The Girl in the Picture. Kerry Barrett

      I owe one big thank you to my lovely friend Becky Knowles. One day, as we strolled round an exhibition of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, she wondered aloud what it would have been like to have been a female artist at the time, and inadvertently gave birth to Violet Hargreaves.

       I’d also like to thank my editor Victoria Oundjian for her help and support, and wish her lots of luck in her new role. And, as always, thanks to the team at HQ Digital, my family, friends and all my readers.

Chapter 1

      Present day

      Ella

      ‘It’s perfect,’ Ben said. ‘It’s the perfect house for us.’

      I smiled at the excitement in his voice.

      ‘What’s it like?’ I asked. I was in bed because I was getting over a sickness bug but suddenly I felt much better. I sat up against the headboard and looked out of the window into the grey London street. It was threatening to rain and the sky was dark even though it was still the afternoon.

      ‘I’ll send you some pictures,’ Ben said. ‘You’ll love it. Sea view, of course, quiet but not isolated …’ He paused. ‘And …’ He made an odd noise that I thought was supposed to be a trumpet fanfare.

      ‘What?’ I said, giggling. ‘What else does it have?’

      Ben was triumphant. ‘Only a room in the attic.’

      ‘No,’ I said in delight. ‘No way. So it could be a study?’

      ‘Yes way,’ said Ben. ‘See? It’s made for us.’

      I glanced over at my laptop, balanced on the edge of my dressing table that doubled as a desk, which in turn was squeezed into the corner of our bedroom. We’d been happy here in this poky terraced house. Our boys had been born here. It was safe here. But this was a new adventure for us, no matter how terrifying I found the thought. And just imagine the luxury of having space to write. I looked at my notes for my next book, which were scattered over the floor, and smiled to myself.

      ‘What do the boys think?’ I asked.

      ‘They’re asleep,’ Ben said. ‘It’s pissing down with rain and we’re all in the car. I rang the estate agent and he’s on his way, so I’ll wake the boys up in a minute.’

      ‘Ring me back when he arrives,’ I said. ‘FaceTime me, in fact. I want to see the house when you do.’

      ‘Okay,’ Ben said. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’

      I ended the call and leaned back against my pillow. I was definitely beginning to feel much better now and I’d not thrown up for a few hours, but I was glad I’d not gone down to Sussex with Ben because I was still a bit queasy.

      I picked up my glass of water from the bedside table and held it against my hot forehead while I thought about the house. It had been back in the spring when we’d spotted it, on a spontaneous weekend away. Ben had a job interview at a football club in Brighton. Not just any job interview. THE job interview. His dream role as chief physio for a professional sports team – the job he’d been working towards since he qualified. Great money, amazing opportunities.

      The boys and I had gone along with him at the last minute and while Ben was at the interview, I’d wandered the narrow lanes of Brighton with Stanley in his buggy and Oscar scooting along beside me. I had marvelled at the happy families I saw around me and how my mood had lifted when I saw the sea, twinkling in the sunshine at the end of each road I passed. That day I felt like anything was possible, like I should grab every chance of happiness because I knew so well how fleeting it could be.

      The next day – after Ben had been offered