by Kirsty Ferry
Cori stared at Lissy and heard Simon give a little groan of embarrassment. She chanced a look at him. His head was in his hands and he was shaking it slowly.
It had been how many years since she had seen Lissy? She thought the last time she had spoken to her was possibly their graduation ceremony, which was maybe eight years ago? It had to be that long. She was twenty-nine now, almost thirty; Lissy would be the same age. Good grief. And yet Lissy had just picked up again where she’d left off. It wasn’t surprising, really, that Cori had bumped into her in the London art world. If anyone belonged there, it was Lissy de Luca. She had always seemed destined to be there – right in the middle of it all.
‘I live here now,’ said Cori. ‘I just moved down a couple of months ago.’
‘And are you enjoying everything the galleries and museums have to offer you?’ asked Lissy. Although she said it innocently enough, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes and Cori had a feeling she didn’t just mean was she enjoying the actual artworks. Lissy was as bad as Granny.
‘So far I am,’ Cori answered, carefully. ‘And hopefully it’ll continue.’
Lissy reached across and squeezed her arm. ‘It will if I have anything to do with it,’ she said. ‘Speaking of which, what did you think of that article about Ophelia?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Simon. ‘Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but—’ He looked up and pushed his hand through his hair so it stuck up on end. He looked slightly shell-shocked, as he well might do, thought Cori. Although, if she was honest, she would like to know exactly what he’d said to Lissy about her. ‘Would you like a coffee, Lissy?’ He spread his hands out again, helplessly this time, as if he was resigned to the fact Lissy would be sharing what was left of his lunch hour.
‘Ooh, an espresso would be simply perfect, darling!’ said Lissy. ‘Thank you.’
‘Okay,’ he said. He looked at Cori. ‘Can I maybe get you another latte?’ He had a slight crease between his eyebrows as if he was uncertain she would accept anything else from him, considering he had apparently discussed her with Lissy.
Cori smiled at him; she was sure, somehow, that whatever he had said was, at the very least, complimentary. ‘I’d love one,’ she said. ‘But only if you’ve got time to have one with me.’
‘He’s got time,’ interjected Lissy. ‘It’s absolutely fine. We’ll go back together, they’ll be very cool about it. I promise.’
Simon looked at her. ‘The ironic thing is, she’s right,’ he said.
‘I am,’ replied Lissy. ‘Oh, actually, I’ll have a double espresso instead, if you don’t mind. Thanks, darling.’
Simon nodded and stood up. Cori watched him push his seat away from the table and head off to the counter. Lissy, it was apparent, hadn’t really changed in all those years. She was still confident and outspoken and, despite all that, still very likeable.
‘Simon’s one of the good guys,’ said Lissy, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’ve known him for a while now. He deserves a nice girl in his life. Slutty was vile.’
‘Slutty?’ Cori stared at Lissy. ‘Who on earth was Slutty?’
‘His ex. She’s called Sylvie really. But I call her Slutty.’ Lissy shrugged, dismissing the woman. ‘He’s better off without her. But you! When he started describing this amazing girl he’d seen in the galleries, I just knew it had to be you. And I was sure I’d find him here – he’s always here at lunchtimes – and I just wondered if he’d actually managed to see this amazing girl he spoke about, because that was clearly what he was desperate to do. Then I saw you here and bonus!’ She clapped her hands. ‘Yay!’
Cori laughed. ‘You know, I’m not surprised you’re involved with the Tate, Lissy. But I am actually surprised that I haven’t bumped into you before now. We must have kept missing each other.’
‘I don’t have a set pattern, I just turn up,’ said Lissy. ‘And I’ve been around some other galleries as well. I can’t stay in one place for too long. I start to miss the pictures at my other galleries.’ She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. She let her gaze rove over Cori and nodded. ‘Yes. Still like Lizzie. Gosh, I’m so pleased we met again!’
‘Lizzie Siddal was stunning,’ said Cori, ‘but the whole Lizzie legend makes that Daisy Ashford story all the more interesting, doesn’t it?’
‘I know! And what an exciting time for you to be here!’ said Lissy. ‘Right here on the doorstep as the whole thing unfolds.’
