Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  Which reflection didn’t help with the present circumstances. There was no denying the spurt of excitement Finlay’s presence evoked, and furthermore she suspected it was mutual. It was a situation that called for careful handling, and was one reason why she was in no hurry to return to Chilswood.

  ‘You went all the way to Marsborough?’ Edward said, with lifted eyebrow.

  ‘It’s not exactly the ends of the earth, and I thought the old family albums would interest her. Anyway, I wanted a word with Philip Yarborough at Netherby’s. They’ve put in a large order for the Chiltern range.’

  The fact that customers were usually contacted by telephone or email was glossed over by both of them.

  Edward said neutrally, ‘His wife’s ill, isn’t she? I heard she was with her parents in Norwich.’

  ‘That’s right; it’s a mental illness, but she’s doing well and he’s hoping she’ll be home in the summer.’

  There was a pause. Then Edward said bluntly, ‘You like her, don’t you? Rona Parish?’

  ‘That obvious?’

  ‘To me, it is. She’s an attractive girl, no denying it, and with plenty of character, to boot. But we’ve been dangling attractive girls in front of you ever since Ginnie left, and not getting any response. What’s different about this one?’

  Finn shrugged. ‘We seem to be on the same wavelength, that’s all. Don’t worry, I shan’t let it get out of hand. She’s married, after all.’

  ‘Ah yes, the absentee husband. Making her – what was the phrase Nick coined? – a class widow.’

  ‘Absentee or not, his influence in the house is very noticeable. It’s an amazing place they’ve got there; pure Georgian from the outside, and though they’ve altered the interior, it’s still totally in keeping. There’s definitely an artist’s hand in it.’

  Edward leaned back in his chair. ‘So what’s the next move?’

  ‘She wants to interview Ma and the aunts and uncles. Then, no doubt, the rest of us. It’s a family history she’s after, rather than the firm’s.’

  ‘Well, you’re the marketing man, but it can’t do any harm, can it?’

  ‘Of course not. On the contrary, it should do us a power of good. You know what they say about publicity.’

  ‘That there’s no bad?’ Edward grimaced. ‘Our forebears mightn’t agree with you, but that’s a closed book. As far as the articles go, I’d say we’ve everything to gain.’

  ‘Which is why I’m giving her a helping hand,’ Finn said, holding his brother’s sceptical gaze.

  ‘Fine. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

  Finlay nodded. ‘Thanks for Friday evening, by the way. It was great.’

  ‘Yes, everyone seemed to enjoy it, despite the spectre at the feast.’

  ‘Nigel de Salis? I shouldn’t lose any sleep over him. Relations between us are on a strictly business level and he is a good customer. Everything else is water under the bridge.’

  ‘Let’s hope there’s never a flood tide,’ Edward commented.

  Six

  Rona spent the next two days going through the Curzon family albums. In some instances she was able to attach names to anonymous figures by dint of their appearing on another page, duly annotated. The album she’d first glanced at, opening with the wedding group, wasn’t the earliest chronologically, and to her delight she came across a faded print of Samuel Curzon himself. Though obviously taken in a studio, the outlines of the factory had been artistically sketched in the background. It was dated 1860. The unknown compilers of the albums, though sometimes negligent in the naming of their subjects, were meticulous in their dating.

  She worked with the family tree open beside her, ticking names on it as she discovered corresponding likenesses. Some photographs were so faded that they’d need a lot of work to make them clear enough to reproduce, but then not many would be used in the articles anyway. As Finn had foreseen, their chief advantage was to her personally, in bringing to life the people she’d be writing about.

  The most recent album covered a longer period than the others, with only a few photos taken after the end of the 1950s. This could have been either because the Curzons became less interested in recording events, or because slides took over from prints at about that time. However, it did contain one of particular interest, showing three fair-haired children on a beach, squinting against the sun. It was labelled: Edward, Jacqueline and Finlay. August 1969. Rona studied it for several minutes. The two little boys, aged, she estimated, ten and six, were in swimming trunks, their legs caked with sand. Their sister, between them in size and presumably also in age, was wearing a large sun hat that left part of her face in shadow, and appeared more interested in her ice cream cone than in the photographer.

