The Girl in the Painting Page 7

  ‘Lizzie and all the PRB “stunners” made it fashionable,’ said Cori. ‘I was teased all the time at school, though. Bunch of heathens.’

  Becky laughed. ‘We live and learn. They’re probably all jealous now.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Cori.

  ‘Well, I hope they read my article and felt guilty,’ said Becky. ‘Obviously people like Lizzie were celebrities in their day. That’s probably why Daisy Ashford wanted to be like her. I think I’ve inadvertently started some cult or other about this Daisy thing.’

  ‘I suppose it’s the natural reaction to the Lizzie Siddal connection,’ said Cori. ‘She’s fascinating. Now that I’m living in London I am a regular visitor to the Tate and the Millais Gallery, and especially Ophelia. Way back, or so family legend has it, one of my relatives had an affair with Rossetti. A great-great-great-aunt. I don’t know whether it was before, after or during his relationship with Lizzie, but ever since someone told me I looked like her I’ve been ever so slightly obsessed. Not in a weird way, but the PRB were my passion at uni and I still read everything I can get my hands on about them. Your article was one of the most interesting things I’ve read for a long time. It was something I didn’t already know.’

  Becky nodded. ‘Sometimes things can grab your imagination like that. Or we get connections to objects and we just don’t know why. You see that writing slope over there?’ She nodded to a small, battered box on a shelf by the fireplace. ‘Well, that’s how I felt about that. The more I got to know about the slope and the people who had used it, the more things in my own life started to make more sense to me. Then I wrote a book about the Carrick family who owned it and it felt good to get their story out there after so many years. I think they would have been happy too.’ She glanced up towards the door. ‘Oh, here’s Jon. I knew it wouldn’t take him long. He can sense a coffee cup a mile off.’

  ‘Lissy told me it was ready,’ said Jon, ‘only I’ve now lost her downstairs. She’s spotted the new costumes and she’s poking through them.’ He took the spare chair and sank back into it. ‘Anyway, it does me good to have a break. Tourist season means it’s manic here. You should see the place at Goth Weekend.’ He shook his head and smiled. ‘You can’t move for black taffeta. I love it.’

  ‘Goth Weekend is amazing,’ said Becky. ‘I love it too. It’s even better when people don’t spill coffee on your camera. You should come, Cori. And you, Simon. We could get you dressed up downstairs – take a picture of you both. You’d look fantastic, Cori, especially with your hair loose. You’d look really Pre-Raphaelite then. Like Miranda out of Waterhouse’s 1916 Tempest. Wouldn’t you agree, Jon? We’d have to go medieval rather than Victorian though, but we could stand you on the beach for it.’

  ‘I don’t know about that!’ said Cori. ‘I’m not model material.’

  ‘I think the PRB would have loved you,’ said Simon. He was watching her with something like amusement in his eyes. ‘You’d look perfect for Miranda,’ he said. ‘Obviously, the model wasn’t Lizzie, but she was a gorgeous lady. Her identity has always been a bit of a mystery.’

  ‘It sounds like the sort of thing Julia Margaret Cameron photographed,’ said Cori. ‘But, Simon; if I have to be Miranda and I have to stand on the beach in a storm, what would you do? Would you just stay in the studio and paint pictures where it’s warm?’

  ‘I’d do whatever it took to look authentic,’ he said. ‘It’s all art, at the end of the day. I’m not sure I’d be happy in a suit of armour though. I’d maybe stick to Victorian Goth if I had to.’

  And actually, as far as Victorian Goth went, Cori could actually see Simon in a top hat and a frock coat; and what about herself, if she ever ventured into Victoriana after her Miranda costume?

  She thought she might go for one of those wonderful corseted creations. It would push what little bust she had upwards and pull her in at the waist so she wasn’t quite so straight up and down.

  She thought about the corset and the amount of flesh it could potentially expose. Her granny’s voice came into her mind, saying something old-fashioned about dumplings and boiling over, and she quickly looked down, pretending to study her coffee cup so people couldn’t read her face and guess at her thoughts. Oh my. She heard her name again and looked up.

