The Girl in the Painting Read online

  Becky groaned inwardly. She lifted her hand off the keyboard and none too gently flicked the offending phone away, so it skittered along the desk out of sight. She was in Daisy Greville’s world, not this world, and she wanted to finish the article. She mused briefly on the fact that she had stumbled across Daisy, Countess of Warwick, when she was looking for information on another Daisy – the Daisy Ashford who had shot her to supernova stardom in certain circles. But as far as she was concerned, the Lizzie/Daisy/Ophelia task was one job done, and more jobs waited in the wings.

  It seemed that not everybody thought that way, though. The Internet hits were frightening, not to mention the fact that people had been hounding her for interviews and completely random strangers had been e-mailing her and asking for sight of the diary. Only two days ago, someone from the local cafe had approached her and asked her if she would sign their copy of the article. Becky thought that things couldn’t get much more bizarre, until a man on television claimed to be a conspiracy theorist and said that yes, it was indeed true that Daisy Ashford had been the model for Ophelia, because the real Lizzie had been abducted by aliens and it was all a huge cover-up by the Government at the time.

  So when she saw the phone blinking and announcing yet another message, Becky decided to ignore it for a little while and concentrate on Countess Daisy instead.

  Half an hour later, she was done. Becky stretched like a cat and scraped her seat back from the desk. She stood up and reached for the coat she had abandoned first thing this morning and slipped it on. She picked up her purse and headed down the rickety stairs to the studio where her husband, Jon, was apparently spared – for the moment, anyway – from the steady trade of tourist traffic. The studio was empty and he had piles of photographs all neatly packaged on the counter next to him, ready for people to collect.

  He was on the telephone accepting a booking, it seemed, for a wedding some months hence and looked up as she approached. He waved and smiled, and Becky crooked her thumb and forefinger together and mimed drinking coffee. Jon’s eyes lit up and he gave her a thumbs-up sign. She smiled at him and pushed the door open, taking a deep breath of sea air and heading towards the local cafe. It was the same one where Lucy the barista had asked for her autograph – but they sold the best coffee in Whitby and Becky couldn’t hold the fact that Lucy was now slightly star-struck against the cafe.

  So it wasn’t until Becky had returned, and spent some time helping out in the studio, that she finally went back upstairs to her workstation and remembered the skittering phone. She swore and picked it up, swiping the screen lock off. One new text message. From Lissy. Saying that she was travelling up to Whitby with a couple of friends this weekend and she hoped it was all right if they all popped in.

  I know Cori from uni, the text message elaborated. She’s the absolute double of Lizzie S and knows heaps about PRB. And Simon really really likes her as well. Lol! Got to try and matchmake – his ex was a cowbag. Good opportunity to get them together, don’t you think? xxxxx

  No problem, Becky replied. And remember, you can take the diary back with you as well. Xxx

  The message came straight back.

  Hurrah! Hoped you’d say that. See you Saturday love you muchly. Mwah! Xxx

  Love you too Lissy! Xxx typed Becky, shaking her head. Lissy was very exuberant, even in her texts.

  She would never change. Becky ran her hand thoughtfully over her bump and imagined Lissy babysitting as she had frequently insisted she was going to do.

  One smear of chocolate on Lissy’s designer clothes would probably put her off the idea for good – but it would be fun to watch her try, at any rate.

  ‘Hopefully this should work out well,’ Lissy had said on the phone to Cori, Friday evening. ‘I’m going to make a weekend of it and do lots of baby shopping in York, and you guys can do what you like afterwards. Becky says she’s definitely going to give me the diary back, so it can be your turn to borrow it. Anyway, do you think you’ll stay over? I can recommend a really nice hotel if you want it – Carrick Park. Becky and Jon love it there. You can phone up now and book a room. If it’s meant to be, they’ll have a vacancy.’

  Cori had laughed. ‘What are you trying to do, Lissy? Do you not think that’s a bit fast? Throwing us together for a whole weekend like that? I don’t even know if Simon is that interested in me!’ Secretly, she hoped he was – but she wasn’t going to admit that to Lissy. However, her comment paid off.

