Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘That should be interesting. Gavin was at school with some of them, weren’t you, darling?’

  Gavin nodded. ‘Most of them, actually, but I hardly knew the younger ones. Edward and Oliver were in my form.’

  ‘Did you like them?’ Rona asked with interest.

  ‘Yes, I liked them, though they weren’t particular friends of mine. Edward was very good at games, and in all the school teams. Have you met him?’

  ‘Only over lunch in the directors’ dining room. I’m hoping to interview him more fully later. I’d like to see them all, individually if possible, to try to harvest any stories they might have of the old days.’

  ‘From what I remember, the “old days”, as you call them, are described pretty comprehensively in the display boards at the museum.’

  ‘I’ve not been there yet,’ Rona admitted. ‘I’m aware a lot of information’s already available, but it’s nearly all technical, and I’m interested in the human element.’

  ‘They’ve got some anniversary coming up, haven’t they?’ Magda asked.

  ‘Their hundred and fiftieth, yes. We’re hoping to time the articles to coincide with it.’

  ‘Articles in the plural? It’ll run to more than one?’

  ‘I’m hoping so. It depends how much I can glean.’

  ‘She’ll glean plenty, believe me,’ Max put in humorously. ‘She’s like a terrier at a rabbit hole when she gets going. I’m just thankful she’s never likely to interview me!’

  Rona half expected to find a message from Lindsey when they returned home, but the answerphone was ominously silent. Once Max had retired to the sitting room with the Sunday papers, she seated herself at the kitchen table and phoned her.

  ‘Well?’ she said instantly, when Lindsey picked up. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘Oh, Linz! Wasn’t he there?’

  ‘He was there all right, but so was his very glamorous companion.’

  ‘Uh-oh. Is he married, then?’

  ‘They have different surnames, but so have you and Max.’

  ‘They’re a couple, though?’

  ‘Presumably.’

  There was a pause, then Rona said lightly, ‘Well, to be frank, that hasn’t stopped you before. Nor, for that matter, have wives.’

  ‘I suppose I deserve that.’ Lindsey paused. ‘You’ll never guess who introduced us: Jonathan.’

  Rona drew in her breath. ‘Hardly a promising start. Was his wife there?’

  ‘Yes. Raving about my dress.’

  ‘How did Jonathan act?’

  ‘Flashing me eye signals as usual. I tell you, it was not a comfortable situation.’

  ‘Oh, Linz, I’m so sorry. Never mind, there are more fish in the sea.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  ‘The trouble is, Ro,’ Lindsey said heavily, ‘I still fancy him rotten.’

  And Rona, with a sinking heart, could think of nothing to say in reply.

  Eight

  On Monday morning, Lindsey’s phone rang, and she lifted it to hear Jonathan’s crisp tones.

  ‘Lindsey, I’d be grateful if you could slot me in for a working lunch today; there are a few things we need to discuss.’

  Somebody was with him, she thought. She replied equally impersonally. ‘I think I can manage that. Twelve thirty at the Bacchus suit you? I’ve some shopping to do, so you go on, and I’ll see you there.’

  He’d want to discuss Saturday evening, she thought. It would be interesting to hear what interpretation he put on it.

  Accordingly, she left the office at twelve fifteen and dropped a suit into the dry-cleaner’s as she made her way up Guild Street. She saw Jonathan as soon as she entered the wine bar; he was in one of the booths against the wall, and half rose as she joined him, patting the cushioned bench beside him. Lindsey, pretending not to notice, seated herself opposite.

  ‘A business lunch, is it?’ she enquired, with raised eyebrow.

  ‘You could call it that, but first things first. Let’s get the ordering out of the way, then we can settle down to talk. What do you fancy?’

  Lindsey ran her eyes down the menu. ‘Cheese omelette and a side salad, please. And a glass of white wine.’

  ‘Only a glass?’

  ‘I need a clear head; I’m seeing a client who requires careful handling.’