  ‘Anyway, I’m going to shut up about taking photos before I terrify Cori any more,’ said Becky, smiling at Cori.

  ‘You have some very interesting ideas, Becky,’ said Jon. ‘I like them.’ He quirked a smile. ‘Anyway, before we do terrify you,’ he said, looking at Cori and Simon, ‘I have to say that I can’t even begin to imagine what working with my sister is like, Simon. It must be horrific.’

  ‘Actually, Lissy’s amazing to work with,’ said Simon. ‘It’s like having an over-enthusiastic puppy around the place. The customers love her.’

  ‘She’s awful,’ said Becky, shifting position and laying her hand across her tummy. ‘She’ll never change. Yet she keeps on getting results!’

  Jon nodded in agreement. ‘You can’t dispute that,’ he said.

  Cori watched them, so comfortable in each other’s company and was willing to bet Lissy had been involved in their story somehow.

  A little voice inside her suggested Lissy was trying to matchmake her and Simon – and she kind of hoped it was true – and also that it would work.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Simon decided that he loved this little flat above the photographer’s studio. If he was ever lucky enough to own a building where he could sell his art downstairs and paint upstairs, he would be a happy man.

  And if, for instance, he had Cori to pop up and see every so often, his life would be perfect. He imagined Becky and Jon Nelson must have a pretty strong relationship. It couldn’t be easy, working with your partner and spending 24-7 with them, even if sometimes Becky did apparently go off on ‘journalistic jaunts’ as Jon called them. Simon was willing to bet Becky wouldn’t go away any longer than she had to.

  Simon slid a glance over to Cori. He saw how she was perched on the edge of her chair, totally absorbed by the conversation and he loved her energy. Today, she had her hair tied up in a messy sort of bun. Again, he itched to capture it on paper. Charcoal, he thought, a simple line drawing with the corkscrew tendrils flowing away from her perfect face. She laughed at something, then, as if she knew he was watching, she turned slightly and caught his eye. He was too slow to look away – but he found she didn’t look away either. They looked at each other, eyes locked, until Becky’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘Look, I was going to give this to Lissy to take back today, but you might as well have a read of it, Cori.’ She reached over the arm of the sofa and lifted a battered, leather bound journal onto her knee. She lowered her eyes briefly as she ran her hand over the embossed cover and then looked up again at Cori. ‘Knowing Lissy, she’d probably pass it straight on to you anyway. You might find your aunt in there – or at least something nobody else has discovered. Then you can have the next round of glory.’

  ‘Really?’ Cori looked taken aback. ‘Is that Daisy’s diary? Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Becky. ‘Enjoy it. Write about it. Do a Masters in the PRB. Or something.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just have fun with it. It really is very interesting, but I’ve got too many other projects on the go to do any more with it right now.’

  Cori laughed, a little nervously. ‘But what happens if I discover something that does actually blow the Ophelia story out of the water? So many people will just hate me.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell the world, do you?’ said Becky. ‘Maybe don’t write a dissertation on it after all. Perhaps it’ll be enough for just one person to know the truth; maybe two.’ Simon saw her cast a quick glance up at Jon. ‘You have to decide. And if more people need to know, I’m sure you’ll pick the right time to talk about it.’

  ‘Three people might need to know,’ said Lissy, ‘at least.’ Simon was aware of a perfumed blast as Lissy swept p
ast him and sat on the floor by Jon. ‘Don’t forget me. I’m the one who makes all the fabulous discoveries. I found that diary.’

  ‘Yes, Lissy. It’s all about you,’ said Jon. He looked at Simon. ‘Is she like this at work? Always poking around antique shops and boring you with the details?’

  ‘Worse,’ replied Simon. ‘We call her the Junk Shop Junkie.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly bore anyone!’ cried Lissy. She looked at Becky, her eyes wide and innocent. ‘Tell them. Tell them, Becky. Tell them how interesting I am.’

