Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘Then why waste time on magazines?’

  Nonplussed by the question, Rona hesitated, and Hester quickly apologized. ‘Forgive me, that was unpardonably rude. I enjoy your pieces in Chiltern Life, but – if you’ll forgive me – anyone could do those. It takes real talent to delve into people’s lives as deeply as you do in your biographies. You make your subjects really come alive.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So why have you deserted them?’

  ‘I’ve not made any conscious decision, but they take a very long time, and the last one I started had to be abandoned, for reasons beyond my control. It was a lot of work done for nothing. Actually,’ she added frankly, ‘I think that’s why I enjoy doing this series so much. Because I concentrate on the families rather than the firms, they end up being mini biographies.’

  Hester nodded as she poured the coffee. ‘But I shouldn’t be quizzing you; you’re the one with the questions. Shall we start with those albums? Take them over to the table in the window, where we can see them better. I’ll bring your coffee.’

  Rona had put markers between the leaves where clarification was needed, and for the next few minutes Hester went through them, in some cases adding a name under a photograph, at others puzzling unsuccessfully to remember who someone was.

  ‘I’m not a great deal of help, am I?’ she asked ruefully.

  ‘Don’t worry, it was only for interest. I enjoyed looking through them because they brought to life several names I’ve read about, but apart from one or two, I’m not intending to use them.’ She looked up at the other woman. ‘Finlay did say there’d be no problem about reproducing them?’

  ‘None at all, use any you need.’

  ‘The ones I’d like are all in the earliest album, so I can leave the others with you, and perhaps hold on to this one a little longer?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to let me see them.’

  ‘That was my son’s doing rather than mine. I’d forgotten about them, and it was he who went up in the loft and dug them out. Now, let’s sit down again, have another cup of coffee, and you can begin asking your questions.’

  They returned to their seats, and Rona’s cup was duly replenished.

  ‘Would you mind if I used my recorder?’ she asked. ‘It’s hard to remember exactly what’s said.’

  ‘Of course; please do.’

  She set it on the table beside her. ‘Really, as I said, it’s the family I’m interested in. How did they all strike you, when you first joined it? You must have realized you were marrying into a dynasty.’

  ‘Oh, I did, and it was quite an ordeal, I can tell you, meeting them all for the first time. Fortunately, they were very welcoming, and I fitted in with no problem.’

  ‘So you got on well with your parents-in-law?’

  ‘Yes, though they were considerably older than my own parents. My husband was the youngest of three, and his elder sister was ten when he was born.’

  ‘What were they like?’ Rona asked curiously.

  ‘Very Victorian, bless them. Florence was small and stout and ruled the family with a rod of iron. Spencer used to bluster a lot but had a heart of gold. He doted on his grandchildren, though Finlay was only three when he died.’

  ‘He remembers playing with his watch and chain,’ Rona said.

  ‘Really? Imagine that!’

  ‘And your husband’s sisters? Were you close to them?’

  ‘Not really. Mary, the elder one, seemed very old-fashioned to me. She’d been born in nineteen-ten, had never married, and still lived at home. She’d only have been in her forties when we met, but seemed years older.’

  ‘And the other sister?’

  ‘Janet never married either, but as she was only a year older than JS, I could relate to her more easily.’

  ‘Did she also live with her parents?’

  ‘No, she was headmistress of a boarding school and had her own flat.’ Hester smilingly raised her eyebrows. ‘We’ve strayed quite a way from the firm, haven’t we?’

  Rona flushed. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive; it’s my insatiable curiosity about people, and what makes them tick.’

  ‘You’re not intrusive at all. Believe me, I should tell you if you were. You warned me it’s the family that interests you, so please continue.’

  Rona hesitated, but, at Hester’s encouraging nod, asked tentatively, ‘I wondered about your father-in-law’s brother; what was he like?’

  ‘Frederick? He was very artistic, and a lot of his patterns are still in use. His particular flair skipped a generation, but Samuel has inherited it. Aunt Charlotte, his wife, was an accomplished pianist, so we shared a love of music. I was very fond of her.’

  ‘You were an opera singer, weren’t you? Did you keep it up after you married?’

  Hester shook her head. ‘It would have been too disruptive to family life. I’d no regrets, though; I’d enjoyed my career, but it was time to move on, and in any case I soon became pregnant.’

  ‘How did you meet your husband?’

  The older woman’s eyes went to the photo above the fireplace. ‘Through mutual friends. He always said it was love at first sight, but it wasn’t for me. JS wasn’t what you’d call musical, but he attended almost every concert I gave, and always sent a bouquet of red roses backstage, even if he couldn’t be there. Eventually he wore me down, and since I was genuinely fond of him, I accepted him. But it was a year or so before I fell in love.’

  ‘And once you were married, you were accepted into the dynasty?’

  Hester considered. ‘To be honest, I always felt on the fringes. The factory was the centre of my husband’s life, but I wasn’t encouraged to take an active interest in it. My role, along with the other wives, was to be a showcase, decorating my home with Curzon figurines and dining off their china.’