  The waiter approached, removed a pen from behind his ear, and wrote down their order with a total lack of interest. Lindsey’s modest request was supplemented by Jonathan ordering a bottle of Sauvignon, with the request that it be brought at once.

  ‘So,’ he began, as the man moved away, ‘what did you think of our Businessman of the Year?’

  Deliberately, Lindsey feigned ignorance. ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Dominic Frayne, of course. He’s making quite a name for himself.’

  ‘You surprise me. He didn’t have much to say on Saturday.’

  ‘Struck dumb by your beauty, perhaps,’ Jonathan suggested facetiously.

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘He’s just joined the golf club – don’t ask me how, when there’s a year-long waiting list – and everyone who is anyone is falling over themselves to meet him.’

  ‘Why did you bring him over?’

  ‘As a means of getting to you, of course. I couldn’t just make a beeline for you, could I? You looked totally gorgeous, by the way. I think even Frayne was impressed.’

  Lindsey toyed with the roll on her plate. ‘Who was the woman with him?’

  ‘Carla? She’s his personal assistant, and acts as his hostess when he entertains.’ He grinned. ‘No saying what else she “personally assists” him with, though if their relationship does go beyond the professional, it must be pretty relaxed. His name’s been linked with several women since his last divorce.’

  ‘His last?’ Lindsey echoed. ‘How many has he had, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘Two that I know of. He’s a serial womanizer, so bear that in mind if he tries to latch on to you.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  ‘Anyway, enough of Frayne; when am I going to see you? Tomorrow evening? I think I could swing it.’

  ‘I’m not free tomorrow.’

  He looked at her for a minute, then leaned across the table towards her. ‘Lindsey, the fact that Carol nearly walked in on us doesn’t change a thing. Can’t you get that through your head? She doesn’t suspect anything, honestly.’

  This was the moment to end it, to prove to her sister that her conscience wasn’t dormant.

  But before she could speak, the waiter returned with an ice bucket and the bottle of wine, and the moment was lost. She would tell him, she promised herself. But not today.

  Rona had set aside that Monday for research, which necessitated a fairly long drive to the county town of Buckford. Having made an appointment to see the Curzon archives, she spent the rest of the morning examining them, but as Finlay had warned her, the vast majority of their contents concerned the development of materials, and though it was interesting to see how now-famous designs and patterns had evolved, the process was in the main too technical to describe in her article. Even Samuel’s journals, which she’d been counting on for a more personal aspect, contained virtually nothing of his private life.

  After a dispirited lunch, she switched to newspaper archives, in the hope of unearthing the ‘rumours’ that Barnie had mentioned; but despite searching a fairly wide time span, from 1890 to 1910, she again drew a blank. As Barnie had said, people’s privacy had been respected in those days – praiseworthy at the time, but frustrating for future historians.

  All in all, it had been a wasted journey, but one that had had to be made. On the way home, she drew into a lay-by to stretch her legs and allow Gus a romp in a field, and it was as she was throwing a stick for him that her mobile rang, and she answered it to hear Julia’s voice.

  ‘Hi!’ she said. ‘How are things?’

  ‘
Boring,’ Rona replied.

  ‘Oh dear! Why, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’m on my way back from Buckford, having been bogged down in archives all day.’

  ‘You sound a bit down; could you do with cheering up?’

  ‘Very definitely.’

  ‘Then how about letting me take you out to dinner?’

  ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, Julia, but I’ll pay my own way.’

  ‘That’s not an option. The whole point is to thank you for arranging for me to stay with your mother. She’s a darling, isn’t she?’

  It was the first time Rona had heard her mother described in such terms. ‘I’m glad you’re getting on so well,’ she replied diplomatically. ‘But really, there’s no need to—’

  ‘Not negotiable. And your husband’s welcome to join us, if he’d like to.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, but he has a class this evening.’

  ‘Just the two of us, then. Where do you suggest we go?’

  Gus was panting at her feet, waiting for her next throw, and Rona bent to pick up the stick. ‘I’d say the best place is an Italian, just round the corner from where I live. Suppose you come to me first, and we can have a drink before we go?’