  Rona flicked through the remaining pages, but there were no further pictures of the children, and in fact the last few leaves were left blank. There might, of course, be later albums, but she was aware of her disappointment. In particular, she’d like to have seen the woman Finlay had married and later divorced.

  She clamped down on the thought, and was relieved when the phone on her desk broke the silence with its warbling.

  ‘Ro? Reporting back as promised. Hugh phoned last night.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Invited me out to dinner.’

  ‘You’re going?’

  ‘Yes, though I turned down the first two dates he suggested. No point in seeming too eager.’

  ‘Are you eager, though? To get involved with him again?’

  ‘We’re already involved.’

  ‘To go further, then.’

  Lindsey’s sigh came over the wires. ‘I admit I was annoyed he didn’t even try to make a move at the weekend. If he had, I doubt if I could have held out. You know the effect he has on me.’

  Not a satisfactory response. After a moment, Rona asked, ‘And Jonathan?’

  ‘Is anxious to continue as before.’

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘God, I don’t know. I’m tempted there, too.’

  ‘So your conscience has gone into hibernation?’

  ‘Only partially.’ Another sigh. ‘The trouble is that there are complications with both of them. What I could really do with is someone completely new.’

  ‘Oh, yes; I’d forgotten the latest object of interest. Any more sightings of him?’

  ‘No, but I think he’ll be at a party I’m going to on Saturday.’

  ‘Going to with whom?’

  ‘It’s not that kind of party. I’ll go along by myself, then I’m not beholden to anyone.’ Lindsey paused. ‘How about the two attractive men you had lunch with last week?’

  Rona bit her lip. ‘One of them was round here on Monday. He brought me some photo albums to look at.’

  ‘Makes a change from etchings.’

  ‘Lindsey, for God’s sake!’

  ‘All right, all right. No need to snap. I was joking, but it seems I touched a nerve.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t; it’s simply that your one-track mind gets a bit wearing.’

  ‘Beg pardon, I’m sure.’

  Rona drew a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Linz. I’ve been poring too long over these dusty books and am in need of some fresh air. You’re not free for a cup of tea at the Gallery, I suppose?’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t. I’ve an appointment in ten minutes.’

  ‘Never mind, I have to go out anyway. Gus needs his walk, and I must get the ingredients for tonight’s dinner, or Max will kill me. Good luck with your men – all of them. Keep me posted.’

  She put down the phone and stretched luxuriously. Then she pushed back her chair and ran down the stairs. Gus, asleep on the front door mat, looked up, tail wagging hopefully.

  ‘Yes, we’re going out,’ she told him. ‘And I hope I’ll be in a better mood by the time we get back.’

  The wind was strong and unseasonably cold, and Rona’s head was down as she battled against it on her way back along Guild Street. Which is why she had no
warning when someone suddenly catapulted out of a shop doorway, cannoning into her and knocking her shopping bag out of her hand. She stumbled and almost fell as Gus, taking avoiding action, succeeded in winding his lead round her legs. Then a hand caught her arm, steadying her, and a breathless voice exclaimed, ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry! Are you all right?’

  She looked up into the concerned face of a young woman, who took the lead out of her hand, untangled it, and handed it back.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Rona said ruefully, ‘but I doubt if my shopping is. There are eggs in there.’

  The young woman bent down, retrieved the bag, and peered anxiously into it. ‘I’m afraid the flour bag’s split,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m not sure about the eggs, but nothing’s seeped out of the box. I really am most dreadfully sorry.’ She opened her handbag and took out a purse. ‘Let me pay you for the damage. It was entirely my fault.’

  Rona shook her head. ‘There’s no need for that; it was an accident, and they’re easily replaced.’

  ‘Then at least let me buy you a cup of tea. I must do something to make amends!’

  Rona, who by this time was more than ready for some tea, hesitated, and the girl, encouraged, went on, ‘There’s a café just along here, isn’t there? I passed it as I went up the road.’

  They were, in fact, almost opposite the iron staircase leading to the Gallery.

