Julian was looking at her expectantly, and she said, ‘She’s very beautiful, and brave, too, to do what she did for love.’
‘It wasn’t exactly riches to rags, you know,’ Julian said, with a touch of impatience. ‘Sebastian might not have been her social equal, but the business was already well-established and increasingly highly thought of.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘People tend to confuse Sebastian with the romantic story of John the barrow-boy who started the firm, but that was nearly eighty years before. Anyway, I thought you’d like to see her.’
He led the way back into the hall and round a corner to where a small lift had been installed.
‘I usually make a point of walking up,’ Julian said with a smile, ‘but my secretary uses this, and I suggest you do, too. It’s more convenient, and takes you straight to the second floor.’
Thereby preserving the privacy of their family quarters on the first, Rona noted.
They emerged on to a small landing, which had two doors at the front of the building and two at the back. The front rooms, Julian explained, had been his grandparents’ bedroom and sitting room, though no traces remained of that former usage. The first room they entered was equipped with two desks, a computer, scanner, fax machine and all other necessities of the modern office. Shelves crammed with books lined the walls – most of them, from Rona’s quick glance, on furniture – and two small filing cabinets stood behind the door.
‘As I mentioned,’ Julian continued, ‘I have a secretary who works freelance, and whom I call on as need dictates. She usually comes in when I’m away, to deal with emails, queries and so on, and any work I’ve left for her. She could probably answer any questions you have, but if you need to speak to Felicity or myself, one of these phones is an intercom.’
He returned to the landing and opened the second door. ‘And this is the archive room.’
Rona looked around in some awe. One wall was solid with filing cabinets, each drawer bearing a card meticulously listing its contents. Against the opposite wall were several glass display cabinets containing papers and various artefacts. There was also a comfortable-looking sofa and, under the window, an upright chair in front of a large table, where papers could be spread out.
‘I presume you have a laptop?’ Julian enquired.
‘Yes.’
He nodded in satisfaction. ‘The rooms at the back are a bathroom and kitchenette respectively. They’ve been left more or less as they were, and obviously still come in useful. Beryl makes tea and coffee, and if she’s here over lunch, warms up food in the microwave – our one innovation.’
‘It’s all very compact,’ Rona said admiringly. Remembering other family archives she’d studied, she added, ‘Are the records mostly to do with the business, or is there also personal history? I admit I’m more interested in the human element.’
Julian gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, we’ve had plenty of that! There are letters and photographs by the score. Make full use of them. All I would ask is that I have the chance to veto anything that’s too sensitive.’ He hesitated. ‘Would you like to make a start now, or have you another engagement?’
‘I’d like a preliminary look, if I may. Then I could make a proper start tomorrow.’
‘Fine; I’ll leave you to it, then. Just let yourself out when you’ve finished. Oh, and I’d better give you the security code for the gate.’
Rona took it down.
‘We have a daily who’s here nine till four every day, so the house should always be open. Good luck with your research! I’ll be most interested to see what you produce.’
‘I have Lord Roxford’s Private Secretary on the line,’ Carla said expressionlessly, ‘enquiring if you’d be free to lunch with him tomorrow.’
‘Oh God!’ Dominic flung himself back in his chair. ‘Dress code sackcloth and ashes, I presume?’
‘He suggests his club,’ Carla continued, ‘and apologizes for the short notice, but the summer recess starts on Thursday.’
When he made no comment, she added, ‘You’ve not much choice, have you?’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘This, I could do without. Why couldn’t the silly girl do as I suggested, instead of running bleating to her father?’
‘Probably thought he had more clout.’
‘He’s always seemed a laid-back sort of chap,’ Dominic said reflectively, ‘but admittedly that was before I toyed with his ewe lamb. You’re right, though, I’ll have to go.’ He straightened, his face brightening. ‘And when you’ve accepted with due thanks, see if you can get me a mid-morning appointment with Brocklehurst. No point in wasting a trip to London.’