  ‘Brilliant. Since you know the place, would you mind booking us a table? For what – about eight?’

  ‘Fine; yes, I’ll do that. The road I live in is parallel to Guild Street. Turn off into Fullers Walk, just beyond where we had tea, and Lightbourne Avenue’s the first turning on the right. I’m number nineteen, on the left about halfway along. If we’re having a drink first, come about seven fifteen.’

  ‘See you then,’ Julia said, and the phone clicked in Rona’s ear. Gus whined a reminder and, realizing she was still holding the stick, Rona threw it for him. It would be good to go out this evening – just what she needed after a frustrating day.

  Feeling decidedly more cheerful, she made her way back to the car.

  After booking the table, Rona phoned Max.

  ‘Just to say I’m going out to dinner with Julia, so could you ring a little later this evening?’

  ‘That the girl who’s lodging with your mother?’

  ‘Yes; you were invited as well, but I made your apologies.’

  ‘Nice of her. Actually, I’ve some news, too; I’ve just heard from Jack Striker.’

  ‘Your art school pal?’

  ‘Yes; he’s working in Spain at the moment, but he’ll be in London for a couple of days, and wonders if I could join him for a meal on Friday.’

  ‘Then go; it must be ages since you saw him.’

  ‘It is; but it would involve staying the night. If Jack’s anything like I remember, there’ll be plenty of booze flowing.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, is it?’

  ‘It’ll cut into the weekend, that’s all.’

  ‘We’ve nothing special planned, and you’ll be back – when? – mid-morning on Saturday?’

  ‘About then.’

  ‘Then enjoy yourself. Just don’t get any ideas about moving to Spain!’

  Max laughed. ‘No chance of that. Thanks, love; and I’ll delay phoning this evening till about eleven. OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure to be back by then. We’re both working girls, after all.’

  ‘Have fun,’ Max said, and rang off.

  Julia was delighted with the house.

  ‘I’ve never lived in an old one,’ she said. ‘There’s no doubt about it, they’ve much more character. Could I possibly have a look round?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll give you a guided tour.’

  Everything met with her approval, from the spaciousness of the sitting room to the kitchen corner in the study. ‘I can just imagine you, beavering away up here, fuelled by countless cups of coffee!’

  She moved to the desk, and her eyes fell on the Curzon albums. ‘What are these?’ she asked curiously, opening the one on top.

  ‘They’re to help my latest project,’ Rona explained. ‘At the moment I’m researching the Curzon family.’

  ‘Oh yes, Avril told me, when she put out the marmalade pot.’ (‘Avril’! Rona registered, with a small sense of shock.) ‘They’ve got an anniversary coming up, or something. Have you found out anything interesting about them?’

  ‘Not particularly, but I’m meeting another two tomorrow. So far, I’ve only seen the present directors, and the James Curzons.’

  ‘Are they someone’s parents?’

  ‘Sam’s, yes. They were very helpful; it’s the older ones who are most likely to remember previous generations.’

  Julia was still flicking through the album. ‘Isn’t there some talk about a startling new invention?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s all very hush-hush.’

  ‘And this article you’re doing will be part of the anniversary publicity?’

  Her mother again, no doubt. ‘I suppose it will,’ Rona agreed. ‘Well, you’ve seen just about everything, so how about that drink?’

  ‘How’s the job going?’ she asked, as they returned to the sitting room.

  ‘Slowly, but that’s only to be expected. The firm I’m working for is hoping to run a series of management training courses here, and my job is to interest people in advance and find out how many would be likely to attend. I’ve been round several of the banks and businesses, and met with a fair bit of interest.’

  ‘Will it mean making a return visit?’

  ‘Almost definitely. A pity I shan’t be able to stay with your mother next time!’

  ‘And as you saw, we’ve only one bedroom, so we can’t help.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking, even if you could. You’ve done more than enough already.’

  At ten to eight, they set off on the five-minute walk to the restaurant.

