The Girl in the Painting

by Kirsty Ferry

  When they read the painter’s signature, they’d had it valued and then Granny had done a small victory dance around the lounge.

  Granny was convinced it was truly the Rossetti portrait of Corisande that family legend had long believed in, but Cori hadn’t been too sure. Rossetti had been renowned for seducing a plethora of beautiful redheads. This might simply be one of many. It wasn’t exactly an innocent picture; but, as Granny had said, it made a lovely story. Regardless, Granny didn’t want the family connection getting out into the public domain or, she said, she’d have no peace at all from Rossetti fans.

  Granny had told Cori to do what she liked with the portrait. As far as she was concerned, it was Cori’s now, as she’d found it. Call it her inheritance. And what use did her old granny have for that sort of money anyway? The family she had never spoken to for decades would be all over her like a rash if she admitted it.

  So, with her grandmother’s blessing, Cori sold the picture anonymously and moved to London. Granny’s only provisos had been that she buy a house big enough to accommodate her business and to put up her old granny if she ever felt like a trip to the capital.

  When she realised how much the Rossetti was worth, Cori had felt horribly guilty, and tried to give her granny the money back. But her grandmother had said no. And she wasn’t a woman to be argued with.

  Once again, as she left the Tate behind, Cori wondered who the girl in the picture actually was. She still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure it was Corisande; and she was fairly certain it wasn’t Lizzie Siddal either. But could it actually be Daisy Ashford? Becky’s article had been published at a very opportune time and had piqued Cori’s interest in the painting even more.

  And, thinking about it all now, Cori realised that she felt sorry for Daisy. Daisy had been living in her own little dream world, addled by drugs and obsessed by a woman she could never aspire to be. Rossetti had known her – he must have known her. Maybe he picked her up from the gutter one night when she was having an episode.

  Maybe she boldly knocked on his door like she claimed to have done with Millais. Maybe Rossetti had painted her then – and, years later, passed the portrait off to Thomas as a portrait of his wife – having been too busy making love to Corisande to paint her properly. Who knew? Who would ever know the truth of it?

  Cori doubted whether Daisy herself had really known much about real life at the end. But one thing was for sure. Daisy had wanted to be noticed – and she had been.

  Cori cast one more look over her shoulder as she followed Simon out of the door. It may have been a trick of the light, or it may not have been. But she could have sworn there was a girl standing by the portrait; a tall, slim girl, who wore a long, silvery-white dress and had red-gold hair that shimmered in the light. A man stood next to her, holding her hand. He wore a smart frock coat, a white, starched collar just visible above the lapels. His fair hair was just a little too long to be entirely formal. The girl stood before the portrait, her back to Cori, her head tilted slightly to one side, leaning on the man’s shoulder, as if she was studying the picture. Lying on the floor, just in front of the picture was a small bunch of flowers.

  Cori couldn’t tell at that distance – but she was willing to bet they were daisies.

  * The End*

  We'd love to hear how you enjoyed this novel. Please leave a review on the retail site where you purchased this eBook. Reviews really do help the author. Thank you!

  Find out about Kirsty and her novels next including a preview of The Girl in the Photograph.

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading The Girl in the Painting. I hope you enjoyed Cori and Simon’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. The characters from my previous novel, Some Veil Did Fall wouldn’t let go and I had to write the story to stop them from pestering me. And by doing that, I met the incredible Daisy, who has to be one of my favourite characters yet!

  All authors, as well as loving their characters, really value their readers. The road to publication is a magical one and seeing your book out there, being enjoyed by people like yourself, is a fantastic feeling. It’s even more special if people like you take the trouble to leave a review. It’s lovely to hear what readers think and we all value their feedback.

  If you have time therefore, a note on a book review site such as Goodreads or indeed a comment on any online store would be hugely appreciated.

  Please do feel free to contact me anytime. You can find my details under my author profile and I very much hope that you’ll enjoy my other books as well.

  Happy reading, and again, a huge thank you!

  Lots of love

  Kirsty

  xxx

  Read about Kirsty and her novels next ...