The phone rang stridently, breaking Avril’s concentration on the television programme she was watching. Pressing the mute button on the remote, she went to answer it.
‘Mrs Parish? Guy Lacey here. Sorry to trouble you, but Sarah’s mobile’s switched off.’
‘It would be,’ Avril replied. ‘She’s gone to the cinema.’
‘Then I wonder if you’d be kind enough to give her a message? She asked me to collect her music centre; she’ll want it at home during the summer, and can’t fit it into her car. I’d intended to come on Thursday, when she breaks up, but something’s come up and I shan’t be able to make it. So could you tell her I’ll call round tomorrow instead, about seven thirty, if that’s all right?’
‘I’ll tell her, yes.’
‘And perhaps she could phone me, to confirm it’s OK?’
‘I’ll see she gets the message.’
‘Thanks very much.’ A pause. ‘Did you enjoy your lunch at the Clarendon?’
‘I did, thank you. And you?’
‘It was a good send-off for my colleague, but I have to confess I don’t care for all-male occasions. Too much booze consumed, for one thing, and I’m getting too old for that; I always pay for it later. Was yours a special occasion?’
‘My daughters’ birthday.’
‘Both of them, of course. I must say they’re very alike.’
‘On the surface, maybe.’
‘But it’s only skin deep? Well, that’s what makes life interesting, isn’t it? Not that I’d know, having only one.’
‘Oh, life’s been interesting, all right.’
He laughed. ‘Right. Well, see you tomorrow, perhaps? And thanks for taking the message.’
See you tomorrow, perhaps? Avril repeated to herself as she restored sound to the television. Yes, she thought she could promise him that.
Six
Rona was in the archive room the next morning when her mobile rang, and she answered it to hear her sister’s agitated voice. Unusually, they’d not spoken for over a week, when Lindsey had been so unforthcoming about her French trip.
‘Can you meet me for lunch, Ro? I need to see you.’
Rona felt a wave of irritation. Another of Lindsey’s crises, no doubt. ‘Actually, Linz, it’s not very convenient. I’m working at last, and—’
‘You have to eat,’ Lindsey said sharply.
Rona thought of the salad in the fridge across the landing. No doubt it would keep till tomorrow, and it wasn’t as though she was paid on an hourly basis. In fact, the Willows weren’t paying her at all, but she’d hoped for a clear day to start her research.
‘Well?’ Lindsey said impatiently. ‘You’re in Marsborough, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, off Alban Road.’
‘For heaven’s sake, that’s just round the corner. The Bacchus at one?’
Rona sighed. Lindsey always wore her down. ‘I’ll be there,’ she said.
Lindsey was already seated at an alcove table.
‘Where’s Gus?’ she asked, as Rona joined her.
‘Spending the day with Max. I can’t cope with him when I’m working.’
‘You fixed yourself up with the Willows, then?’
‘Yes; I’m based at their home in Oak Avenue. Down past the station,’ she added, in response to her twin’s enquiring eyebrow.
Lindsey picked up the wine
bottle and filled Rona’s glass. ‘It was arranged at the Kingstons’ dinner party?’
Rona nodded. ‘This is my first full day.’
‘And I’ve scuppered it. Well, sorry and all that, but I wanted you to see this.’
She reached in her handbag, produced a page from a society magazine, and passed it across the table.
It was filled with photographs taken at some function, and Rona wondered what she was supposed to be looking at. Not recognizing anyone, she turned to the text for elucidation. And found it.
Under a shot of a smiling couple seated at a table ran the caption: Lady Miranda Barrington-Selby and Mr Dominic Frayne.
Rona studied the faces with interest. So this was the famous Dominic. The picture was too small to distinguish features, but her eyes moved critically over the thick hair, the confident smile. And the girl with her hand possessively on his arm looked young enough to be his daughter.
Unwillingly, Rona looked up to meet her sister’s eyes.
‘The magazine’s dated the ninth of April,’ Lindsey said unsteadily. ‘That’s after we met.’
