by Kirsty Ferry
That had been another terrible summer – the summer before she met Stef. In her mind, she had cheapened herself by sleeping with a married man. She had accepted his lies and his stories and been taken in by his tales – about how he had left his wife and how they hadn’t slept with each other for years and about how she kept the children away from him …
Then she mentioned it to Becky, who asked, quite innocently, why he kept coming to her house and why she’d never been to his home. Why he could only see her at certain times of the week and why she could never contact him by phone.
Looking back, she felt stupid; she felt absolutely ridiculous. How had she not seen it? How had she, Lissy de Luca, been taken in by that? She’d been well and truly fooled by him.
And of course he was married. She’d followed him one evening, and seen him go home to a big, detached house with two cars on the drive and a play-house in the garden. She’d seen a pregnant woman come to the door flanked by a toddler and a school-age child. She’d seen him kiss the woman, and kiss the children, and walk inside laughing.
A bit more research confirmed that it was indeed his wife, and Lissy knew that she, Lissy, was a fool and an idiot and clearly not worthy of a decent relationship.
‘You had good cause to be stubborn and hate me,’ replied Stef. ‘I wasted your time, my time and Kerensa’s. I am so sorry.’ He laid his forehead against hers and she closed her eyes, feeling his long eyelashes brush her skin as he nuzzled in. She breathed deeply and inhaled the warm, spicy scent of his aftershave.
‘I’m very pleased you don’t hate me tonight,’ he murmured, ‘but don’t make a decision just yet. Don’t forgive me until you see one more thing to prove I love you and I never stopped thinking of you. Shall I show you a picture of a girl in a red dress?’
‘A girl in a red dress?’ Lissy pulled away and stared at him, images of their perfect summer scrolling through her mind. ‘I had a red dress.’
‘You did,’ replied Stef. ‘So would you like to see the picture? Unfortunately, it isn’t downstairs. I had to hide it away on Saturday, thank the Lord for my portfolio.’
Lissy felt her lips curl into a smile. ‘Is it upstairs?’ she asked. ‘Upstairs in the bedroom, maybe?’
‘I believe it is,’ replied Stef, quite seriously. ‘I do think that is where I last saw it.’
‘Then I think I would like to see it.’
‘I think I would too.’ He moved away, just far enough so he could stand up, put his glass down and gently remove hers from her grasp. Then he took her by the hand and led the way up the steep little staircase, lit with stars.
In the bedroom, Lissy saw the photograph laid exactly in the middle of the double bed. The red of the model’s dress was startling against the crisp, white drifts of sheets and pillows, and she picked the photograph up, holding the frame almost reverently.
It was exactly as he had said; a girl standing on a rocky plateau, staring out to sea. Her hair blew around her face, and the set of her chin was stubborn as she raised her head to the horizon. Far beyond her, the sea stretched out in a sparkling azure carpet, a suggestion of ships bobbing about on the water, and a flock of gulls soaring up into the heavens.
‘Do you like it?’ Stef asked.
‘It’s me,’ she replied, quietly. ‘It’s like Harold Knight’s Bathing Pool. Just like it.’ She lifted her hand and traced the figure with her fingertip. ‘I look happy,’ she said eventually. ‘It looks as if nothing can spoil the future.’
‘The photograph is indeed full of hope.’ Stef took the frame from her and looked at it. He frowned a little as if he was inwardly criticising his work. ‘Still, it is one of my best, I think. That and your new Miranda picture.’
‘That’s because of the model.’ Lissy looked up at Stef and felt that yearning grow that she had fought against for seven years. Nobody had ever come close to him. Nobody ever would. She’d spent her time meddling in her friends’ relationships and matchmaking like there was no tomorrow – just to stop thinking about what she had failed to achieve for herself. She had built walls, moats and barriers – you name it. Nobody, now, knew the real Lissy; the happy, generous, less-than-perfect girl she was inside. They just knew the apparently spoiled, selfish girl who seemingly craved perfection and order. But she wasn’t like that – not really. She was just trying to protect herself. And Stef was the only one who’d ever come close to finding the real Lissy she’d buried so deeply, so many years ago.
She was damned if she went ahead with this, and cursed if she didn’t. Stef had once told her he had Gypsy blood somewhere along the line. She didn’t know if she had – her father had never told her that was the case – and she couldn’t predict the future. She didn’t know which way the dice would fall and God knew she didn’t have a crystal ball; but was it worth the risk? Was Stef worth the risk?
She made a decision. ‘Put the picture down, Stef,’ she commanded quietly.
Startled, he obeyed, placing the photograph on the bedside table as Lissy looked up at the skylights and saw the stars framed perfectly in the glass rectangles. ‘Starlight,’ she said. ‘Rossetti’s old Sea Spell planisphere is all above us. His star chart. It makes me feel very insignificant.’
‘Insignificant?’ Stef moved towards her, and lifted a length of hair from her forehead. He brushed it to one side, letting his hand linger for a moment. ‘You could never be insignificant.’
‘We are all insignificant compared to that place up there,’ said Lissy, her attention not at all on the stars anymore. ‘We can see constellations and galaxies and other worlds from here. It makes whatever we do down here seem like it matters very little.’