  ‘I’m not trying to throw you together,’ Lissy had said, affronted. ‘I never said you had to share one room, did I? But you know – you could do if you wanted. I happen to know Simon is really keen. I can’t drag him away from the Millais Gallery just in case a certain someone appears. And he stares at Ophelia the whole time, just imagining that certain someone’s face.’

  ‘Lissy!’ Cori had said. ‘Stop it. Right now.’

  But again, secretly, she had been thrilled.

  So that was how it came to be that Lissy was currently leading the way up a small side street in rain-soaked Whitby, and walking into a tiny, narrow building that seemed to be a photographer’s studio.

  ‘Here we are!’ Lissy said as she held the door open for Cori and Simon. Somewhere, a bell rang announcing their entry and a man popped his head out of a little room.

  ‘Lissy!’ The man dashed towards them, flinging the door open. His face split into a huge smile and he held his arms out to welcome Lissy. Cori assumed the room had to be the darkroom, judging by the smell of chemicals that assailed her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and looked around the studio. It was an intriguing little place, and actually seemed larger on the inside than she had first thought.

  ‘Hello, Jon!’ cried Lissy. ‘Jon, these are my friends, Cori and Simon – I’ve told them all about you, so they’re popping in to say hello. Becky said it was fine. Then I’m not sure if they’re heading off into the town afterwards.’

  ‘We might do,’ said Simon, holding out his hand to Jon. ‘I’ve never been to Whitby before, but Cori said she knows it pretty well, so I’ll trust her judgement.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Jon, shaking Simon’s hand. He turned to Cori. ‘And you, Cori. Becky said Lissy was bringing some friends.’ He smiled at Cori. ‘She said you went to university together. I think I remember you from the graduation, but Lissy wasn’t the best at introducing people to us. Not after two bottles of champagne, anyway.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t my best moment,’ said Lissy, frowning. She turned to Simon. ‘Let’s just say I had a very nice black eye the day after and I couldn’t remember a thing about how I got it.’

  ‘You fell off your stilettos and hit the bar face-on,’ said Jon. ‘It was quite comical, really.’

  ‘For you, maybe,’ said Lissy, sniffing. ‘Cori, Simon, I suggest you have a look at the pictures around the walls or gaze in awe at the beautiful costumes. They are far more interesting than idle gossip.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not idle gossip,’ said Cori. ‘It was me you spilt your drink on as you fell. So, yes, Jon, you probably do remember me. Usually it’s my hair that people remember.’

  ‘There you go, then,’ said Jon, grinning. His eyes were exactly the same as Lissy’s – one blue, one green.

  ‘Right, that’s enough!’ said Lissy. ‘Go away and look at pictures. No more talking about me, please.’

  Cori laughed and began to look around as Lissy had suggested. Her attention was soon caught by a photograph on the wall of a pretty, dark-haired girl sitting at a desk. There was an old-fashioned writing slope in front of her, and her face displayed a strange sort of concentration.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Jon came over. ‘That’s Becky. It was taken a couple of years ago now. It’s my favourite photograph.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Cori. ‘I love her dress.’

  The man looked at the picture and his face softened. ‘Yes, it’s a beautiful dress,’ he said. ‘It’s a special one.’

  ‘And you do those dressing-up shots as well,
I guess,’ said Simon. He was peering at some more pictures on the wall. ‘I sense a theme here. The costumes are stunning. I’d love access to this sort of thing – it would make painting these styles so much easier if you could see them for real.’

  ‘I agree. Black lace, velvet and jet,’ said Cori. Her eyes had already settled on the racks of clothes that stood by the wall. ‘All very nice indeed. True Gothic splendour.’

  Simon looked at her. ‘You’d suit that look, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps she would,’ interrupted Lissy, ‘but what I want to know is whether Becky is around or not.’ She looked over at a wardrobe and leaned a little, trying to peer around it. Cori spotted a door propped open and behind it a well hidden and, it had to be said, fairly unsteady looking staircase leading up on to another floor.

  ‘Where else would she be?’ answered Jon. ‘She’s not out on any of her journalistic jaunts today. We knew you were coming, so she said she would stay upstairs and catch up on some bits and pieces. And I hope, Lissy, that you’re happy I’ve lost my assistant for the day.’ He turned to Cori. ‘We work together. Well, when I say work together, I work down here and her domain is the laptop in the flat upstairs, unless she gets bored. In which case she wanders off or comes down to see what’s going on. I’ll just go and let her know you’re here. I think it’s nearly coffee time, anyway.’ He turned and half-lolloped, half-bounded across the room and up the stairs.

