Chapter Nineteen

Sea Scarr Hall, Present Day

There were a couple of beats where nothing happened. ‘Are you okay, Lissy?’ asked Stef.

She just stared at him. ‘I thought …’ she started. Then she shook her head. ‘No. My mistake. Yes. I’m ready.’ She turned back to the cupboard, and he noticed her cheeks were slightly flushed.

He hoisted her up in one easy motion and heard her catch her breath, but at least she didn’t flinch or stiffen under his hold. And she smelled very, very good as well; that combination of sun-tan lotion and the ocean he had loved so much in Cornwall. ‘Do you see anything?’ he asked.

‘It’s too dark and it smells horrible.’ Her voice sounded echoey and dulled. The weight of her lessened as she rested her hands on the frame of the cupboard and pushed herself up a little further. She must have brushed against the inside as a shower of plaster came tumbling down.

‘Oh, my God, it’s disgusting!’ Lissy coughed and shook her hair to get rid of the plaster dust. She shifted position, moving her hands further along the frame. ‘Ouch!’

‘Let me bring you down!’

‘No!’ The answer was quick. ‘No. I’ve got something.’ Lissy leaned in a little further and her weight shifted, so he held her tighter. ‘I’m leaning on it. Hang on …’ She shuffled to the right a bit and lifted up her hand. ‘Ha! I have you. I do think I’ve got the key!’

‘Okay, I will bring you down.’ Stef lowered her to the ground and thought she had never looked so lovely – all plaster-dust covered and flushed with happiness.

‘Yes. I have the key.’ Her mismatched eyes were sparkling. ‘Here it is. That dust shower must have brought it down.’

Stef leaned backwards into the cupboard and raised his hand, stretching up as far as he could.

He felt around, checking the space with his fingertips. ‘There’s a shelf of some kind, just behind the top of the frame. The key must have been on that – when you bumped it, you probably dislodged it.’ His sensitive fingers felt around a little more and fastened on a small, rectangular shape, half hanging off the ledge. ‘Oh, and we have something else as well.’

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know – let me get it,’ he replied.

A quick flick of his fingers and the object fell into his waiting palm. He eased his way out of the cupboard and presented Lissy with a small, dirty rectangle. She took it from him, wiping it down her dress, obviously too caught up in the excitement of the moment to care about her clothing, and he saw a gilt frame show through the grime.

‘Oh!’ She exhaled on a long breath. ‘Thank you. I think it’s …yes. Look.’ She rubbed her fingertip on the front and drew a line through years of filth to reveal a glass fronted watercolour. She kept rubbing until she’d uncovered the whole picture. It was a small seascape, the colours as fresh as the day they had been painted. Lissy looked at it and then up at the window which faced out to the cove. ‘It’s the view from here. How lovely!’

‘Painted with those watercolours, I suspect.’ Stef nodded to the box on the floor.

‘Yes! And now we can open it!’ Lissy thrust the seascape at Stef and dropped down onto her knees. She began to fit the key into the lock. ‘It’s rusty or something. It’s … ah! Got it!’

Stef hunkered down next to her, holding the painting. ‘Is there anything exciting in there?’

Lissy cracked the lid and the box opened with a painful creak. ‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘Just loose cakes of paint, like we thought. Two brushes. One pencil. Well used. Look, the paints are all worn away, see the blue and the yellow? She must have liked painting the sea and the cove. The brushes are well-cared for, and the pencil is blunt.’ She looked at the corner of the tray which contained the paints and pencils and picked at it with one of those long nails.

‘You said “she”,’ said Stef. ‘You said “she” must have liked painting. What makes you think it was a woman?’

‘I don’t know.’ Lissy looked up at him. ‘I just think hiding things away – it’s secretive, isn’t it? Women are more secretive then men. Or at least I think so.’ She looked back at the box, then studied the corner. ‘It looks as if this is a tray. Let’s see if there’s another layer.’ She lifted the corner and took it out of the box, laying it on the floor. ‘There are a couple of sketches. Nothing exciting. A boat. The cove again. Look – this is the Dower House, isn’t it? So that’s my little beach.’ She smiled, yet seemed disappointed.

‘Why so sad?’ asked Stef gently. He laid his hand on hers. ‘Is this not a nice discovery?’

‘Well, yes. It’s nice. But that’s all. It’s not very interesting, is it? Just pictures of scenery. And a teeny tiny figure in the boat. But they used to just put random people in pictures for the sake of it, rustic peasants and fishermen and the like.’ She shrugged and sighed. ‘Nothing exciting. Nothing personal.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Stef sat down and crossed his legs, facing Lissy. ‘Nobody has seen inside this box for one hundred years. You’re the first person to handle … her … items. I find that exciting, no?’

‘I think I just feel cheated,’ said Lissy flatly. ‘With Becky, I found an amazing writing slope and it had a photograph in it. We found out who she was, you know; she was called Ella. And with Cori, I found her a diary. And Daisy, who wrote the diary, had a fantastic relationship with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood! She wrote all about it. Yet me – my story, if you like,’ she looked up at him, her mouth turned upside down, ‘boils down to a seascape, a few sketches and a blunt pencil.’

