The Girl in the Painting

by Kirsty Ferry

  ‘It’s a gun today,’ replied Hook. ‘Hallo.’

  ‘Hello sweetie.’ Lissy bent down, intending to kiss each side of her niece’s face as she usually did in polite society, but the little girl had other ideas.

  Grace threw her arms around Lissy’s neck and lifted her feet from the ground. ‘Mwaaah.’ She smacked a wet kiss somewhere to the side of Lissy’s mouth.

  Automatically, Lissy put her arms around the child to steady them both and Grace snuggled in to her. ‘Come see who Mummy found.’ She pointed to the door and bounced in Lissy’s arms. ‘That way.’ Lissy had no choice but to walk towards the staircase, breathing in the faint scent of chocolate and bananas the child was breathing out.

  ‘I don’t suppose your Mummy found anyone interesting?’ she asked. ‘Was it a princess? If it was a princess, maybe it was just a customer.’ Grace adored the more elaborate Goths – she loved the long flouncy dresses and the lace gloves, stared covetously at the red lips and had, at times, to be physically restrained from touching the velvet chokers or veils the ladies displayed.

  ‘No princess,’ said Grace. She sighed and shook her head. Then she brightened. ‘It’s a prince!’

  Lissy fully expected to see a pallid young man dressed in a top hat and a frock coat as she manoeuvred the unwieldy bundle expertly down the staircase and pushed the door open into the studio.

  What she didn’t expect to see, was Stefano Ricci.

  ‘Oh, good God!’ Lissy’s face drained of colour.

  Stefano looked at her, his heart thudding – maybe it was panic, maybe it wasn’t. But, regardless, he hadn’t been sure of what his reception would be. He did notice, however, that Lissy was as immaculate as she had always been. Her dark hair now fell to her shoulders from a severe side parting and a long, dark, choppy fringe hid part of her face. There were streaks of purple and pink in the fringe – on anyone else, Stefano knew, the highlights would be lost in the mass of dark hair. On Lissy, they lay exactly where they should.

  He took a deep breath and smiled, bowing elegantly to her. ‘Mia cara.’ Then he saw the look of thunder on her elfin face. ‘Ah, why would you look so upset, Elisabetta? I have come from so far to see you again. And this – this little girl. She is a doll.’ He turned to Grace. ‘In my country, which is somewhere called Italy, we would call you Grazia.’

  ‘Grazia?’ The child tried the name out and appeared to like it. Grace was obviously not a shy child. She looked directly at him, a stranger to her, and jiggled, apparently letting her aunt know she wanted to be put back on her own two feet. ‘Hallo, again.’ She walked over to Stefano when Lissy had done her bidding and stood in front of him, waiting for him to answer.

  ‘Hello,’ said Stefano. He held his hand out solemnly.

  Grace seized it and pumped it up and down, giggling. ‘Mummy,’ she said, turning to Jon’s pretty chestnut-haired wife, Becky, ‘he’s nice. I like him.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ replied Becky, smiling back. ‘He’s Daddy’s friend Stefano. Can you say that?’

  Grace nodded. ‘Yes.’ She didn’t elaborate however, and Stefano smiled.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ replied Grace confidently. She tugged at the hand she still held and Stefano was curious as she pulled him slightly at an angle and pointed at her mother. ‘But you must talk straight to Mummy. Her ears don’t work right.’

  ‘Grace!’ That was Lissy scolding the child.

  ‘She tries to help,’ Stefano defended her. God, the woman looked good. ‘How long has it been?’ he asked, gently releasing Grace and taking a step towards Lissy with his hands outstretched. His camera was slung around his neck, and he felt the equipment bump against his body. He itched to take a photograph of Elisabetta. Nobody had ever compared to her.

  ‘Not long enough,’ said Lissy.

  ‘Yet I think it has been far too long.’

  ‘You are joking?’ exclaimed Lissy. The child had run back to her now and was patting her legs, trying to get attention and probably hoping for another carry in her arms. She was half bending over to the child, ready to either pick her up or send her off with a flea in her ear, when she looked up at Stefano.

  Flash.

  ‘I thank you,’ he said. ‘You have made my first Pre-Raphaelite imagining come to life. You are the very image of Waterhouse’s Lady of Shalott looking at Lancelot.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she hissed. ‘You are sneaky and underhanded and ...’

  ‘And you have never forgotten me,’ interrupted Stefano, ‘and you still feel a passion for me – otherwise, why would you still be so bothered to see me?’

  Lissy, apparently, couldn’t find an answer.

  To continue reading, purchase from your eBook provider.

  Or visit www.choc-lit.com for details.