  ‘Please!’ her assailant insisted, adding with a little laugh, ‘Apart from wanting to apologize, I’m a stranger in town, and it would be nice to have someone to chat to.’

  There was something immediately engaging about her, and Rona found herself smiling back. ‘You’ve talked me into it!’ she said. ‘The café’s just up these steps.’

  The Gallery was, as usual, crowded, but their arrival coincided with a couple vacating one of the window tables, and they were able to claim it.

  ‘My name’s Julia Teale,’ the girl volunteered, as they seated themselves.

  ‘Rona Parish.’

  ‘I’m glad to meet you, Rona, even if the meeting itself left a lot to be desired. I’m notoriously clumsy; my ex always said I couldn’t walk across a room without bumping into every piece of furniture.’

  ‘There’s no real harm done,’ Rona said. Now that she had a chance to look properly at her companion, she liked what she saw. Julia Teale had soft dark hair that the wind had freed from the comb that had held it, so that tendrils curled down either side of her face. Her eyes were wide and deep blue, and her skin flawless. It occurred to Rona that hers was just the kind of face Max would like to paint.

  The waitress took their order – tea and cakes for two – and as she moved away, Rona began, ‘You say you’re new to the area?’

  ‘Yes, I only arrived yesterday. I’m still trying to find my way around.’

  ‘Is this a permanent move, or are you just visiting?’

  ‘Actually, it’s my job: I work for a market research firm, and have to do some initial fact-finding. I’ll be here for a week or ten days this first visit, depending on how things pan out. Incidentally, could you recommend somewhere reasonable to stay? I doubt if expenses will cover the Clarendon, which is where I spent last night.’

  ‘Well, you did choose the town’s premier hotel. There are several others dotted around. How central do you have to be?’

  ‘No problem there; I have my car.’

  ‘The Lansdowne and the Pierpoint are both in Alban Road, which runs across the top of Guild Street, or there’s the Irving in Windsor Way, in the opposite direction. That’s more of a commercial hotel, but perhaps that’s what you’re looking for?’

  Julia made a little face. ‘Between you and me, I hate all hotels. I spend far too much time in them, and they all seem totally soulless.’

  Their tea arrived, and Julia, who appeared to have taken charge, passed the cake tray to Rona. ‘Have you lived here long?’ she asked.

  ‘All my life, apart from a stint at university.’

  ‘Lucky you. I should think it was a lovely place to grow up.’

  ‘It was, yes. Where do you come from?’

  ‘Oh, I’m like the Flying Dutchman. I never settle long anywhere, but I was born in Dorset, and my family are still there. My work takes me all over the place – abroad, quite often.’

  ‘It sounds as though you’re in the wrong job, if you hate hotels!’

  Julia laughed. ‘I love the job itself, so I have to put up with them.’ She poured the tea. ‘Anyway, what kind of work do you do, that leaves you free to shop at three in the afternoon? Or are you a lady of leisure?’

  ‘No, I’m a freelance journalist, so I set my own hours. I’ve been working all morning, and needed a break.’

  ‘You’re on the local paper?’

  ‘No, a glossy magazine. Out monthly, so it’s not too hectic.’

  ‘You mean like Vogue or Good Housekeeping?’

  ‘Not quite so high-flown; Chiltern Life. If you don’t come from round here, you’ve probably never heard of it.’

  ‘Afraid not, but I’ll look out for it. Have you anything in the current edition?’

  ‘Actually, yes; I’m doing a series on local businesses.’

  ‘That sounds interesting. I’ll certainly buy a copy.’

  An idea had occurred to Rona, and she was wondering if it would be feasible. She bent to pick up her bag. ‘Would you excuse me a minute?’

  ‘Of course.’

  In the cloakroom, she took out her mobile and dialled her mother’s number.

  ‘Mum, it’s me,’ she said, when her mother answered. ‘When did you say your lodger’s due?’

  ‘Tuesday the eighteenth. Why?’

  ‘But the room’s ready now?’

  ‘Yes. What is this?’

  ‘I’ve just met someone who’s here on business and who hates hotels. How would you feel about putting her up? She’ll be here for a maximum of ten days, so she’ll be out of the way before What’s-her-name arrives.’

