The Girl in the Painting Read online

  The binding was old but fairly sturdy, considering its age. She stared at it for a moment, her heart beating fast and opened the diary randomly.

  Henry and I went for a ride in the carriage today. The horses were terribly flighty and I complained to the driver, but he said they were just excited to be out. We travelled to Hyde Park but it was rather dull and there was nobody very interesting there. Henry suggested we bring the easel tomorrow and try to paint the Serpentine but it is really very dreadfully dull and I don’t want to. I wish Henry would teach me to paint something rather more interesting than scenery. He says he paints all sorts of things when he is on his own. But he says I have to master the basics first. But that is dull, dull, DULL!

  Cori was rather disappointed by this entry. Whether she expected to see Daisy’s relationship with Millais spring out of the page, or even a hint of the original Corisande’s relationship with Rossetti, she wasn’t sure. But an innocent day trip in a carriage, followed by a brief discussion on what this Henry chap apparently painted? It was no more than she was doing now.

  Oh well. She was sure there would be some more interesting entries in the diary. Cori looked up and saw Simon coming back through the door from the buffet carriage. She thrust the diary back into her bag and sat back in the seat, trying her best to look as if she hadn’t just broken her word to Becky and sneaked a look at the diary. She didn’t know how successful she had been or whether Simon would realise; but she was definitely looking forward to the chocolate.

  It was just past ten o’clock when they finally pulled into King’s Cross station. Over twelve hours since they had left.

  ‘Was it worth it, then?’ asked Simon, waiting for her on the platform as she stepped down from the train. ‘I wish we could have spent a bit longer up there, don’t you?’

  ‘It was very much worth it,’ replied Cori. ‘But I know what you mean.’ She sighed. ‘And I really liked Becky. I can’t believe Lissy kept that connection to herself!’

  ‘Hmm,’ replied Simon. ‘Knowing Lissy, she was probably just waiting for the right moment to drop that information into casual conversation.’

  ‘Well, she certainly did that,’ said Cori.

  ‘Definitely,’ replied Simon. ‘And I have a feeling Lissy planned this whole thing. I think her intention was to get you the diary and to throw us together somehow.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve enjoyed myself.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Cori, feeling herself colour and glad that the cool, night air was blowing some of the treacherous red out of her cheeks. That was the worst thing about being a fair-skinned redhead; you couldn’t hide your blushes very easily.

  ‘Lissy’s great,’ said Simon, ‘but she’s pretty determined to get what she wants. Was she like that at uni?’

  ‘Very much so,’ said Cori. ‘And she was always going out with really unsuitable guys as well. Is she with anyone at the moment?’ Cori was curious – Lissy wasn’t acting like she was in a relationship, but you never knew.

  ‘Lissy’s still in love with her ex, but she won’t admit it,’ said Simon. ‘He’s Italian – but the thing is, whenever you put her and another Italian temper together, there are always explosions. That’s why none of her relationships last. She’s always drawn to the same type, but she’s never happy for long because none of them are Stef.’ He grinned. ‘Those sort of relationships must be fun while they do last, though. If you’re into high-octane, high-maintenance stuff, that is. Lissy’s like a hurricane. I don’t know how anyone could cope with her for long. Now me – I had that with Sylvie. And I don’t want to go back to it.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t want another Evan,’ Cori said. ‘But he was different. He lacked any emotion whatsoever. I started to really dislike him towards the end. I don’t know – is sociopath too strong a word?’ She pulled a face. ‘Anyway, where do you live? I’m in Kensington. We could share a taxi back?’ she suggested. ‘If you live close enough?’

  ‘I’m in Notting Hill. Well, as near to Notting Hill as dammit,’ said Simon. ‘So it’s doable.’

  ‘If you like, we can head towards Kensington first; then you can pop in and I’ll make you a coffee,’ said Cori. Too late, she realised how forward that might have sounded; but it hadn’t stopped her at uni so why should it stop her now? ‘Or you might just want to go home, I suppose. It’s late. Sorry.’ Embarrassed, she opened her bag and feigned rummaging for her phone, her keys, her purse; basically anything that meant she didn’t have to look at Simon in the harsh glare of King’s Cross station’s lights. It was fine. She’d go back and read the diary. It might be better if he didn’t come anyway. Probably best all round, in fact.