‘But you hadn’t been out with him then,’ Rona pointed out reasonably. ‘Perhaps he dumped her after meeting you. You didn’t think he’d been living in a monastery, did you?’
‘Or perhaps he hasn’t dumped her,’ Lindsey said darkly, ‘and that’s how he spends all those weeks when I don’t hear from him. Lady Miranda, for God’s sake! I can’t compete with that! And just look at her, Ro! She looks about twelve! If I’d seen that photo without knowing either of them, I’d have taken him for a dirty old man!’
‘Oh, come on! He’s not that old. Where did you find this?’
‘At the dentist’s, where else? I had my six-monthly check this morning.’
‘Pity they don’t update their magazines.’
‘That wouldn’t have changed anything. And don’t say “What the eye doesn’t see”, because it won’t wash.’
A waiter approached and they broke off to choose and order their meal.
‘So what do you expect me to do?’ Rona asked, when he’d gone.
‘Advise me.’
‘On what? Linz, there’s only one option; forget you ever saw it.’
Lindsey stared moodily at the photograph. Then, very deliberately, she tore the page in half, then into quarters, then into still smaller pieces, and stuffed them in the ashtray.
‘Feel better?’
‘Pity I can’t do that to him!’ Lindsey sighed. ‘OK, maybe I’m overreacting. But I can’t help wondering if he took her to France.’
‘She was then and you are now,’ Rona said firmly, hoping she was right. ‘Now, stop being evasive about your own trip, and tell me everything that happened.’
While Rona and Lindsey were discussing him, Dominic was being shown into the dining room of the London club. During the journey, he’d been attempting to formulate the best approach to Miranda’s father. He could hardly claim she’d made all the running, even though it was true. Better, he’d decided, to sit tight and judge the prevailing mood.
At least his greeting was cordial enough.
‘Frayne! Good of you to come.’ Rupert Barrington-Selby, ninth Earl of Roxford, came to his feet and reached for Dominic’s hand, grasping it firmly. ‘Sit down, sit down.’
He was a large man in every sense, over six foot, with broad shoulders and a heavy frame. In his fifties, he’d developed a paunch, and his fair-to-sandy hair was thinning. Though on the few occasions they’d met he’d been dressed formally, Dominic had a mental image of him in tweed jacket and cords, the archetypal country squire.
‘First things first,’ Roxford said firmly. ‘I’ve ordered a good claret – hope that suits you – and I’m going for duck pâté, followed by Beef Wellington. I can strongly recommend both dishes, but if something else takes your fancy, just say.’ He nodded towards the menu.
‘Your choice sounds admirable, thank you.’
‘Excellent. And an aperitif?’
With a clutch of anxiety, Dominic wondered if this affability stemmed from his host’s belief that he was entertaining his future son-in-law. What, exactly, had Miranda told her father?
However, as the waiter moved away, Roxford came swiftly to the point.
‘Unfortunate business, with Mirrie.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Dominic said soberly.
‘I suggest we get the discussion over straight away, then we can enjoy our meal.’ He paused, staring down at the snowy cloth. ‘I was well aware she’d set her cap at you,’ he continued, ‘and, with due respect, I issued all the necessary warnings. Sadly, she chose to ignore them.’
Dominic began to breathe more easily. ‘She said you knew she was serious,’ he offered, hoping to scotch any misunderstanding.
The earl nodded, lifted his promptly-delivered aperitif in a silent toast, and drank. ‘Knew,’ he confirmed then, wiping his mouth on his napkin, ‘and told her, in no uncertain terms, not to be a goose. I love her dearly, but I wonder sometimes if she’s a sensible idea in her head. No offence intended, old chap.’
‘I blame myself; I should have been more responsible—’
‘My wife tells me Mirrie saw to that side of things,’ Roxford said obliquely. ‘She took a gamble, and lost. I trust she’ll be wiser in the future.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, I’ll come straight out with it. My main reason for meeting you is to ask if you’d have any objection to an abortion?’