‘Hmmm. One cannot measure excitement by what other people discover, you know.’

‘I know.’ Lissy looked at the little box and replaced the tray with a little sigh. ‘But it would have been nice.’

‘Okay.’ Stef wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘What was the lady called who lived here in 1905?’

‘Lorelei. Lorelei Scarsdale. Isn’t that a wonderful name? The house was in her husband’s family for generations apparently.’

‘Lorelei. Like a mermaid, yes? I like that. Okay. So we have a lady who lived here with a mermaid’s name. Why don’t we, then, attribute this beautiful little paintbox to Signora Lorelei Scarsdale?’

‘Yes. Why don’t we?’ Lissy sighed again and her eyes drifted to the window. ‘We’ve got nothing else to go on.’

Stef couldn’t resist. He rocked forward and dropped a kiss on her hair. Despite the remnants of plaster dust that clung to it, it was still soft and smelled of that shampoo he had always liked – he closed his eyes briefly as he remembered and felt that old pang of regret. How utterly stupid he had been. A complete idiot. One positive thing, at least, was that Lissy didn’t shout at him or tell him to back off; or slash at him with those vicious nails. Progress indeed.

‘Nope. We have nothing to work with,’ he said sadly, drawing away, ‘except the name of the lady.’ He picked up the watercolour. ‘Yet this is very beautiful.’ He studied it and then looked more closely. ‘Oh.’ He held it up. ‘Do you mind if I break into the casing?’

‘What? No, not at all. It’s not mine anyway,’ said Lissy.

Stef nodded and began to work at the casing. ‘Aha!’ He managed to ease the picture out of the frame and held it up. He looked at Lissy and pointed to the edges. ‘Do you see this? There are two edges to the paper.’

‘So has it not just been mounted?’

‘No. It looks different to a mounting. You know, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think there may be something hidden under here.’

‘What?’ Lissy leaned forward. ‘What do you mean?’

‘All I’m saying is that Laura Knight hid a painting of Alfred Munnings behind one of her own pieces of work. The work was Carnaval from 1915. The hidden work was Alfred Munnings Reading – by her husband, Harold Knight. It was only discovered recently and it’s a mystery as to why she hid it.’

‘Yes, I know all about that, but —’

‘Well, I’m wondering if this is a similar situation. Only it would predate Laura Knight, would it not? Hey, perhaps Lorelei had the idea first?’ He laughed, and examined the picture again. ‘Oh, my. Do you know, I think we might be right. Your nails, mia cara. I need demon talons on the case. Please – get the picture off the backing board and let us see what we shall find.’

‘How wonderful!’ Lissy took the picture from Stef and slowly picked at the side of the picture so it was loosened from the backing. ‘You’re right!’ She looked up at him, her face glowing. ‘There’s something underneath it.’

‘Why is your hand shaking, Elisabetta? Surely you are not worried about what you might find?’

‘I’m not worried – I’m excited!’ Lissy laughed. ‘Maybe my story isn’t over!’

And ever-so-carefully, Lissy peeled back the seascape watercolour. And ever-so-slowly, the picture beneath unveiled itself.

A man. A head and shoulders watercolour of a man, wearing a white, open-necked shirt, looking to his right. Behind him, the vast sea. His hair was longish and dark, curling at the base of his neck, his eyes a deep, chocolate brown.

‘Oh, my God,’ Lissy breathed.

Her hands began to shake even more and Stef leaned forwards, putting his hands on hers, trying to steady her. ‘What is it, mia cara?’

‘This man. I’m pretty sure he’s the one I saw on my beach that night.’ She looked at Stef, her face white. ‘He’s the one who had the gun.’

The Cove, 1905

Lorelei pulled open the door of the bathing hut and looked down at Julian from the top of the steps. ‘Will I loosen my hair for you?’ she asked. ‘Like the suicidal maiden?’

‘No. I don’t want anything obscuring your face.’ He handed the satin gown to her and smiled. She reached out, then seemed to change her mind and pushed his hair out of his face instead.

Then she let her fingertips slide down his jawline. ‘But your face is obscured and I want to see it.’

‘Then we are in agreement,’ Julian replied. He raised the costume and Lorelei took it from him.

‘What shall I do with it then?’ she asked.

‘Plait it,’ Julian said. ‘Haven’t I already told you I wanted it plaited? Just like when I saw you swimming – or, more to the point – when I saw you sitting on the rock that first day.’

Lorelei smiled. ‘Very well. Allow me to change, and I shall plait my hair for you.’

‘Wonderful. I’ll just wait for you here, then.’ Julian seemed to fold up and all of a sudden he was sitting on the sand cross-legged; all without taking his eyes off her.

Lorelei laughed and stepped inside the bathing machine. ‘I shan’t be a moment.’ She put the dress down on the chair and closed the door.