  ‘Actually, can I pass on that one?’ said Becky. Lissy opened her mouth, probably to complain, but Becky raised her hand and waved her comments away. ‘I’m joking. Yes. You’re very interesting. Okay. There you go, Cori.’ She leaned over the coffee table and passed the diary to Cori. ‘You probably know more about the PRB than me, but if you want to get in touch to discuss anything, you know where I am.’

  Cori touched the book reverently. But then, more than that, Simon saw a slanting ray of sunlight break through the clouds over the rooftops and pour in through the windows of the flat. It didn’t seem to be an accident that it alighted on Cori and shot gold through her hair and pink in her cheeks. Simon blinked. He knew then that he was truly lost.

  As if he’d even doubted it for a single second since the moment he first saw her.

  Cori held Daisy’s diary in her hand and it felt as if she had held it a hundred times before. Her fingers fitted exactly in the slight indentations on the cover and she seemed to instinctively know the feel of the tooling pattern around the edge.

  She opened it, and caught sight of an entry from April 1861.

  Today we visited Hastings and Fairlight Downs. It is so nice here away from the smog and bustle of London. Sometimes I just want to breathe fresh air and forget everything. I feel alive here, and I like that feeling. I promised I would show Henry the sights in Hastings, but he made me draw and paint the sea before we had any fun at all. He takes his duties too seriously at times, but I can forgive him for that. He had also packed a picnic, which was a very pleasant surprise. My painting, of course, was admired by him – as indeed it should have been.

  Cori couldn’t help but smile. A day trip to the coast, away from London, with someone who enjoyed painting. That sounded familiar.

  ‘Who’s Henry?’ she asked, looking up at Becky.

  ‘He’s Daisy’s art tutor,’ said Becky. ‘At least, that’s the impression I get. She doesn’t seem to have been the best student though. She’s usually complaining that her work is awful and it’s all Henry’s fault, of course, poor man.’

  ‘Sounds like me,’ said Cori, with a grin. ‘I’m hopeless. I’m very jealous of people who can draw and paint. Which makes me quite sure that I am not a descendant of some illicit Rossetti affair. But still,’ she closed the book and clutched it to her chest, ‘I shall enjoy seeing if I can spot Corisande anywhere and, even better, getting my hands on a primary resource. Thanks again.’

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ said Becky.

  Becky watched Cori handle the diary and she also saw the sun alight on Cori through the window.

  For a split second, Cori wavered out of focus. And it may have been Becky’s imagination, but she thought she saw another Cori, slightly to one side of her; another red-haired girl, leaning over and looking at the book in the same way that Cori was. Becky moved forward and the image was gone.

  Her heart pounding, she looked at the little group of people in the room wondering if anyone else had seen it. Lissy was chewing the corner of her thumbnail whilst saying something nonsensical to her brother and Jon in turn was draining his coffee cup and nodding. Simon was looking at Cori, a smile hovering around his lips and Cori, unaware of his reverence, glanced up again and saw Becky looking at her. She smiled and it lit up the room.

  No, thought Becky, smiling back. Don’t be stupid, Becky. There’s nothing there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LONDON

  They’d spent the rest of the day in Whitby being ‘proper tourists’, as Cori called it.

  They’d gone out of the harbour on one of the little yellow boats for a pleasure cruise, and visited the Dracula Experience. They’d tried the sideshows at the beach and walked through the whalebone arch. They’d even had fish and chips, out of a polystyrene carton, on the sand.

  ‘You haven’t lived until you’ve done this,’ she’d told Simon.

  He had laughed and said he wanted to come back for a longer trip and paint the Abbey next time.

  ‘Hastings is more my neck of the woods,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve painted the Downs a couple of times. I can never get the light right though.’

  Cori had felt a little jolt as she remembered the diary entry she’d read and the similarities amused her, so she told him about it and he laughed as well. She and Simon had even had a picnic at the coast too today – of sorts. And the seagulls had some of it as well.

  Cori was looking forward to reading more of the diary when she got home. But today, at Whitby, was all about spending time with Simon. Not too bad a place for a proper first date, if that was what this was.