‘Ah,’ said Simon, appearing with the drinks. ‘I wondered how long it would be before Daisy Ashford was mentioned. Looks like I got back just in time. At least my lunch break wasn’t gate-crashed needlessly.’ He put the tray on the table and lifted Cori’s latte off it first. Carefully, he placed the mug in front of her, then took the tiny espresso cup off and placed that in front of Lissy.
‘Oh, thank you, darling,’ said Lissy, picking the cup up. The artificial light in the coffee shop winked off her perfectly manicured, sugar-pink nails and she pursed her Cupid’s bow lips as she blew on the coffee. ‘Lizzie was the original supermodel,’ she continued, after an elegant sip of the strong, dark liquid. She didn’t even leave a lipstick mark on the white cup. ‘I’ve heard her called that before. Even down to the drug habit and eating disorder.’
‘Lissy!’ Simon laughed. ‘Stop generalising!’
‘Well, okay. Maybe they haven’t all got a habit,’ said Lissy, pulling a face. ‘But she did. It’s well documented. Maybe she was a fraction taller than you, Cori? And I don’t think your features are quite as sharp,’ she pondered, ‘but Lizzie had a very strange beauty. She was compelling, I think.’
‘Exactly. She was so unique. And I just think that if Daisy looked enough like Lizzie to fool the world, well – anything is possible, isn’t it?’ said Cori.
‘Indeed it is,’ said Simon. ‘“It seems a thing to wonder on”, as Rossetti himself put it.’
‘Oh, I love that poem!’ said Cori, sitting up straighter. ‘It’s so powerful. He must have really adored her to write about her like that.’
‘The Portrait,’ sniffed Lissy as if she wanted to prove her knowledge alongside Cori and Simon. ‘Everybody knows that poem. “This is her picture as she was: it seems a thing to wonder on, as though mine image in the glass should tarry when myself am gone.”’ Lissy recited the poem as if she had learned it by rote, speaking the lines tonelessly at the approximate pace of a galloping horse.
Cori hid a smile behind her coffee cup. No, Lissy hadn’t changed.
‘Anyway,’ said Lissy, putting her cup down, ‘let’s get back to Daisy Ashford. The diary clearly implies that she was a model for Millais when he painted Ophelia. Though there is, of course, no way of proving it.’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Cori. ‘But how amazing would it be to see that diary and dig a bit further? You never know, my great-great-great-aunt may be mentioned in it somewhere. Having said that, we’re not sure at what point she supposedly had the affair with Rossetti. And I’m not entirely sure how many “greats” away she is either.’
‘But one of your actual ancient relatives had an affair with Rossetti?’ repeated Lissy. ‘How marvellous! I don’t remember you saying anything about that.’
‘I’m fairly sure I would have mentioned it, Lissy,’ said Cori, amused. ‘It’s my family’s greatest claim to fame.’ Lissy had never really been one for listening to other people though. She’d always been racing around the campus, flitting from one thing to another like a butterfly.
‘That’s so interesting!’ said Lissy, looking at Cori with renewed respect. ‘Gosh you could be related to him – the descendant of an illegitimate Rossetti child. Imagine that!’
‘I think I’d have a little more artistic talent if I was,’ said Cori. ‘If I am related, then all I inherited from them was my name and my hair colour.’
‘I never saw any mention of a Corisande in the diary,’ said Lissy, thoughtfully, ‘but then she may have just been mentioned as a nameless lover.’
>
For a moment, the world stopped turning. Had Cori really heard Lissy correctly? She opened her mouth to ask the question, but Lissy railroaded on.
‘My sister-in-law has the diary, you know. She’s the one who wrote the article.’
‘But that was Becky Nelson,’ said Cori.
‘Yes. Becky’s married to my brother, Jon,’ said Lissy.
‘Then surely she would be Becky de Luca?’ said Cori, quickly working the logical stuff out. ‘Or did she keep her maiden name?’ Whatever she’d done, there was no way she would ever have linked Becky Nelson to Lissy de Luca.
