Chapter Five

Whitby, Present Day

‘Hey, a penny for them, mia cara.’

Lissy stared straight ahead and hurried past Stefano. He had parked himself on a bench half way down the pier and there was no way – no way on earth – she could get past him effectively. And now, now he wanted to speak to her. Well, he knew what he could do with himself.

‘May I walk with you?’ He was off the bench and falling into step with her.

‘No.’ She hoped her curt response was enough to tell him he wasn’t welcome anywhere near her.

‘I am here for the duration, as they say, so you may as well get used to having me around.’

‘Duration? What the hell do you mean? Have we declared war or something and I didn’t know about it?’ Lissy retorted sharply. Okay – she had answered him; been drawn into a conversation with him. Again. For God’s sake …

‘I am not at war with anyone. However,’ Stefano shrugged, ‘maybe you are at war with me, but it is nothing a peace treaty cannot resolve.’

‘I beg to differ. Maybe you should have considered that before you allied yourself to someone else. It’s going to take more than a simple peace treaty to make me forgive you.’

‘But you did not know the full story!’ Stefano lost his temper at last. ‘You never listened. You never gave me a chance.’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly towards him.

‘You just admitted she was a mistake! You just said …’ Her words were cut off as he sealed her mouth with his. And suddenly it was like the last seven years had never happened and they were on the seashore at Newlyn and everything was lovely again … She closed her eyes and couldn’t help but let herself fall into the kiss and remember all those other kisses and all the times they had …

And then, at length, he drew away from her, and his dark eyes burned into hers like embers.

My curse be on the day when first I saw

The brightness in those treacherous eyes of thine—

Oh, hell. Now she was quoting bloody Rossetti in her head. That poem about Lady Pietra degli Scrovegni. The image of the painting it belonged to flitted across her mind’s eye, followed swiftly by an image of the very same model – Marie Spartali Stillman – in a photograph by Julia Margaret Cameron. It was her brother’s fault; he wanted to do this damn project and he’d spent all afternoon talking about it and now it was all blending together and then she’d had too much sun and this had happened, this thing with Stef and so …

‘No!’ She surprised even herself with force of the word. ‘No. I won’t let it happen again.’

He was still staring at her, but now he was looking as surprised as she felt. ‘Why not, Lissy?’ he asked quietly. She remembered how much she had liked the sound of her nickname when he said it. ‘We both still feel the same. That just proved it. You cannot pretend.’

‘I can never trust you again,’ she snapped, ‘and I don’t need your explanations.’ Lissy pulled away from him. ‘I saw you with her. I saw you with a naked woman, hidden away in a secluded cove. What the hell was I supposed to think?’

‘I …’

‘No! I don’t want to hear it from you. You’ve had seven years, Stef.’ Lissy was pointing her forefinger at him, astonished, on some level, to see it was shaking. But that wasn’t surprising, really. Her whole body was shaking. With temper. Yes. With temper. Not with anything else. Like lust. Or passion. Hell, no. With temper. Purely temper. ‘You’ve had seven years to come up with an explanation, Stef,’ she repeated. ‘Forget it. I’m leaving.’

Stefano stepped back as if she’d punched him. Lissy took the opportunity to push past him and hurry back towards the town; back towards the fish and chip shops and the amusements and the candy floss vendors. Back towards all the seaside tat that proved some people were enjoying themselves this afternoon.

Lissy cursed under her breath and began to run. The only place she could go was Jon’s studio. And she had to get there before Stef did in order to jump into her car and drive away. She couldn’t deal with any more of Stef today.

Stefano, sitting on the pavement outside the studio, looked up as Jon and Becky strolled towards him. Grace, tired out, was in Becky’s arms, her thumb in her mouth and her eyes closed.

‘Where’s Lissy?’ Becky asked.

Stef got to his feet as they came closer and smiled ruefully. ‘I do not know. She ran away.’

‘Ran away?’ Becky repeated. She looked at her husband. ‘Well, maybe that wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had, Jon.’

Jon pulled a face. He unlocked the studio door and gestured for everyone to enter. Stef stood back and Becky went first. She sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area and rearranged Grace into a more comfortable position. The little girl’s sunhat fell off and Stef stooped down to pick it up. He laid it on the chair next to Becky and wandered over to the window.

‘Well her car has gone.’ Jon moved behind the desk where the till was. He produced a set of keys and began to take some of the money out, bagging the coins up and counting piles of notes. ‘Either that or the bloody thing was towed away. I told her those yellow lines weren’t the best place to park.’

‘I think she might have been clamped if they caught her,’ said Becky, ‘and she would still have been here causing a fuss if that was the case.’

‘She was probably annoyed that I used our space.’ Jon smiled suddenly. ‘I never thought of that. Well. She knows what it’s like around here to park. I’m surprised she even brought the car.’