‘It matters to me’ Stef traced the curve of her shoulder and ran his finger down her arm. The sensations shot fireworks around her body. ‘It matters so much. It matters that I lost you for seven years.’
His hand had found her waist and was drawing her closer to him, her hands reaching out for him, her body answering his. Lissy found that it mattered very much to her too, although there was no longer any time or space for words.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sea Scarr Hall, 1905
Dearest Lorelei,
I hate London. The parties are hideous and the company is worse. If I wanted someone who brayed, I would have fallen for a donkey.
I’m so envious of you, dear Lorelei. You were never forced into too-tight corsets and you never had to suffer boned collars in your day dresses so your head was held up nice and straight. The young ladies down here barely eat, because their gowns are as confined as the circles they move in. They are forever found sobbing in the corners because the young man they have set their sights on is now ‘attached’ to their best friend through no fault of their own. And it all happens so jolly quickly as well! I really feel I am at a meat market.
I want to come back to Yorkshire. I want to come back to you, dear Lorelei. And to Archie. Nobody down here can hold a candle to him.
Fondest regards,
Florrie
Lorelei smiled when she read the letter, then folded it up and put it to one side, ready to respond to later. Florrie wasn’t a happy girl, but, as a young lady of her class, she had to put up with it. Lorelei would be sympathetic and agree with her; but she had to stay there, despite all her protestations. She was homesick, that’s all.
Lorelei instead prepared to spend the day with Julian. He called for her, very properly, at the Hall and suggested he take her into town to hunt for members of the Staithes Group. There was no need for anyone to know that she had sneaked back into the Hall, just as dawn broke. Her body ached deliciously in a way it hadn’t for a long, long time, and she flitted through the deserted corridors, keeping to the shadows like a ghost, praying that she wouldn’t encounter any servants on her way. And this morning, this beautiful morning, her prayers had been answered and she had managed to creep into her room, unnoticed by anyone at all.
‘You make the Group sound like rabbits!’ Lorelei laughed delight
edly as Julian stood in the foyer, his hands in his pockets and his feet planted squarely apart. He had his suit on today – the one he had worn for the ball – and she thought he looked positively edible in it. Even more so, because she now had a very clear image in her mind of what lay beneath that suit and the thought made her go hot and cold and pine for more of the same.
‘Not quite rabbits. More elusive than rabbits,’ he replied. Lorelei pulled her veiled hat on and tied it with a scarf, excited beyond belief. Walter was still missing, so that was wonderful, and she prayed that he would spend another night with Harriet. In fact, she prayed that he would decide to spend all of his time with Harriet and leave her the hell alone.
It would be even better if he were to divorce her.
And so, here they were, in Staithes, pleasantly full after enjoying tea and cakes in a small tea shop in the town. Lorelei had pointed out Roraima House, a delightful three storey house built about ten years ago by the Sea Captain John Trattles and named after his steamship, the SS Roraima, and in return Julian had pointed out the cobbles and the fishermen’s cottages and the way the houses huddled together in the streets as if they were sheltering from a storm.
These were all things Lorelei knew of and had noticed of course, but it was different having Julian with her. He made her look at them – really look at them – and then told her stories about the artists and how he had met with some of them and how that had spurred on his interest to come here.
‘Of course,’ he whispered to her as he refilled her tea cup, ‘it all pales into insignificance now I’ve met you, Lady Scarsdale.’ Lorelei giggled and accepted the cup.
Then she became serious. ‘Julian, is what we are doing so very wrong?’ she asked. ‘I mean, to all intents and purposes I am a married woman. But part of me says “what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander”.’ She compressed her lips and stared into the tea cup.
Then she sighed. The Yorkshire girl was back.
‘I don’t really know when I sold myself down the river, Julian. I didn’t love him when we married, but he could be quite charming at times. I thought by living at the Hall I could take up my painting again and drift around quite happily. But it’s not enough. I think I was trying to escape my past. You know all about my history – and so does he, now.’ She blushed and frowned. ‘So I was never going to be an angel, was I? Maybe it’s just me. Perhaps I expected too much of myself.’
‘Your past doesn’t matter to me, and neither does your present. I would like to be part of your future though. But I fear that may not be entirely possible either. That saddens me somewhat.’
‘I wish you could live in the Dower House permanently.’
‘Me too. But I have a home and a business in Scotland, in Edinburgh, and I have to go back there eventually.’ He looked genuinely upset. ‘I wish you could come with me.’
Lorelei said nothing. If she allowed the possibilities to take flight and carry her away, she might as well leap upon the man in the tea shop and let him have his wicked way with her right there and then. Both of those options seemed delightful – but not very well timed.
‘Anyway,’ Julian’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘I have something for you. I have to go and collect it, and I can’t allow you to come with me. So I will, if I may, leave you here with another pot of tea and another slice of sponge cake, and I shall hurry back. Oh. And I have this for you as well. You can ponder it whilst I am away.’
He rummaged around in the breast pocket of his jacket and handed her a small, flat package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.