  Rona nodded. ‘That’s how it struck me. I told them so, over lunch, and they were quite indignant. They said no women had shown an interest in joining the firm.’

  ‘I doubt if they were asked. Our principal duty, of course, was to provide sons. As I mentioned, my husband had two sisters but was the only boy, whereas there were two on the other side of the family. Though he got on well enough with both Charles and James, he always felt the odds were against him. That’s why he was so delighted when we’d two sons of our own.’

  ‘I hear there’s a shortage of boys in the next generation.’

  ‘That’s true; so far, my grandson Harry is the only one. Finlay and his wife divorced, which was a great disappointment. We were very fond of Virginia.’

  She stopped, looking across at Rona. ‘You know, ever since you arrived, I’ve been trying to think who you remind me of, and of course, that’s the answer – Virginia. Not that you look particularly like her, though there is a resemblance; it’s more that you have the same mannerisms.’

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Rona cast around for a change of subject. ‘Has there ever been any – scandal in the family?’ she ventured.

  Hester laughed. ‘I’m not sure you’d call it scandal, but old George was a bit of a rake in his time, running up extensive gambling debts, with an eye for a pretty woman, and so on. He got into one or two scrapes, I believe, which earned him a nickname – the Rogue in Porcelain.’

  Rona smiled. ‘George Meredith.’

  Hester’s eyebrows went up. ‘Well done, my dear! Not many people nowadays recognize the quotation.’

  ‘The Egoist was one of our set books at uni.’

  ‘Well, our own George would have been about thirty when it came out, and at the height of his escapades, so, although it wasn’t the interpretation Meredith intended, the name seemed apt. Unfortunately, it stuck with him for the rest of his life.’

  ‘Thanks for that; it’ll add a little colour.’ Rona looked round the room, her eyes resting on the china ornaments on display.

  ‘I see what you mean about being a showcase!’ she said. �
��You have some beautiful pieces.’ She switched off the recorder. ‘Thank you so much for your time, Mrs Curzon.’

  ‘It’s been very interesting, looking back over the past and seeing the old photographs again. I hope I’ve been of some help.’

  Rona’s route out of Chilswood took her past the pottery, reminding her that she must go back and visit the museum. Minutes later, she was clear of the town and, since there was time in hand, she stopped to exercise Gus. There being no readily accessible fields, she clipped on his lead and walked with him along the side of the road, allowing him to stop and sniff the grasses as her mind went back over the interview just finished.

  Despite being, as Hester had said, on the fringes of the company, it seemed that it was from the women of the family that she’d learn most about the various characters who had comprised it. Already, helped by their photographs and Hester’s thumbnail sketches, the shadowy figures of the older generations were beginning to come to life. She’d have liked to know more about Mary and Janet, John Samuel’s unmarried sisters, but doubtless never would.

  The journey to Woodbourne took, as Jacqueline had estimated, just over twenty minutes, and she found the town centre car park without difficulty. She’d brought a bottle of water with her, and poured some for Gus into the bowl she kept in the car. Then, leaving the window slightly open, she settled him on his rug on the back seat, and set off for her next appointment.

  Jacqueline Sturton was awaiting her in the foyer of the office building. Edward had said she was an accountant, Rona remembered. She was not as tall as her mother, and the long blonde hair in the wedding photograph had been shortened to a smart bob. Rona searched her face for resemblances to her brothers, but found none.

  Woodbourne was an attractive market town with plenty of open spaces and a well laid-out shopping area. As they walked along the wide pavement, she promised herself a look round after lunch. The restaurant they turned into was French, with red and white checked tablecloths and a generally rustic air about it.

  ‘There’s a set three-course lunch if you’re hungry,’ Jacqueline said. ‘Otherwise, you can choose from the à la carte. Personally, I prefer something light midday; they do a quiche Lorraine to die for.’

  ‘That sounds just right,’ Rona told her.

  ‘And a glass of house plonk, since you have to drive?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Jacqueline placed the order in fluent French, then sat back in her chair. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m trying to build a composite picture of the various family units. Your mother kindly lent me some albums, which were interesting.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Jacqueline clapped a dramatic hand to her forehead. ‘Not me lying naked on a rug?’

  Rona laughed. ‘No; in the only one of you, you were eating an ice cream on the beach. But do you remember any of your older relatives? Anything that would help me to flesh them out?’

  Like Finlay, Jacqueline remembered her grandfather, and there were stories, too, of Grandma Florence and her collection of lace caps. ‘I think they’d belonged to her mother,’ Jacqueline said. ‘I used to love trying them all on, but I never saw her wear one herself.’

  Unfortunately, Frederick had died the year she was born and Charlotte soon after, so she’d never known them.

  ‘You married a naval officer, didn’t you?’ Rona said, as their quiches arrived, and, at Jacqueline’s look of surprise, added, ‘I saw the wedding photo at your mother’s.’

  ‘That’s right, though he’s no longer in the Navy. He’s a retired Surgeon Commander, and now he has his own firm making surgical instruments.’

  ‘You never thought about joining the family business?’

  ‘No, I decided very early on that I wanted to do accountancy. Numbers have always fascinated me, and still do. As far as I was concerned, the pottery was a job for the boys.’