  ‘Dino’s in Dean’s Crescent?’ Julia queried, as they turned the corner. ‘Is that a coincidence?’

  Rona laughed. ‘My sister swears his real name’s Fred Smith, but that’s not quite fair. He’s Italian all right, though I dare say “Dino” is stretching it a bit. No matter, he’s a love, and his restaurant’s my home from home.’

  As always, Dino welcomed them effusively, leading them to Rona’s usual corner table.

  ‘This is a friend of mine, Ms Teale,’ Rona told him. ‘I’ve been singing your praises, so she’s expecting great things.’

  ‘Signorina.’ Dino bowed in Julia’s direction. ‘I shall attend to you myself.’

  It was a pleasant, relaxing evening. Julia kept Rona amused with her fund of stories about the people she had met and the places she’d been.

  ‘You make me feel very provincial,’ Rona complained humorously. ‘Though I’ve been to a lot of different countries on holiday, I’ve never lived anywhere but here.’

  ‘“East, west, home’s best.” Isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘No doubt, but I do seem to see a lot of it, especially with working from there.’

  The meal over, they strolled back through the mild spring dusk, Gus trotting at their heels. Julia had found a parking place not far from the house, and they stopped when they reached her car.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t let me make a contribution to the meal?’ Rona asked again, but Julia shook her head emphatically.

  ‘Positively not.’

  ‘Then thank you very much; it was just what I needed. We must do it again, going Dutch next time.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it. I’ll give you a call in a day or two, to let you know when I’m leaving.’

  Rona stood watching as Julia started the car and drove off with a wave of her hand. A glance at her watch showed it to be almost eleven – time for Max’s phone call.

  Gus had sat down during their conversation, and she gave a little tug on his lead. ‘Come on, boy,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Just before ten the next morning, Rona set off for her meeting with Hester Curzon. The photograph albums were in the boot, and she was hoping Hester could identify some of the unnamed people in
them.

  As luck would have it, when Rona had phoned to make the appointment, it had been Hester’s daughter Jacqueline who’d answered, and, having arranged to see Hester at ten thirty on Tuesday, Rona had asked if her daughter would also be willing to be interviewed.

  ‘I live and work in Woodbourne,’ Jacqueline had told her, on her return to the phone. ‘As you probably know, that’s a twenty-minute drive from Chilswood. If you can get there by, say, twelve thirty, and don’t mind interviewing me over lunch, I could see you then.’

  It was arranged that Rona would park her car in the town centre multi-storey, and walk to Jacqueline’s office. Killing two birds with one stone, Rona had thought with satisfaction.

  Hester Curzon lived in a bungalow in a secluded close on the side of town farthest from the industrial site for which it was known. She opened the door herself, and Rona’s first impression was of the grace with which she held herself. She was wearing a caramel-coloured suede skirt and black cashmere sweater, with black stockings and high-heeled shoes, all of which were a foil for her creamy skin and the pale gold of her hair.

  ‘I see you’ve brought the albums back,’ she said. ‘There was no hurry, you know.’

  ‘Actually, I was hoping you could supply some missing names.’

  ‘Wasn’t I as meticulous as I should have been? I’ll do my best to rectify it.’

  She led Rona into a bright, sun-filled sitting room, where two cups and saucers in Curzon china awaited them on a trolley, together with a jug of cream and a dish of shortbread.

  ‘If you’d care to sit down,’ Hester said, ‘I’ll bring through the coffee.’

  Always alert to her surroundings, Rona took the chance of a quick glance round the room. On the mantelpiece stood a photograph of a middle-aged man bearing a faint resemblance to Edward, and on a side table were two matched wedding groups, one of Edward himself with his bride, the other of a fair-haired girl and a man in naval uniform. Jacqueline, no doubt. There was no record of Finlay’s wedding, presumably because the marriage had been dissolved.

  Hester returned with a silver coffee pot and seated herself next to the trolley. ‘You’ve met my sons, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, we all had lunch together.’

  ‘They couldn’t tell me if you’re the Rona Parish who writes biographies,’ Hester continued.