  ‘Actually, yes, that sounds perfect.’ Simon’s answer was as fast as it was unexpected.

  Cori looked up, pausing in her rummaging. The diary, for a split second, was forgotten, her attention taken by Simon’s navy blue eyes and fair hair. There was definitely something inexplicable fizzing between them.

  ‘You sure?’ she asked, wondering how she had actually managed to find her voice.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said. ‘Fasten your bag and let’s get out of here.’

  Cori didn’t need telling twice. The firm grip of his hand on her elbow as he steered her out of the station and towards the taxi rank was warm and comfortable.

  Yes. The diary could definitely wait a couple of hours more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  KENSINGTON

  ‘So this is where you live?’ They were standing outside a three storey, white mews house in a quiet corner of Kensington.

  Simon assumed Cori owned one of the floors. He guessed it might be the second storey; the one with the wide, leaded window overlooking the courtyard they were standing in.

  ‘Yes, this is home,’ she said. ‘I moved in a couple of months ago, but I’m still unpacking and getting everything sorted, so you’ll have to excuse the mess.’

  She smiled up at him apologetically as she pushed open the front door. She stood to one side and ushered him into a small entrance hall. The door stuck a little as she tried to close it behind them and she used her foot to give the door some extra leverage, eventually managing to shut it securely.

  ‘I need to sort that out,’ she said, ‘but never mind. I’ll get there.’ She turned to the right and snapped on a light in the kitchen. He assumed, therefore, she must have the bottom floor. ‘Let me just put the kettle on and we can head upstairs to the lounge,’ she said.

  ‘Up to the lounge?’ Simon noticed a flight of stairs heading up and Cori gestured to them.

  ‘Yes, just up there. It’s quite comfortable, but I still need to put my own stamp on the place. I’m hoping to turn the second floor room with the big window into a proper office eventually. It’s part of the way there. I’ll give you the guided tour shortly.’ She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then took two mismatched mugs out of the cupboard. She pulled a jar of instant coffee towards her and got a spoon out of a drawer. ‘Just milk, isn’t it?’

  ‘Just milk, thanks,’ said Simon, still marvelling at the fact she seemed to have access to the whole building. It made his one and half bedroom flat look rather sad in comparison. Stuck in the middle of a rather featureless, purpose built modern block near the colourful Portobello Road, the flat had been marketed as two bedrooms, but a person would be hard pushed to get even a single bed in the box room – which was the room he had converted into his studio.

  ‘I’d have been just as happy to take you to a coffee bar, you know, if you aren’t ready for visitors. The truth is, I’m just happy to be able to spend a little more time with you anywhere – here or somewhere else.’

  Cori laughed, and flushed that lovely dusky pink across her cheeks. ‘It’s nice to have you here. I haven’t invited anyone else here yet, apart from my granny, of course, but she just kind of turned up – so it can get a bit lonely. I’m still trying to come to terms with being here myself. I can’t quite believe I actually did it. I came into some money quite unexpectedly and I’ve always w
anted to relocate to London. It was a good chance and it was a long way from Evan. And it’s so much closer to everything I’m passionate about. I’ll see how it goes, but,’ she stood, hands on her slim hips, surveying her bright, modern kitchen, ‘I think I’ve got good vibes about it all.’

  She turned to him. ‘Come on, I’ll take you up to the lounge and then I’ll pop back down here when the kettle’s boiled.’

  Simon was just about to protest that it was fine and he was more than happy to wait, when Cori lifted her hand and pointed at the door. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, realising Cori was right behind him. She followed him to the bottom of the staircase and he stood to one side as she squeezed past him to show him upstairs.

