobody came and spoiled it all when I went home. I was desperate to get you here. I channelled our old friend Rossetti and The Blessed Damozel. She has starlight in her hair as well, just like you. It’s a Rossetti pastiche, I think.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.’

  Simon nodded, still staring at the scene. ‘You’re worth so much more, but this is all I could do for now. And to quote some academia at you, if you’re interested, Rossetti’s poem was famous before his painting. Some say he wrote the poem before Lizzie died and some say he wrote it afterwards. I don’t know how much of Lizzie went into it as inspiration, but the painting wasn’t commissioned until 1871, nine years after Lizzie’s death.’

  Cori was entranced; the spectre of Daisy Ashford within her mind faded as she managed to dredge the image of the painting up from the depths of her memory. ‘I knew the poem but I didn’t know the story behind the painting,’ she whispered.

  Simon smiled. He put the hamper down on the floor and took Cori’s hand, drawing her to the rug and kneeling down, so she had no choice but to kneel with him, face to face. ‘Can you recall in the poem that he says, “Her eyes were deeper than the depth of waters stilled at even; She had three lilies in her hand, and the …”’

  ‘“… stars in her hair were seven,”’ murmured Cori. ‘Yes. I’ve always loved that poem. Almost as much as I love The Portrait.’ She looked up at Simon. ‘We’ve made another connection, haven’t we? One just for us. The poem and the painting and this wonderful surprise. Thank you again. I needed this. I needed to escape.’ She scoured the edges of the darkness for the girl in the silvery-white dress, but there was nothing there. Maybe she had been a trick of the light. It would be easy to see things amongst the shadows and dipping tree branches. Maybe there had never been a girl there tonight? But, just in case …

  Cori took a deep breath. ‘Simon. Please, I hate to ask, but after this, after our picnic, can I come to your place? Just for tonight? Then I can think about Daisy tomorrow. It might all seem different after some time away.’

  There was a beat and Simon looked at her. His eyes darkened and he reached out, putting one hand on each side of her face. His thumb stroked her cheeks and she felt her heart rate quicken.

  ‘Of course you can come to my place. You can stay longer than a night, you know. You can stay as long as you like. I’ll move my paintings out of the spare room, and make up the futon for you.’

  Cori reached out and placed her forefinger over his lips. When he closed his mouth and took the hint to stop talking, she removed her finger, then placed one hand on each of his shoulders. She pulled him closer to her, so he had no choice but to lean into her and again just be centimetres away from her. His hands were still on her face and they knelt there, locked together.

  ‘I don’t want the spare bedroom,’ she said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘I want to stay in your room. With you.’ She saw Simon’s eyes widen, saw the faint rim of his contacts covering his irises and felt her pulse race and her stomach flip. ‘Is that okay?’ she asked. She half-dreaded the reply, yet she knew that she had no need to.

  ‘That’s more than okay,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘In fact, that’s damn near perfect.’

  Cori didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to eat some of the picnic food.

  She had been on edge the whole time, wondering if Daisy would make herself known again, and make her feel sick and dizzy and stop it all from happening; but she hadn’t felt her presence at all, not since she imagined the figure by the fountain and all because she had convinced herself that everything had just been in her imagination.

  She tried not to think too deeply about the memories of that other picnic; the one Daisy had apparently attended.

  At last, here in the square with Simon, she felt she could relax. She lay back on a pile of cushions and folded her hands behind her head. She thought the London sky had never looked so beautiful with the branches of the trees just bursting into blossom and silhouetted against the darkness. She traced the elegant shapes with her eyes and heard a soft sigh. For a moment, a little grip of panic seized her, but then she realised the sigh had come from herself, not Daisy.

  ‘I could stay here all night,’ she said, trying and failing to count the stars. ‘It’s safe and it’s kind of warm and I have cushions.’

  Simon, lying next to her on his back laughed gently. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said, ‘but you know the offer is still there to come to my place. If you prefer to stay here, though, I’ll stay with you. If you’ll let me.’

  ‘I want nothing better,’ said Cori. She turned on her side and faced him. ‘This was the best evening I’ve had ever. I never thought this kind of thing happened in real life.’

  ‘It does when the right people are involved. I’ve never done anything like this before,’ admitted Simon. ‘I’ve done many things, but I’ve never broken the law for a girl. Breaking and entering a private square – well, there you go.’

  ‘You rebel,’ said Cori, sleepily. She yawned, covering her mouth and shaking her head. ‘I’m so sorry. This is the most relaxed I’ve been for ages. And after this afternoon; well, I never thought it would be possible to relax ever again. Oh, no!’ She sat up suddenly. ‘Becky. And Lissy. They won’t know where I am. They’ll be worried about me.’

  ‘What?’ Simon sat up, looking confused. ‘Why would they worry?’

  ‘I kind of ran out on them,’ replied Cori. ‘Something happened this afternoon. And I ran away.’ She patted her pockets and looked around the rug. ‘I don’t have my phone. I need to let them know I’m okay.’ She half-stood up and Simon pulled her back down.

  ‘Don’t worry. Look. I’ve got my phone. I’ll call Lissy and tell her you’re with me. She’ll be fine.’ He took his phone out and pressed a button. His face was bathed in a whitish glow as the screen came on. ‘Oh. A voice-mail.’ He looked at Cori and raised his eyebrows. ‘Now, I wonder who that will be from.’

  As he held the phone up to his ear, Cori rolled onto her stomach and groaned. She so did not want him hearing about her idiocy this afternoon, not after they’d had such a lovely evening. She wouldn’t blame him for running a mile. More than a mile
. And never stopping.

  Even from where she lay, thanks to the perfect silence around her, Cori could hear Lissy’s voice squawking out of the speaker. She seemed to be yelling at a group of people in the background who were all yelling back, at the same time that she was trying to speak into the phone. Usually Lissy’s messages, as Cori knew, calmly resonated with her purring, sexy little voice; but this time she was anything but purring.

  ‘Simon, Cori’s escaped. She was in the loo and she’s gone and she … what? What did she say …? Where? Dear Lord, did she? Simon, as I was saying, Simon, darling, she’s escaped from the loo and we’re a tad worried. She’s been acting … what? She’s what, Becky? Bloody hell! Well, anyway, Simon, she’s—’ At that point the call cut off.

  ‘Oh God.’ Cori squeezed her eyes shut and reached blindly for a cushion, flapping her hand around until she caught one by the edge and dragging it over her head.

  Simon must have clearly realised by that point she had, for some reason, been trapped in the loo and had escaped. If it didn’t sound so serious, it would have been comical.

  ‘I wasn’t trapped in the loo, I escaped from the loo. There’s a difference,’ she muttered from beneath the cushion. ‘And I still need to apologise to them.’ Good grief, it was going to be so much harder telling him about the true extent of the insidious Daisy and her bloody laudanum now. He probably thought she was mad enough as it was, running away from people’s toilets.

  ‘I’ll text her,’ said Simon. ‘I’ll just tell her you’re with me and you’re fine. Then we’ll go and get your things from your house and we can head off.’ He ran a finger up and down her spine and she shivered with that electricity again. ‘Maybe I can leave the decorations up in the garden for another time, eh?’

  ‘That sounds good,’ said Cori from beneath the cushion. ‘All of it.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ALMOST NOTTING HILL

  It hadn’t taken long for Cori to pack an overnight bag and leave the mews house with barely a backward glance.