Chapter 7 Elise #2
Her chats with Sam were something positive, as was her growing friendship with Esther. Two lights at the end of a very long, dark tunnel. She’d told her gran about them both, and predictably she’d been delighted.
“They both sound really nice, Elise. I’m so pleased.”
And if it sometimes felt wrong to feel happy about anything at all, then Elise told herself—as she knew her gran would were she here—that Charlie would be the first to encourage her to take pleasure in these new relationships.
Suddenly she thought of Robbie, waking up alone in London, remembering the date the way she’d done. Of how bleak he must be feeling on his own, today of all days. She must phone him later on. Not now; he’d be rushing round to get to work.
It broke Elise’s heart to think about Charlie’s previous birthday. His last birthday. She and Robbie speaking in overbright voices. Charlie wearily opening gifts and pushing his cake around his plate. Too, too sad.
Enough.
Whatever the coldness had been about, it had passed now. She could stay outside all day wallowing in grief, or she could go indoors and try to bury herself in her work. Work was the better idea; there had been too many distractions this week.
For that morning’s strange events weren’t the only odd thing to have happened since she’d arrived at Marsh House. The other episode had taken place the same day Sam’s daughter, Jasmine, had come to Marsh House, the first time Elise had met her.
Elise had felt anxious about meeting Jasmine at first, afraid she might be taken over by emotion—so she’d stayed in the living room, working on the painting of the flowers in the vase until she’d gathered enough courage to go into the kitchen to say hello.
Sam was over by the kettle, making drinks. A dark-haired girl, who had to be Jasmine, was seated at the kitchen table, looking down at a games console. Sam looked up and smiled. “Hi, Elise. This is my daughter, Jasmine. Jasmine, this is Elise, who’s working here with me.”
“Hi, Jasmine.”
When no immediate response came from Jasmine, Sam frowned. “Say hello to Elise, Jasmine.”
“Just a minute, Dad, I’ll lose this game,” Jasmine said.
“Jasmine,” Sam said warningly, and at last his daughter looked up. She had dark eyes to go with the dark hair.
“Hi,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding straight back down to her games console, and she was so completely dissimilar to Charlie that Elise could have wept with relief.
Sam was clearly embarrassed by his daughter’s rudeness.
“Sorry,” he said. “Her mother bought her the DS last month. I haven’t been able to tear her away from it since.
She doesn’t always behave like an obsessed zombie.
” He went over to give Jasmine a playful nudge as he spoke, and she nudged him right back.
“Dad . . .” she complained, but Elise saw the briefest of smiles on her face.
Sam looked over and smiled. “I was just making a cup of tea. D’you want one?”
“Yes, please.” Elise let go of the door handle and went to lean against the Aga, picking at some dried paint around her thumbnail.
“I gave Jasmine a bit of a tour downstairs just now. We had a look at your sketches on the dining room table. Who are the two women you’ve drawn in the background of that picture of the vase of flowers? They look like sisters. I love the way you’ve shown their relationship. It’s extremely loving.”
Elise frowned. “Two women?” she was about to ask. “What two women?” But Sam’s phone began to ring, and he took it from his pocket apologetically to answer it.
“Sorry, I need to get this. It’s about a wood order.”
While he was busy, Elise carried her tea past Jasmine and slipped from the room, intrigued by what Sam had just said. She hadn’t drawn anything that could be interpreted as being two women, and she wanted to see for herself what he was referring to.
But when she sifted through the drawings on the table, she soon saw exactly what he meant.
There were figures in the background of her drawing of the flower vase.
And not just suggestions of people, but very clearly drawn.
Two women, standing side by side, looking out of the picture from behind the flowers, the younger one with her head resting on the older one’s shoulder.
How strange. How could she have drawn the figures in so much detail and yet have absolutely no recollection of having done so?
Sisters . . . some instinct told her Sam was right.
And he was also right about their relationship coming across as being very loving.
It was something about the way their bodies were angled towards each other, almost merging into one shape.
Their hairstyles seemed to suit an earlier age; the 1940s, perhaps.
Could one of them be Lilias? Perhaps somebody else had drawn them into her picture.
But who? And in any case, they were drawn in the same style as the rest of the drawing. Her style.
Sam came in, holding his mug of tea, joining Elise in front of the drawing. “There’s something a bit nostalgic about their expressions, don’t you think? As if they’re remembering something.”
He was right, it did seem like that. “Some shared experience or loss, maybe?”
Sam smiled. “Well, I suppose since you drew them, it can be anything you choose.”
She wanted to tell him she couldn’t remember drawing the women, but something held her back.
“I imagine people creep into most of your pictures since you paint a lot of portraits,” Sam said, and Elise leapt on the explanation like a lifeline.
Yes, that was the logical explanation. Nothing supernatural, just habit.
That and a grief that made her physically present, but mentally absent, and a little bit crazy for much of the time.
She must have been drawing on autopilot.
And hadn’t this house spoken to her from the very first moment she’d stepped into the garden?
A knock at the front door broke her from her thoughts of that day.
“Expecting anyone?” Sam asked.
Elise shook her head. “No.”
“A delivery, perhaps,” Sam said and went out to see.
Elise stayed where she was, still gazing at her drawing of the two sisters, only vaguely aware of Sam speaking to someone. Until, that was, she heard Robbie’s voice.