‘No.’ Lissy shook her head and the pink streaks danced amongst the glossy darkness. ‘Jon’s my half-brother. We’ve got different fathers. So he’s Jon Nelson. He’s a photographer. I grew up with Becky – she’s still my best friend after all these years. And sort of a sister now as well. Oh! And I’m going to be an aunty soon. I can’t wait! Can I Simon?’ She clapped her hands again. ‘So exciting. Can’t you remember Becky, Cori?’
It was Cori’s turn to shake her head, still thrown by the revelation. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Did she ever visit you? Ever come up at any point where I would have met her?’
‘Probably not,’ said Lissy. ‘In fact, no. No. I’m not the best at keeping in touch.’ She had the grace to look ashamed – or as about as ashamed as she could ever look – and shook her head again. ‘We talked through e-mails and texts mainly while I was at university. It’s much better now I see her more regularly. But we still rely a lot on e-mails and texts.’
Cori was trying to process the information, as was Simon it seemed.
‘So, Lissy, backtrack a little, would you?’ he said. ‘Let’s return to the diary. Becky’s got it – how? How did she get it? And no—’ he looked at Cori, his eyes confused now but oh so hypnotic. His hair was still sticking up a little, though, and Cori fought back the urge to smooth it down for him by sitting firmly on her hands. ‘Cori, I didn’t make the connection either. I promise. And Lissy – you never said anything!’
‘Hmm. I was desperate to really,’ Lissy said, frowning. ‘But if I did people would have probed and made things awkward and you know what it’s like. I wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace at the gallery.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So difficult.’
Cori wondered wryly if it had been difficult for Lissy to keep her mouth shut, or just difficult to decide what to do about it all. She suspected it was the first thing.
‘And I’m afraid,’ Lissy continued, far too innocently, ‘that I have to take credit for finding the diary in the first place – but Becky brought it all together. I think she should write a book about it, as well as the one she did about the Carrick family. But she says she won’t. She is so stubborn.’ Lissy shook her head. ‘You just can’t tell her. She insists upon hiding behind her words. And it’s not like she’s horrendously ugly or anything, she’d look fabulous in the publicity shots if she would only let me give her a proper makeover.’
Cori almost felt sorry for Becky. She thought that having Lissy as a sister-in-law might mean a high maintenance relationship somewhere along the line; and she imagined an ongoing battle of wills wouldn’t be too far off the mark either.
‘Anyway. Becky loves bits of junk and old things. She always has done. That’s probably why she married Jon,’ said Lissy as if the thought had just occurred to her. ‘She’d shown no interest in him all the time we were growing up. Who knows how these things work. One weekend together, years later, and that was it.’ She shook her head as if she was still trying to understand how her friend could have fallen for her brother.
Cori and Simon exchanged a smile.
‘Anyway, I found the diary in a gallery. One of those little hidden places that are truly gems. It was in Yorkshire – near Staithes, which isn’t far from Whitby. They had an artists’ colony up there and I was helping out with the archiving in the museum for an exhibition. I found that book in a trunk full of bits and pieces someone had donated eons ago. Way before the current owners took over. It was buried under some old playbills, shoved in the corner, right at the back of the room.’ She grinned an evil little goblinesque grin. ‘Let’s just say I borrowed it.’
She took another sip of espresso and put the cup down again. ‘So it came home with me, and then I took it to Becky and told her she could borrow it because she might find it interesting. She thinks it was a lucky find in a junk shop. I shan’t enlighten her. She said last week she was finished with it, so I could pick it up next time I was in Yorkshire. And I’m planning to go up this weekend. Do you want to come too? I can tell her I bumped into my old friend Cori, who’s from Northumbria and now living in London, but she’s a bit homesick, so I’m bringing her with me at the weekend for some company and some good old northern sea air. And then when I get the diary back, you can borrow it straight away.’
Cori just stared at her. ‘Lissy! I don’t know …’ she began.
‘Lissy!’ Simon said, angrily. ‘Maybe Cori can’t just drop everything and swan up to Yorkshire—’
‘It’s not just Yorkshire, darling. It’s Whitby!’ said Lissy. ‘Everybody loves a trip to Whitby!’
‘Lissy!’ Simon said again.
‘Hold on. Whitby?’ said Cori. ‘I love Whitby. I haven’t been in ages!’
‘There you go, then. Perfect,’ said Lissy, triumphantly.