  ‘Any excuse to stop for coffee,’ Lissy said with a sigh, shaking her head. She hoisted herself up onto the counter and sat by the till, swinging her legs so her heels bashed off the old, chipped wooden front of the counter.

  ‘You know, all the times I ever came to Whitby and I passed this street, I never thought I’d visit like this,’ said Cori, slightly in awe of the place; it had such a nice feeling to it.

  ‘Life has a funny way of directing us,’ replied Simon. ‘Oh!’ He rustled around in his jacket pocket and brought out a neatly typed piece of A4 paper. ‘Remember the letter I was telling you about at the gallery. The one Millais wrote when he was painting Ophelia saying that he had been threatened with trespassing in the field. It might give you some context if you haven’t had a chance to look it up yet. I particularly like the bit where he says he is “in danger of being blown by the wind into the water, and becoming intimate with the feelings of Ophelia when that Lady sank to muddy death.”’ Simon grinned. ‘It’s yours. I copied it for you. It was originally written to Martha Combe, his patron, Thomas Combe’s wife.’ He held the letter out to her and Cori took it, delighted.

  She opened her mouth to respond but her attention was caught by two figures coming down the stairs. Jon was in front, and a woman was behind him. As she stashed the letter in her bag, Cori realised that this was the same girl from the photograph she had just been admiring. She was pretty – not as stunning as the photo made her out to be – but it was definitely her, even though she had apparently cut her chestnut hair a bit shorter since the photograph had been taken.

  Cori’s eyes were automatically drawn to the girl’s neatly rounded tummy. Lissy had said she was going to be an aunty soon – and Becky was, Cori judged, about six or seven months pregnant. The same as she, Cori, would have been, had the scare been real. She felt a little pang. She would be lying if she said she’d actually hoped it wasn’t a scare; it was the truth that she had been genuinely upset when she found out she wasn’t pregnant.

  The only good thing, she supposed, was that she had made the break with Evan over it and moved away. And she’d found out what Evan was like before it had actually reached the stage of parenthood, nappies and sleepless nights. Somehow, she couldn’t see him settling to that sort of life any time soon.

  ‘Becky!’ cried Lissy, jumping off the counter and running to the girl. She pulled her towards her in a bear hug, which seemed way out of proportion to Lissy’s actual size. Then she held her away and looked at her tummy approvingly. ‘Gosh, look at you now! Anyway, this is Cori, my friend from uni, and this is Simon, from the Tate. And this,’ she indicated the dark-haired girl, ‘is the famous journalist, Becky Nelson; my lovely sister-in-law. She wrote the Ophelia article.’

  ‘I’m not famous,’ said Becky. ‘I just wrote an interesting article, that’s all. I wish I was getting paid per hit on the Internet. I’d be wealthy by now.’

  ‘You wrote an interesting book as well,’ said Lissy. ‘That one about Ella. Oh, it’s lovely – you know, Cori, that one I mentioned about the Carrick family? You and Simon will have to read it some time. She won’t promote herself, you know.’

  Becky smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then pushed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. ‘Not my style, Lissy. I keep telling you. Anyway – Lissy told me a bit about you guys. She said you’re both interested in the PRB. I don’t blame you. Lissy knows more than I do, obviously, but I enjoyed writing the article.’

  ‘I bumped into Cori when she was looking at Ophelia,’ said Simon. He was standing very close to Cori, Cori realised. She could feel the warmth coming off him and was quite happy to stay like that for a little longer.

  ‘Yes, Lissy said as much,’ replied Becky. ‘It’s ages since I saw Ophelia myself, but I’ve certainly got people talking about it. I suppose that’s a good thing!’

  Jon laughed, and laid his hand on Becky’s arm. ‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘It’s always good to encourage people to study artworks. Look, I’ve just got to finish developing these plates for someone, then I’ll be up for coffee, okay?’ He turned and disappeared back into the darkroom.

  Becky watched him go then turned to Cori and Simon. ‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked. ‘The kettle’s on, so it’s no bother.’