Julian’s amused voice drifted through the cracks: ‘Let me know if you require any help dressing, Lady Scarsdale.’

‘I think I can manage, Mr Cooper,’ she shouted back, and began to undo the fastenings on her modern-day clothing.

‘That’s a shame,’ he replied. Lorelei smiled into the shadows, noticing the little drifts of sand in the corner of the room, and wriggled into the medieval costume. It was the work of a moment to shake her hair loose from its chignon and swiftly plait it, tying it up with the red ribbon and then she was ready. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Lorelei was rewarded by Julian’s face altering as he saw her. The man was, quite clearly, taken aback.

He scrambled to his feet and held his hand out to her. ‘You are the very vision of a Siren,’ he told her, helping her out of the bathing machine.

‘A vision?’ She laughed as she came down the steps onto the sand and stared up into his dark brown eyes. ‘Well now, that’s a very good start. Shall we head straight out onto the rock?’ She nodded towards it. It had a silvery sheen in the late afternoon light and shimmered deliciously, calling to her.

‘I think so,’ replied Julian.

Lorelei let go of his hand and picked up her skirt. Her own feet were bare and she began to walk through the sand to the edge of the sea.

‘Allow me.’ Julian swooped down on her as soon as her toe touched the water, and suddenly she was aloft in his arms.

She gave a shout of glee and laughed as she clung to his neck. ‘I’m perfectly capable of wading out to the rock!’ she cried. ‘Put me down!’

‘No. I shan’t put you down, at least not willingly. But I might drop you!’ He loosened his grip for a second and she slipped down a few inches before his strong hands clasped together again and caught her.

Lorelei shrieked and kicked her legs as Julian began to wade through the shallows towards the rock.

‘I don’t trust you at all, Mr Cooper!’ she said – but there was amusement in her voice and they both knew she was joking.

‘You’ll learn to,’ he said.

They reached the rock, the water well over Julian’s knees, and he placed her carefully on top of it, still in the same position she had been in when he had carried her. Lorelei shifted slightly and made herself more comfortable, then turned to look at him. He was wading back towards the shore, looking down and fiddling with the camera he had slung around his neck. She hoped she hadn’t crushed it when she was in his arms.

Lorelei wrapped her arms around her legs, and watched him as he stood on the shore. He was turning around and holding the camera up; spending a while doing something with it, framing the shot no doubt. She would just wait for her cue. All she had to do was sit there and he would tell her exactly when …

CLICK!

‘Perfect!’ Julian looked up from the camera and grinned. ‘Got you.’

‘Excuse me?’ Lorelei squirmed on the rock, the dress hampering her movements somewhat, and kneeled up, her fists planted on the rock either side of her. ‘Was that it? Have you done it? Oh.’ She was horribly disappointed. That was it? All that build up? For that?

‘Sadly, yes. It’s a little different to posing for a sketch or a painting, isn’t it? Much faster for all concerned. But regardless, I truly wanted a candid picture of you so I could remember you like this – no airs and graces, no Lady Bountiful. Just you. On a rock. In the summer. With me.’ He smiled at her, a little shyly, Lorelei thought.

‘Really? Am I very interesting when I’m just – me?’ she asked, blinking like a rather stupid sort of owl. She was utterly confused. The speed of him taking that photograph had thrown her.

‘You are more interesting like that than you will ever know.’ There was the briefest of pauses, when the look Julian gave her told her more than she felt he would ever be able to vocalise.

She tried to match his look, wanting to tell him the same thing.

Then his face split into a smile. ‘I know,’ was all he said in response. ‘I know.’

‘Well then!’ Lorelei shook herself a little. ‘You could have at least taken one of me smiling. Let me try again.’

‘No need,’ replied Julian. ‘You were smiling on that one. Believe me. I don’t know what you were thinking or what you were planning, but you were very definitely smiling. Now. Let me be content with my work. In fact – I think I shall come out there and join you shortly.’

‘No. I insist you take some proper photographs!’ pleaded Lorelei, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. ‘I want to at least enjoy my time in the spotlight for more than a few seconds!’

Julian laughed and shook his head. ‘Imperious Lady Scarsdale. All right. But just two more. I can’t be wasting my plates when I know the first picture was perfect.’

‘Two more will be lovely,’ said Lorelei. ‘Now – tell me what I should do.’

‘Very well, then,’ replied Julian. And, as she requested, he proceeded to take two more photographs, posing her and advising her and finally lowering the camera and smiling out at her. ‘That is it. Truly. One cannot improve on perfection.’

And all of a sudden he was simply Julian again – no longer a professional and clearly just a man wanting to feel the freedom of the seaside. Lorelei didn’t know what his plans were for the photographs and she really didn’t care. On the surface of it all at least, there was nothing to discredit either herself or Julian.

Below the surface, however, there was an undercurrent that she feared was sweeping her mercilessly along – for the first time in her life, she was caught in a riptide she didn’t want to fight against.