‘We don’t have an airport in the town. That’s why,’ said Becky. ‘She might have taken the train, I suppose …’

‘Really!’ Stef had had enough. He spun around and faced them. ‘Does it matter how she got here? I want to know where she has gone. I need to talk to her. I need to speak to her and she needs to listen to me.’ He turned back to the window and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring out into the street. He sighed and swivelled to face Jon and Becky again. ‘Does anybody have any bright ideas?’

Jon moved over to him and clapped him on the back. ‘Seriously, I have no idea, bright or otherwise, where she is. She could have driven back down to London for all I know. I didn’t think to ask where she was staying.’

‘She could have stayed here.’ Becky nodded in the direction of the rickety old staircase up to the flat. ‘The bed’s always made. We always have coffee in, if nothing else, but she must have planned something. She didn’t just call in on spec. We knew she was coming. She told us she was coming – as Jon clearly knew, because he invited you.’ She pulled a face, perhaps wondering if that had been a good thing or not. ‘But I guess she already had something sorted.’

‘With Lissy, who knows.’ Jon walked over and gently stroked Grace’s hair. The girl stirred in her sleep and snuggled into Becky. Stef thought she was a very endearing child and saw again, in his mind’s eye, Lissy digging holes with her in the sand. He frowned, the images leading him to places he didn’t want to go to, just yet.

‘She might have rented a caravan for all we know,’ Jon continued. ‘The point is, she’s run off and I think you’re to blame, mate.’ He suddenly grinned at Stef. ‘How does it feel to still have that sort of power over her after so long?’

‘Power?’ cried Stef. ‘She always had the power in the relationship. She’s temperamental, that’s for sure.’ He frowned again and sat down, resting on the edge of a table and crossing his legs.

‘That’s not entirely her fault,’ said Becky. ‘You know about the guy she was with after Uni, don’t you? It’s understandable. She’s only ever tried to protect herself since then.’

‘Protect herself and organise everybody else’s relationships,’ said Jon wryly. ‘Me and Becky, Cori and Simon – I suspect she thought of us all as projects in some way. She likes to take credit for us. It’s the only way she feels in control, I think, because she can never control her own love life.’

‘But I’ve never seen her so rattled before.’ Becky shook her head. ‘I seriously think she isn’t going to forgive you any time soon, Stef.’ Stef opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Becky shook her head. ‘I don’t want to hear about it. It’s between you two. Now. Have you got somewhere to stay tonight, or is that a really stupid question?’

‘No.’ Stef sighed and re-crossed his legs. ‘It is not a stupid question. I’m in a B & B. Well, it’s more an apartment in the town, but it’s like a B & B. I had hoped I would need a little space. I hoped Lissy might decide she would like to stay with me. You never can tell.’ He smiled, mirthlessly. ‘Oh, well. It was not to be. I just hope that she turns up somewhere.’ He stood up and held his hand out to Jon. ‘Goodnight, my friend. I will see you tomorrow. We must discuss the project. Your friends are also visiting, yes? Your artist friend and his partner?’

‘Yes, Cori and Simon will be here at some point. We need Cori for some of the pictures.’

‘It’s just as well she’s so good natured,’ Becky commented, ‘being treated like a sex object.’

‘She’s not a sex object!’ Jon protested. ‘She’s like a model or a muse or something. And anyway, she’s used to it by now. She’s sat for so many of Simon’s paintings. Come on, Stef, I’ll see you out.’

‘Thank you. And thank you for inviting me, Jon. It might have worked,’ said Stef.

‘It still might,’ responded Jon. ‘Don’t give up just yet.’

‘I have no intention of giving up. Lissy is what I want, and Lissy is what I will fight for. No more time wasting. I’d walk through the fires of hell to hold her hand properly again.’

And as he stepped out into the little cobbled street, Stef swore to himself that he wouldn’t leave Britain this time without getting it all resolved.

He walked back to his apartment in the gathering dusk. The town was still alive, however, and every now and then black, shadowy figures would flit past him. The Goth tourists, of course; maybe seeing if they could raise the dead at the Abbey. Well, he wasn’t interested in the dead. There was only Lissy who interested him, wherever she had disappeared to.

Not for the first time, he wished he could turn back time – roll back the years and be in Newlyn again with his Elisabetta. Yes, he realised now that he had made a huge mistake and knew what he should have done. It was just disastrous that Lissy had seen them, and it had all stemmed from there.

He walked up the steps and unlocked the door of the big, white Victorian house and headed up the stairs. He had rented the first floor. It seemed a bit of a waste of time and money now. It served him right; he shouldn’t have been so conceited as to think he could come here and win her back without really trying.

He walked in the front door of the apartment and placed his camera down on the soft sofa, then headed into the kitchen. Pulling open the refrigerator, he took out a bottle of champagne. Yes, he had been very presumptuous. But as his love was not with him to share the champagne, he felt obliged to drink it himself.