  Cori looked at Simon. ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m quite happy to have one. Unless Simon wants to go and find one in the town?’

  ‘I’m happy to have one here. Then we can have another one later,’ said Simon.

  Becky laughed. ‘Did Lissy tell you that’s how I bumped into Jon again? He spilled my coffee in the middle of Goth Weekend and he insisted on buying me another. He’s lucky he didn’t ruin my camera. Come on, we’ll head up to the flat. Just mind the stairs, they’re lethal if you’re not used to them.’

  She turned and led the way up such an uneven, narrow mish-mash of steps that Cori stumbled halfway up. Simon tried to catch her before she fell flat on her face, but was too late. She knocked a framed picture off the wall and it bounced towards the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Oh, crikey! I’m sorry. It’s fine, I haven’t damaged anything, don’t worry,’ she said as she tried and failed to push past Simon and rescue the picture. Luckily, Simon had already caught it and handed it back to her.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I doubt she even heard it,’ said Lissy, popping her head out of a tiny hallway at the top of the stairs. ‘She’s just about deaf as a post. You wouldn’t know it, would you?’

  ‘Wow,’ said Cori, feeling herself grow hot with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘God, she’s had plenty of time to get used to the idea,’ said Lissy. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. We don’t. It’s sometimes quite a good excuse to be naughty,’ she continued. ‘Jon smashed a super-posh mug of hers last week in the kitchen. She never flinched. She was in the lounge at the time. I don’t even think she’s noticed it’s missing, to be honest.’

  ‘I notice enough, Lissy,’ came Becky’s voice from along the corridor. ‘Don’t underestimate me.’

  ‘Whoops,’ said Lissy.

  Cori blushed again, this time on Lissy’s behalf. But at least she had made it safely up the rest of the stairs without wrecking anything else. She followed Lissy into what she assumed was the lounge she had just mentioned. It wasn’t the biggest of rooms, but had marvellous picture windows overlooking the streets of Whitby and a comfortable-looking three-piece suite, arranged so the occupants could look at the view.

  ‘Sit down. Coffee all round? Just milk, no sugar, yes?’
Lissy didn’t wait for an answer but waved at the sofa, taking charge and inviting them to sit down before she headed into the small, galley kitchen, which led off from the lounge.

  Cori noticed that a desk stood by the wall, with an open laptop on it. Reams of paper were scattered around the floor with more paper piled up on a little bookcase next to the chair. Cori noticed that the chair was facing the door. Becky clearly disliked being surprised by unwanted visitors.

  ‘This is unbelievable, isn’t it?’ said Simon. He looked around, apparently in awe of the place. ‘How wonderful. I’d love somewhere like this. Kind of sparse on the ground in London though, I would imagine. How old would you say it is?’

  ‘Two hundred years? Three hundred, maybe? I don’t know – but yes, it’s fabulous.’ Cori twisted around and watched as Lissy basically got in the way in the tiny kitchen, bustling around with a mug in each hand and not much purpose. Then Lissy drifted off out of the room, muttering something about telling Jon to hurry up. Cori assumed she was going to get him, perhaps wave a mug under his nose or something and tempt him upstairs. Personally, she wouldn’t fancy trying that staircase with two hot mugs of coffee.

  There was a clatter as Becky came out of the kitchen balancing a tray full of coffee and biscuits – just as Lissy had predicted. She kicked the door shut behind her and Simon stood up to help but she shook her head and came through the lounge to them, apparently concentrating on not spilling anything.

  ‘I’m fine thanks,’ she said. ‘And it’s a seventeenth-century building. So what’s that? Nearer to four hundred years?’ She placed the tray on the small coffee table and stood up, regarding it triumphantly. Then she nodded towards a mirror hanging by the door of the kitchen, reflecting Cori and Simon on the sofa – and clearly, Cori realised, reflecting their conversation. ‘Nothing’s sacred in here. They think it is, but it isn’t.’ Becky grinned and sat down on an armchair. ‘There has to be some benefits. Don’t tell them about it – it’s too much fun.’ She leaned forward and took a mug, then sat back again, curling her feet underneath her. ‘Lissy also told me you looked a lot like Lizzie Siddal. I love your hair. I tried to dye mine that colour once and it was hideous. Never again.’