  About the Author

  Kirsty Ferry is from the North East of England and lives there with her husband and son. She won the English Heritage/Belsay Hall National Creative Writing competition in 2009 and has had articles and short stories published in The People’s Friend, The Weekly News, It’s Fate, Vintage Script, Ghost Voices and First Edition. Her work also appears in several anthologies, incorporating such diverse themes as vampires, crime, angels and more.

  Kirsty loves writing ghostly mysteries and interweaving fact and fiction. The research is almost as much fun as writing the book itself, and if she can add a wonderful setting and a dollop of history, that’s even better.

  Her day job involves sharing a building with an eclectic collection of ghosts, which can often prove rather interesting.

  Find out about Kirsty's novels next including a preview of the next book in the series.

  Follow Kirsty on:

  www.twitter.com/kirsty_ferry

  www.facebook.com/pages/Kirsty-Ferry-Author

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  When Becky steps into Jonathon Nelson’s atmospheric photography studio in Whitby, she is simply a freelance journalist in search of a story. But as soon as she puts on the beautiful Victorian dress and poses for a photograph, she becomes somebody quite different …

  From that moment on, Becky is overcome with visions and flashbacks from a life that isn’t her own – some disturbing and filled with fear.

  As she and Jon begin to unravel the tragic mystery behind her strange experiences, the natural affinity they have for each other continues to grow and leads them to question … have they met somewhere before? Perhaps not in this life but in another?

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  The Girl in the Photograph

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  What if the past was trying to teach you a lesson?

  Staying alone in the shadow of an abandoned manor house in Yorkshire would be madness to some, but art enthusiast Lissy de Luca can’t wait. Lissy has her reasons for seeking isolation, and she wants to study the Staithes Group – an artists’ commune active at the turn of the twentieth century.

  Lissy is fascinated by the imposing Sea Scarr Hall – but the deeper she delves, the stranger things get. A lonely figure patrols the cove at night, whilst a hidden painting leads to a chilling realisation. And then there’s the photograph of the girl; so beautiful she could be a mermaid … and so familiar.

  As Lissy further immerses herself, she comes to an eerie conclusion. The occupants of Sea Scarr Hall are long gone, but they have a message for her – and they’re going to make sure she gets it.

  Read an extract of the Prologue and Chapter One here.

  Or find out more and purchase from your favourite eBook store. Visit www.choc-lit.com for details.

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  Any wish can be granted with a little
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  When her life in London falls apart, Elodie Bright returns to Suffolk and to Hartsford Hall, the home of her childhood friend Alexander Aldrich, now the Earl of Hartsford. There, she throws herself into helping Alex bring a new lease of life to the old house and its grounds.

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  Where heroes are like chocolate – irresistible!

  Quality stories with a romance at the heart.

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  The Girl in the Photograph

  by Kirsty Ferry

  PROLOGUE

  She dragged the silver-backed brush through her hair, feeling the wild, salty, tangled curls stretch out and pull into the soft waves she was more accustomed to. She longed to be outside, rather than trapped in this gilded cage; she yearned to feel the sea breeze on her face and the sand crushing beneath her bare feet. She didn’t belong here, with him, but she knew she had to stay, at least a little while longer …

  CHAPTER ONE

  Whitby, July, Present Day

  ‘Seriously, it’ll be fun!’

  ‘Fun?’ Lissy de Luca stared at her half-brother Jon Nelson and pulled a face. ‘I suspect it’s more fun for the photographer than the model.’

  Jon was sitting on the sofa, right next to a picture window which was big enough for the afternoon sun to pour through the glass and make the little lounge in the flat above his Whitby photographic studio glow. ‘Look, it’s a project I’ve been thinking of for a while,’ he said. ‘You know Simon’s having an exhibition in Mayfair and he’s already said I can have some wall space. I think it’ll be great to try and recreate some of the Pre-Raphaelite paintings in photography, and they’ll go alongside Simon’s work quite nicely. It’s just a different form of art, that’s all.’

  Simon, an artist, and his partner Cori were friends of theirs who lived in London and Jon had just been telling Lissy about their joint plans. He was visibly fizzing with excitement.