  ‘You might want to save the diary until you’re back in London,’ Becky had advised her as they had left. ‘Unless you feel like fending off any Lizzie fans on the train. You never know who might be in the carriage with you.’

  But it turned out the train wasn’t too full of people, Lizzie fans or otherwise. It was, in fact, a very pleasant journey.

  ‘So what are you thinking you might discover in that book that Becky hasn’t already found?’ asked Simon. He was sitting opposite her, a bottle of water each on the table between them, and the crumby remains of more biscuits in the middle of the table.

  Cori shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The logical thing is to see if my aunt appears, but I sincerely doubt she will – and my secret wish would obviously be that I discovered enough to decide whether Daisy Ashford was the model for Ophelia or not.’ She grinned. ‘Not that I’d tell anyone if she was. I’m not that brave.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about,’ he said. ‘I think it’s all Lizzie, really.’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ said Cori. ‘I just can’t wait to start looking through it. It’ll make them all come alive, I think.’

  ‘One day, I’ll take you on a Pre-Raphaelite tour of the city,’ said Simon. ‘You’re not just limited to the big museums. They lived around Bloomsbury so I’ll show you their homes if you like. And their studios and the smaller galleries. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you.’

  ‘Even to Tolworth?’ asked Cori. ‘So we can see where Millais nearly drowned?’

  ‘Even to Tolworth,’ said Simon. ‘Sylvie was never really interested. She—’ He stopped talking and looked out of the window, a strange look flitting across his face. ‘She preferred the more modern works – Jackson Pollock, Salvador Dali. Andy Warhol.’

  So this, then, was the Slutty that Lissy had mentioned.

  ‘Wow,’ said Cori, after a moment. ‘Really in-your-face stuff then?’

  ‘You could say that,’ said Simon. ‘It matched her personality. She was loud, she was confident, she was beautiful and very colourful.’ He looked away from the window and back at Cori. ‘We broke up about six months ago. I think she managed to kill my creativity. Hence why I’ve recently just been painting tourist pictures that sell in Portobello market.’ He laid his hands out on the table and looked at them. Cori noticed there were more splashes of colour on them, engrained into his nails.

  ‘Do you miss her?’ she asked, hardly daring to listen to the answer.

  ‘Miss her?’ Simon looked up and stared at Cori. ‘Not at all. No way. She was having affairs left, right and centre. It ended when I found her with one of the guys in our bed. Before that, I’d kind of ignored the fact. Poured it all out onto the canvas because I couldn’t face asking her outright. So no, I don’t miss her. I miss my flat and my workspace and the light there – but I do
n’t miss her.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Cori. And it seemed woefully inadequate, but it seemed to be the best comment she could come up with, under the circumstances.

  She felt, though, as if she needed to offer something back to him. ‘I broke up with my partner about the same length of time ago,’ she said. ‘He was called Evan. My granny said he was toxic.’ She smiled, remembering her granny’s voice on the phone. ‘She was right.’

  ‘And there’s nobody else at the minute then?’ asked Simon.

  ‘No,’ she said. She was very tempted to add ‘at least not yet’, but she didn’t quite dare.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Simon. Cori looked at him quickly. There was a smile playing around his lips as he echoed her comment. ‘Now, in the absence of any raging Lizzie fans you need protection from in this carriage, I’m going to take this opportunity to go to the buffet car.’ He pushed the biscuit wrapper away. ‘I think I need chocolate. How about you?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Cori. She leant forward and lowered her voice. ‘But how do you know there are no Lizzie fans here?’

  Simon just nodded across at a middle-aged lady who was alternately knitting and dozing, and a family of four, including two small children playing a card game across the plastic table they sat around.

  ‘Okay, I may be wrong about that, but I’m sure you could take them out if need be,’ he said and winked.

  Cori tried to smother a laugh and turned it into a cough. Simon stood up and walked off down the aisle, heading towards the buffet car. Cori waited until the door of the carriage had slid shut behind him and pulled her bag across the seat towards her. She rummaged around and found what she was looking for. Then she pulled it out.