Cori reminded herself that she had sworn she would grab every possible opportunity afforded to her in London so she could fully break free from Evan. She had accepted a coffee with Simon. She had begun networking to get her commissions built up. And she had, literally, just reconnected with Lissy, after a fashion. This was just another opportunity, wasn’t it? She loved Whitby; always had done. And yes, some nice, fresh sea air might blow the cobwebs away a little bit. Literally. Her house seriously was a tip.
And it wasn’t like she didn’t know Lissy. They had shared three years of their lives together, probing the PRB and the Impressionists and many other art movements as well. They’d been good friends at university; shared almost every secret they’d had between them.
Then Lissy had dropped off the radar. Cori was, however, a great believer in Fate. She had, she chose to think, reconnected with Lissy for a good reason. So—
‘You know what; count me in, Lissy,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to overthink it.’
‘And what about you, Simon?’ Lissy turned to him, blinking wide, innocent eyes. ‘Do you want to come as well? It should be a good day out – all friends together, sort of thing. And I don’t think you’re scheduled to work this weekend, are you?’
‘No, you are right, I’m not scheduled to work,’ said Simon. ‘But you’re unbelievable, Lissy. You can’t just expect everyone to fall in line with your plans. We might have been busy this weekend.’ He looked helplessly at Cori, and her stomach somersaulted. Had he been contemplating asking her out at the weekend? That would have been very nice indeed. ‘And anyway,’ he continued, ‘who’s to say your Becky’s even happy for us all to call in?’
‘No, look, it’s fine,’ said Cori, quickly. ‘I have to say, I’m very happy to go to Whitby. It doesn’t even matter if we don’t see Becky. I just all of a sudden want to go to Whitby. And Simon. It would be great if you came as well.’
She hoped he’d understand that, Whitby or not, she wanted to spend a bit more time with him this weekend. A lot more time with him, if she was honest.
It had been really lovely seeing Lissy and the story she had just told them was amazing. But it was Simon she had wanted to meet today and Simon she wanted to get to know better.
A four-hour trip on a train each way to Whitby and back might be a jolly good way of actually doing that.
Simon watched her for a moment, as if he was contemplating the very same thing. ‘All right,’ he said, eventually. His eyes never left her and she felt herself grow scarlet again. ‘I’ll come as well. If you guys are happy to have me.’
Cori just nodded. Their gaze never broke. ‘I’m
happy with that,’ she said. ‘Very happy.’
‘Great,’ said Simon. A little smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘I’m glad we’re all happy.’
Lissy smiled. ‘Fantastic. Becky won’t have a problem with it at all, I’m sure. She’s quite sociable. She’ll probably give you biscuits. Can’t stop her eating the things at the minute. I’ll text her right now and tell her to expect all three of us.’ She started to rummage in her bag to find her mobile phone but Simon tried to intervene, the look between him and Cori finally breaking as he transferred his attention to Lissy.
‘Please. Don’t put pressure on Becky like that!’ he said. ‘And don’t think you can text her right now and expect an answer within ten minutes or so. Cori and I can always do something else if it’s a problem.’
‘Oh, I don’t expect her to answer straight away,’ said Lissy, locating her mobile and pressing some keys as she spoke. ‘She’ll probably have her phone lying around somewhere out of sight. She’ll answer me when she gets around to it. But at least my part of the deal is done, if I actually send a message. There.’ She smiled at them. ‘It’s done. Now let’s just sit back and wait for her to agree.’
Chapter Twelve
WHITBY
Two hundred and fifty miles away, in a comfortable, messy lounge above a photographic studio in Whitby, Becky Nelson’s fingers were flying over a laptop keyboard. She was two-thirds of the way through writing an article about the wonderful Countess of Warwick, who scandalised Edwardian society by complaining that her lover’s wife was pregnant.
Becky couldn’t help being in awe of the Countess and deeming her, despite her faults, a truly amazing woman. Becky had just reached the part where the Countess was trying to blackmail King George V to help clear her debts – she had, after all, been lover to his father, King Edward VII and felt it was the least she deserved – when she became aware, out of the corner of her eye, that her mobile phone was jumping around the desk, vibrating madly.