  As she passed close by he caught a hint of her perfume – something light and fresh that reminded him of the ocean. He had no choice but to follow her up the stairs. He headed upwards then came out of a dog-leg onto a tiny landing and finally walked through a door into a huge, airy lounge. There was already a lamp on in the corner, courtesy of, Simon assumed, some sort of timer device. Lamplight spilled out over the comfortable sofa and the soft, duck egg blue rug in the middle of the floor.

  Cori was plumping some cushions up on the sofa and turned to him as he entered. ‘Here you go. I know we’ve been sitting for a while, but I promise this is more comfortable than the train and my coffee is definitely better than theirs was. I won’t be long.’ She hurried over to the stairs and he heard her thudding down them, back to the kitchen. He didn’t sit down, though. He walked over to the window and looked out at the little square and the houses opposite.

  A few lights were on in the windows, and neat plant pots and bay trees decorated the pavements outside the front doors. He could see people moving about inside the houses, shadows of other peoples’ lives, just happening around him. And all these people had their own stories – maybe their own nemesis, their own Sylvie to fight. But life went on, didn’t it? And rediscovering his creativity was a start for him.

  He closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine a life where he lived somewhere like this, with someone like Cori. Today was the first time he’d really allowed himself to let go of the repression Sylvie had generated and to actually consider a future with someone else. He opened his eyes again. It felt wonderfully liberating. And he felt strangely at home in this mismatched, messy house.

  A moment later, Cori crashed back through the lounge door, balancing two cups. ‘Sorry. The milk was off so I had to start again.’ She hovered in the lounge, seemingly wondering what to do with the cups and where to put them. Simon gestured to a small coffee table with coasters already neatly arranged on it and Cori placed the cups down.

  ‘Here – yours is the red one.’ She pushed it closer to him and sat down on a squashy, chintz-covered chair. Simon saw by the state of the cushions that it was probably her favourite seat. ‘I’ll give you the guided tour afterwards.’

  He took a seat on the sofa and sank into it; it really was remarkably comfortable. ‘So have you started your web design work again, or are you taking some time off to enjoy the “proper touristy” things first?’ he asked.

  Cori laughed. ‘Work’s ticking over nicely, actually. And because I don’t answer to anybody, I can do touristy things as well as work. It suits me down to the ground. Obviously, I answer to my clients, but you know what I mean.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve got some commissions coming up for the V&A and an exhibition they’re running with some West End theatres. It sounds like a really exciting project, and I’ve managed to set up a meeting with someone called Elodie Bingham-Scott to talk through it all.’

  ‘That’s an impressive name!’ said Simon.

  ‘Isn’t it? She sounds really nice though. She’s one of the best costume designers in the business so they want her on board. And you know how I feel about the PRB artworks, so I’m hoping to see some costumes included similar to the ones they would have used on their models.’

  ‘Sounds perfect for you,’ Simon said.

  Cori nodded. ‘Yes, I hope it’s going to be a flagship commission for me, which is a really pretentious way of saying it’s important for me to get it right as there’s a lot riding on it. So my intention is to have all my work stuff upstairs on the second floor in my office, which means I won’t be tempted to wander off and have coffee breaks every five minutes. There’s a big set of double doors onto my roof terrace as well, so the idea is that in the summer I can go outside for lunch. I’ll put a few tubs and baskets out there, and a table and some chairs and then it will be good for entertaining as well. I’m hoping at some point I’ll make enough friends to do that.’

  ‘I’m sure you can count Lissy and me in that category,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve never known Lissy to give up on the idea of a party.’

  ‘Me neither,’ replied Cori, with a laugh. ‘You can both come and be entertained,’ she said.

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Simon and was gratified to see Cori grin at him over the top of her mug.

  ‘Now, because you are a friend and I’ve been kind enough to invite you to a party, can I show you the flat and expect approving comments and not veiled complaints over the fact it’s a bombsite?’

  ‘I’ll do anything to make you happy,’ he said.

  And he actually meant it.

  After they’d finished their coffees, Cori led the way upstairs on to the second floor. It was a huge space, with patio doors leading out onto the roof terrace, and the roof angled in over the corners, making you feel you were in an attic of sorts. There was a convenient amount of eaves storage and a good space to fill with bookshelves. She already had her desk set up there, and the computer was surrounded by notebooks and scribbled ideas.