  ‘Oh Rona, I really don’t know . . .’

  ‘She seems very nice.’

  ‘She mightn’t want to come.’

  ‘I bet she’ll jump at the chance. What do you think? It would break you in gently.’

  ‘All right; you can mention it to her, and see what she says. As long as she’s out before Easter.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll ring you back.’

  Rona returned to the table, to find Julia making friends with Gus, who was in his customary place underneath it.

  ‘What a well-trained dog you have,’ she said. ‘What’s his name?’

  Rona told her. ‘Look, I’ve had an idea,’ she began. ‘But you must say if it doesn’t appeal to you.’

  Julia straightened and looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘My mother is just starting a bed and breakfast business. Her first guest won’t be coming till after Easter, and as you hate hotels so much, I was wondering if you’d like to go to her? It’s a very nice bedsit, complete with TV and everything.’

  Julia’s face lit up. ‘Wouldn’t she mind?’

  ‘I phoned her just now. She says you’ll be welcome if you’d like to go, but there’s no pressure.’

  ‘But Rona, that’s wonderful! Thanks so much for thinking of it.’

  ‘How long are you booked in for at the Clarendon?’

  ‘Only last night and tonight. As I said, I was looking for an alternative.’

  ‘Then suppose we meet at the hotel after work tomorrow, and you can follow me in your car out to Belmont. It’s about a twenty-minute drive, if that’s all right?’

  ‘More than all right. I really am grateful – and I’m no longer sorry I bumped into you!’

  ‘She tried again to pay for the eggs and flour,’ Rona finished, after relating the incident to Max that evening, ‘but of course I wouldn’t let her. She’s really nice, Max.’

  ‘Just as well it wasn’t Friday she bumped into you; you’d have had more expensive items in your bag.’ And, at her blank look, he ad
ded, ‘Barnie and Dinah are coming. Had you forgotten?’

  ‘Lord, yes, I had! What with concentrating on the Curzon project, and then all this, it had gone completely out of my head. Have you decided what we’ll be eating?’

  ‘I was thinking of sesame chilli prawns as a starter, followed by pork chops en papillote, with mushrooms and cream. How does that grab you?’

  ‘Sounds delicious.’

  ‘And some kind of roulade for dessert. I’m still working on that.’

  ‘Almond and apricot? That always goes down well.’

  ‘OK, fine. How about making a note of what we’ll need? It’ll save time later.’

  ‘I must warn Julia to buy something for her evening meal,’ Rona remarked as she sat down at the table with pen and paper. ‘And to leave the kitchen clear for Mum from seven onwards. That’s part of the deal. She has a lovely face, Max.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Idiot! Too bad she’s not here longer, or you could paint her.’

  ‘My workload’s full enough at the moment. I still have to find a way of fitting in Michael’s MG.’

  ‘Just a thought,’ Rona said. ‘OK, master chef, my pen is poised. Shoot.’

  By lunchtime the next day, Rona had extracted all she needed from the albums. She now had a mental picture of several of the dignitaries who’d built up the pottery, and had earmarked two or three photographs for use in the articles. There’d been no arrangement for the albums’ return; presumably she’d take them with her on her next visit. In the meantime, she must get down to meeting those older members of the family who were still alive.

  She stared for several minutes at Finlay’s embossed card, propped up against her pen-holder. Better to email rather than phone, she decided; then he can email back with the details she requested.

  She went online and typed quickly. The albums have been a great help, thank you. I should now be most grateful to have contact details for your mother, and also for Mr and Mrs Charles, and Mr and Mrs James, Curzon. Perhaps you could let me know whether they’d prefer a letter or phone call in the first instance. Best wishes, Rona.

  His reply came within the half-hour. The Charles Curzons were apparently on the point of moving, and though he supplied the new address, he suggested she delay contacting them for at least ten days. The addresses and phone numbers of his mother and Uncle James were also given, with the opinion that, since they already knew of her involvement, a phone call was all that would be needed. He ended: Please let me know if there’s any other way I can be of help. Regards, Finlay.