‘What’s this?’ Lorelei looked down at the package and then back at him. But he was standing up, ready to leave. He winked at her and smiled. She was pleased she was sitting down as her legs suddenly felt very unsteady.
‘Open it and see. I shan’t be long. Just count up to fifty to make sure I’ve disappeared first.’ And with that, he slipped out of the building.
Lorelei watched him striding down the street until he was out of sight and was ridiculously happy that she had chosen a window seat. Then she turned her attention to the package.
The paper was stiff and Lorelei had to pick at the string a little to loosen the knot; but when she unfolded that paper – well. She was utterly, utterly speechless.
Inside the package was a photograph – it was the first one Julian had taken of her on the rock; the very first one. She was sitting on the thing dressed in that medieval gown, tendrils of hair escaping from her plait. She had her arms wrapped around her knees and she was smiling at the camera. Or, more to the point, there was a little secret smile playing around her lips which was directed more at the cameraman than the camera.
‘Oh, God!’ She clapped one of her hands over her mouth. ‘It’s me. That’s really me.’ She looked up and glanced around the tea shop, horribly aware that people might be staring at her and wondering why her cheeks were on fire and why her hands were shaking so much.
Lorelei flipped the photograph over and saw the words LS by JMC. Julian had written that message neatly on the back of it, deliberately she thought, so that she could at least pretend Mrs Cameron – whose initials were the same – had been the photographer. Another little secret they could share between them.
‘Oh, Julian,’ she whispered. She looked up again and was surprised to see that nobody had, in actual fact, taken any notice of her. She felt her cheeks flush once more and she wrapped the photograph back up and thrust it into the little bag which hung from her wrist. It fit perfectly.
She moved the chair back with a very loud scraping noise and a waitress appeared out of nowhere.
‘Can I help, miss?’ the girl asked.
‘I … um … I think I want to pay,’ replied Lorelei, surprising both herself and the girl. The girl’s eyes widened – so much was charged to accounts that ladies did not generally pay for much at all.
‘Aren’t you waiting for the gentleman to come back, miss?’
‘Ah – no. No, I shan’t, thank you. I will just pay,’ said Lorelei. It felt strange being independent again. She quite liked it. ‘In fact,’ she continued expansively, ‘let me make it clear that I am paying for us both.’ She smiled confidently at the waitress and stood straighter. Yes, that had shocked her, hadn’t it?
‘Very well, miss.’ The girl looked at her curiously. ‘Let me just get the bill for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Lorelei followed the girl to the cash register. She had a feeling that was not allowed either, but she felt ridiculously free. It was that photograph, wasn’t it? Julian had shown her the real Lorelei again, not the one who lived by society’s rules in that gilded cage by the coast.
She took a few coins from the bag and gave them to the girl then hurried out of the tea shop. She dashed to the end of the street where she had seen him disappear, then realised that was where her plan of independence had failed her. Where on earth was he? Now she understood why he had told her to stay put. The road turned both left and right and—
‘Lorelei!’
She swung bodily to the right and saw him hurrying down the street towards her, with that now-familiar loping stride and the ever-present camera-case slung across his body.
‘Julian!’ She couldn’t help it – she called back and didn’t care who heard her. She raised her gloved hand and waved at him, then waited until he approached her.
He flew at her and somehow his arms were around her and she was giggling and he pulled her into a side street.
‘The photograph—’ she began, but then suddenly there were no words, just his lips on hers and the sound of the seagulls crying far, far above them.
Julian pulled away first, his gaze travelling over every inch of her incredible face. When he had seen her there looking so alone, the urge to take her away from Sea Scarr Hall and Staithes and that vile husband of hers was so strong, he knew he was lost.
‘What are we going to do?’ he whispered, lifting his hand and running his thumb down the side of
her face. ‘I just know I can’t leave here in a few weeks’ time and go back to Scotland without you.’
‘Oh, God, don’t talk about it!’ moaned Lorelei. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. His arms came around her and she fit so perfectly into the sphere of his being that he refused to think of a future where they were parted. ‘I want to come with you, I do, but he’ll find me. He’ll come after me and he’ll know.’
‘Then the answer is simple. We can’t go together, can we?’ said Julian. ‘I leave first, we have a torturous few weeks where we plan your escape, then you follow me. You could go first, but you don’t know where I live and the servants might wonder why a mermaid had turned up on my doorstep.’
‘Servants?’ Lorelei pulled away and looked at him. ‘You have servants?’
Julian laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked. I might not be as wealthy as Walter, but I do all right. Did you think I lived hand to mouth in a garret somewhere?’
‘I don’t know what I thought. You don’t seem …’ Her voice trailed off and she looked flustered.
‘I’m not an arrogant, stuck-up prig like Walter?’ he asked, smiling down at her. He pushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek so he could see her better. ‘As I said, I do all right. I live in a reasonably large house in Edinburgh New Town overlooking Queen Street Gardens and I have a cook who is also my housekeeper. I have two maids and a butler. Can you live with so few staff, darling Lorelei?’
‘I think I probably could.’ She smiled back. ‘It’s more staff than I had when I was modelling.’