Dominic, taken completely by surprise, reached hastily for his glass, gaining a much-needed moment’s grace. ‘Not if that’s what she wants,’ he said cautiously. ‘In fact, when she came to see me . . .’
‘Can you honestly see her as a mother? She can’t even take care of herself. It’s a sad, messy business all round, but this seems the best way, provided you agree. After all, it’s your child, too.’
‘I did say I’d support it, if—’
Roxford waved this away. ‘Yes, yes, good of you, but that’s not the solution.’ He waited, eyeing Dominic from under beetle brows.
It was his child, too. Dominic surprised in himself a feeling of regret, realizing to his discomfort that he’d never considered the child itself. Its conception had been simply a mistake, to be rectified as quickly as possible, and he now felt a sense of guilt. Yet, to be realistic, there was no question of his having any future contact with it. It was an innocent victim, a means towards an end; and now that the gamble, as Roxford put it, had failed, it was neither wanted nor needed.
‘How does Miranda feel?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘She’s seen sense, at last.’
‘Then – of course it’s all right with me,’ Dominic confirmed, feeling as though he’d signed a death warrant.
‘Fine. Good chap.’ Roxford sat back in his chair. ‘And here, on cue, comes the pâté. Bon appétit!’
Rona returned to Oak Avenue, mulling over the conversation during lunch. Gavin’s view that Dominic wasn’t to be trusted weighed heavily on her; was his association with this girl proof of that, or had the relationship indeed ended before he began seeing Lindsey? Tell her to watch her step. She had not, of course, done so. Lindsey was prickly enough, and, if she sensed criticism, would clam up completely. The best Rona could hope for was that doubts raised by the photograph might put her on her guard, making her a little more cautious in her dealings with him.
Back at the window table, however, she dismissed her sister’s problems, and, to ensure a swift return to the past, started to read some letters she’d come across before lunch. They were signed respectively by Charles, Frederick and James, each of them signing himself Araminta’s loving brother. Immediately, the biographer in Rona wanted to know about them, which one had inherited the title, and who each of them had married. She started leafing through the file, only to pause in stunned disbelief as a name leapt out at her. Eyes still fixed on the papers, she reached for her mobile.
‘Lindsey Parish.’
‘Linz, you’ll never believe—�
��
There was an irritated sigh. ‘Ro, you know I don’t like—’
‘You’ll want to hear this.’ Rona took a deep breath. ‘Like to hazard a guess as to who Lady Miranda’s father is?’
‘What on earth—?’
‘None other than the Earl of Roxford.’
There was a silence, which Rona broke impatiently. ‘Well? What do you think of that?’
‘How the hell,’ Lindsey said slowly, ‘did you come up with that?’
‘The Roxfords – family name Barrington-Selby – happen to be the upper-crust relatives the Willows are so proud of.’
‘Good God!’
‘I think the phrase is, “It’s a small world.”’
‘You’ll actually be interviewing them?’
‘If Julian has anything to do with it.’
‘Including Miranda?’
‘Unlikely; she lives in London, and I’ll be going to Yorkshire, to the family estate.’
‘Ye gods. You’re absolutely sure about this? That the present earl’s her father?’
‘Ninety per cent. At the very least, they must be closely related.’
‘A title in the family would be quite a coup for Dominic.’
‘You sound like Julian!’ Rona scoffed, then glanced guiltily at the door. ‘Come on, you don’t seriously think he’d be swayed by that, do you?’
‘It might tip the balance, if he’s genuinely fond of her. We don’t know they’re not still an item.’
‘If they were, where would you fit in?’
‘That,’ said Lindsey heavily, ‘is the million dollar question.’
When she finished at five o’clock, Rona was pleased with her first day’s work. Even without the Miranda connection, the archives looked more promising than she’d expected; the Willows had been inveterate letter-writers, and a surprising amount of personal correspondence survived. Together with the photographs, they should help her build up an interesting profile of the family.
Next Door to Murder Page 8