  ‘Well, his paintings are marvellous!’ Lissy leaned forward and took a biscuit from a plate. ‘He’s got Cori to model for him and he can recreate all those pictures easily. They’ll look so good. I can just see them now, up on that gallery wall. Wonderful.’ She nibbled a corner of the biscuit, breaking into the chocolate shell with a view to stripping the chocolate off it in a neat, efficient manner before she hit the actual biscuit inside.

  ‘So, basically, you’re implying Simon’s paintings are better than my photographs? Well, thanks Sis, I love you too.’ Although Jon and Lissy had the same mother, they had grown up together in the household of Lissy’s wealthy Italian father; but it had never made any difference to their relationship, which was based on the usual deep love and fiery spats between siblings.

  In this instance, Lissy didn’t rise to the bait. She licked the last vestiges of chocolate from the biscuit and popped the remaining shortbread circle into her mouth.

  She stared at Jon as she chewed. ‘I often wish I had a sister instead of a brother. Girls are less touchy.’

  ‘Rubbish! Absolute rubbish. I grew up with you, remember, and I now live with two girls and no way are they less touchy!’

  ‘You just proved it; you are far too touchy.’ Lissy stood up and stretched. ‘Well, as I was hoping to see Becky and Grace and they aren’t here, I’m going to go.’

  ‘Oh, sit down. They won’t be long. Grace wanted to see the pirate ship so Becky took her out for a wander.’ Jon suddenly perked up. ‘Maybe she’ll bring back some coffee?’

  ‘What? Becky would juggle coffee and a three-year old in a coffee shop, just to feed your addiction?’

  Jon grinned. ‘Hopefully.’

  Lissy shuddered. She couldn’t even contemplate such a horror. She loved her sister-in-law and her niece dearly, but surely there were limits? The thought of taking Grace into an exclusive café in London, where Lissy lived – well, in fact, an exclusive café anywhere – was inconceivable. There was a hot chocolate place along one of the side streets in Whitby with the blessing of outside tables. Lissy could just about cope with the child there. And that was only because she would usually feed her with a succession of marshmallows and strawberries dipped in chocolate, which did tend to keep her quiet; even if it made her rather sticky and unpleasant afterwards.

  There was a jingle from way beneath their feet and it was Jon’s turn to stand up. ‘Customers. No rest for the wicked.’

  He strode out of the lounge and headed towards the rickety old
staircase that connected the flat to the shop. The studio dealt mainly with the tourist trade; people would come in to have photographs taken of themselves in period clothing and the twice-yearly Goth weekend celebrations were his busiest times. Luckily the queues of pale people dressed in black and discovering their inner vampire, courtesy of Bram Stoker setting part of his Dracula novel in Whitby, didn’t bother his small daughter.

  Grace often sat on the old wooden counter entranced by the vamps. Sometimes, it had to be said, her piercing, solemn stare would unsettle the customers more than they could unsettle her. It often took a double take for them to realise the thing that was ‘off’ about her – the fact that, like her father and aunt, she had one blue and one green eye, inherited from her paternal grandmother’s line. Her unusual eyes were surrounded by the darkest, longest lashes, and when you matched that with her dark hair and her mother’s English Rose complexion, Grace Eleanor Nelson was clearly destined for great, although not conventional, beauty.

  ‘Hey!’ Jon’s voice, rising an octave and somehow simultaneously softening in tone, floated in from the tiny landing. ‘Who is this coming up the stairs to my little house?’

  ‘Cap’n Hook,’ came another voice – a child’s voice. ‘But I want a crocodile. Tick tock!’ The door to the lounge flew open and a mini-whirlwind came in, sporting a lop-sided eye-patch and brandishing a rubber dagger. ‘Bang bang!’ The whirlwind came to a sudden halt in front of Lissy and grinned through a mask of something unidentifiably, yes, sticky. ‘Bang bang!’ Cap’n Hook held the dagger aloft and pointed it at Lissy.

  ‘Darling, guns go bang bang. That’s a dagger,’ said Lissy.