  Outside, the roof terrace was practically invisible in the darkness; and what she hadn’t told Simon was that she also had access to an exclusive garden square, about two hundred yards away. The idea that she, Cori Keeling, had achieved all of this from such a strange set of circumstances still made her reel. But she did realise how lucky she was, that was for sure.

  ‘This is it,’ she said, waving her arm expansively around the room. ‘My little den of iniquity.’

  Simon looked around and his gaze settled on a pile of books on the floor near the computer. Balanced on the top was a graphics tablet, a long lead attaching it to the computer.

  ‘Oh, you’re a digital artist as well!’ he said. He moved over and looked at the spines of the books. ‘Recreating the Masters in Photoshop. Digital Painting: A How To Guide. An Easy Guide to Computer Art. They look interesting.’

  ‘They look simplistic!’ said Cori. She blushed and moved in front of them. ‘You weren’t supposed to see those. I kind of stopped seeing them a couple of weeks ago, because they’ve just sat there for ages, you know? I’m absolutely rubbish at it!’

  ‘It takes practice,’ said Simon. ‘Look, it’s something I’ve been experimenting in. Well, I had been experimenting before the Sylvie thing happened. If you ever want to have a play around with it, I’m happy to help if you get stuck.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Cori. ‘I’m really bad at it. This is what makes me think I am in no way related to Rossetti. And to save any further mortification on my behalf, do you want to come and have a look at the garden instead? It does need some work on it, though.’

  Cori moved over to the door and turned a key in the lock. The door creaked open and a gust of pleasantly mild air blew in, bringing with it that lovely fresh smell you get after a shower of spring rain.

  She looked behind her and was pleased to see Simon crossing the room to join her. ‘And once you see out here, you’ve seen most of the place. Well, most of it except the bedrooms, which I really couldn’t show you due to sheer embarrassment. They’re even messier than the lounge.’ She sighed wryly. ‘All four of them. Never mind,’ she said. She stood back and let Simon walk past her. He leaned on the railings and looked at London.

  Cori knew how gorgeous it was, all spread out before the viewer in a patchwork of light
and rooftops. This, more than anything, had clinched the deal for her with the house. It was a mild night, the sun was just setting and she was alone on the rooftop with Simon in this amazing city. Life, she thought, was looking pretty damn perfect.

  ‘I’d love to paint this,’ he said. ‘It’s a view of London that people don’t see.’

  There was a faint hum – the noise of cars and buses travelling through the capital, and she could see traffic lights running through their sequences in the streets below.

  ‘It is rather special,’ she replied quietly, scared she might break the spell.

  They watched the evening for a few moments longer, then Simon turned towards her. His face was shadowed by the setting sun, every angle on his face looking as if it was chiselled out of a beautiful piece of marble.

  Cori’s heart started to beat a little faster and she had a fleeting vision of him leaning into her and kissing her, because, seriously, what would have been a more romantic end to the day if not a warm kiss and maybe a warm body pressed against hers; or even just warm arms wrapped around her on the breezy rooftop as they admired the patchwork below them?

  ‘Cori,’ he said, and there was that unfathomable look in his eyes again.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘Cori, I—’

  Then there was an almighty crash from behind them.

  They spun around to see the door into the house banging open and closed, open and closed, as if it was caught in its own little whirlwind, whipped up on the rooftop.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Cori. ‘I don’t think the door’s strong enough to sustain that somehow.’ The glass panes were rattling in the frame and a terracotta pot had shattered, just in front of it. The pot must have hit the door, as the bottom pane of glass had spidery cracks leading out of the centre and Cori swore again as she hurried over to it. ‘Oh, no!’ she said, leaning down to inspect it. ‘I’ll have to get someone out to deal with that now.’ She kicked the remains of the pot out of the way, annoyed beyond belief. What absolutely terrible timing. She turned to Simon, knowing, however, the moment was truly lost. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Really, really sorry.’