  The ethic seemed ingrained into the whole family, Rona thought.

  ‘What about your sons, when they grow up?’

  Jacqueline smiled. ‘That will be up to them. At the moment, they’re five, seven and nine, so I can’t say I’ve given it much thought.’

  The recorder being useless in these noisy surroundings, Rona jotted down odd reminders in her notebook. It wasn’t until they were sitting over coffee that she asked her question about scandals, hoping for more on the Rogue in Porcelain. When there was no reply, she looked up to see Jacqueline thoughtfully stirring her coffee.

  ‘Have there been any?’ she prompted.

  ‘A colourful past is a prerequisite for old families,’ Jacqueline answered slowly, ‘and ours is no exception. But stories get embroidered and exaggerated along the way, and I never paid them much attention.’

  Rona felt a prickle of excitement. ‘Until?’

  ‘Until my father was dying. I was sitting with him, to give Mother a break; he had a high fever, and was tossing and turning and mumbling to himself. I thought he was delirious, but suddenly he spoke very clearly. Only a few sentences, but I’ve been puzzling over them ever since. Then he lapsed into silence, and died later that night. I asked my mother and brothers what he could have been referring to, but Mother was too upset to talk about it, and the boys dismissed it as delirium.’

  Neither Finlay nor Hester had mentioned that.

  ‘I heard there were rumours at the turn of the last century,’ Rona prompted.

  Jacqueline frowned. ‘About what?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hoped you might.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I wasn’t supposed to hear what I did, and I feel honour-bound not to repeat it.’

  Rona saw her point, but it was doubly frustrating to find there might, after all, have been something, only to have the subject abruptly terminated.

  ‘I must be getting back,’ Jacqueline added, glancing at her watch. ‘Nice to have met you, Rona, and I look forward to reading the article in due course. It will be interesting, as Burns said, to “see ourselves as others see us”.’

  They parted outside the restaurant, Jacqueline to retrace her steps, Rona to walk on towards an interesting-looking arcade. On the corner of it was a large store with the name De Salis China and Crystal painted above it, and her eye was immediately caught by the window display, entirely given over to Curzon. There were tea sets, dinner services, commemorative plates, ornamental vases and dozens of figurines, all shown to advantage on a series of satin-covered stands.

  Almost without thinking, she pushed open the door and went in. Inside the shop, the display was more catholic, with several other manufacturers represented in a series of glass cabinets down the centre of the store. A wide staircase led to another floor, with a notice promising ‘Much more upstairs!’.

  A man approached her with a smile. ‘Are you looking for something special, madam, or just browsing?’

  ‘Just looking, really. You have the best range of Curzon I’ve seen for a long time.’

  ‘We like to support local industry, and it’s very popular, of course.’

  ‘I’m particularly interested, because I’m writing an article about them, to tie in with their anniversary.’

  The man stiffened, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. He moistened his lips, but before he could speak, a woman’s voice cut in. ‘Of course, we deal with their sales reps. We hardly know the family at all.’

  Rona turned. The woman who had joined them was smiling, though her eyes were watchful and her tightly clasped hands indicated tension.

  ‘This is my wife,’ the man said, after a taut silence, ‘and I’m Nigel de Salis. We own the store.’

  ‘Rona Parish.’ Feeling the atmosphere to be unaccountably tense, she went on to chat about the displays, while at the same time sizing up the couple in front of her. De Salis looked to be in his late forties; of medium height, he had thick, light brown hair, a broad nose and deep-set hazel eyes. His wife, probably a year or two younger, was thin rather than slim, the sin
ews clearly visible in her neck, and her hair, a sandy brown, was loose on her shoulders, in a style rather too young for her.

  ‘Well, I mustn’t monopolize you,’ Rona said lightly. ‘And I should be getting back to my dog; I left him in the car while I had lunch.’

  ‘Nice to have met you, Miss Parish,’ Mrs de Salis said, with another insincere smile, and her husband nodded.

  It was a relief to be back on the pavement. What an odd couple, Rona thought. The man’s attitude had changed noticeably when she’d mentioned writing about the Curzons. And why had his wife been so anxious to stress they barely knew them?

  With a philosophical shrug, Rona dismissed them from her mind and returned to the car.

  Nine

  On her return from Woodbourne, Rona phoned Julia’s mobile.

  ‘I wanted to thank you again for last night,’ she said. ‘I really enjoyed it.’

  ‘So did I,’ Julia replied. ‘It was great not to have to cook my own supper, for once!’

  ‘That’s the other reason I’m ringing; how about coming here for dinner before you go? I’m no cook myself, but my husband is, and I’d like you to meet him. He’ll be away part of the weekend, but is Wednesday next week any good? You’ll still be here, won’t you?’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, Rona, but no, unfortunately I shan’t. Ten days was the maximum I allowed myself, and that’s up this weekend. I’ve told your mother I’ll be leaving on Saturday.’

  ‘That’s too bad. Then we’ll have to arrange it for your next visit. Any idea when that will be?’

  ‘Not at the moment, but obviously I’ll let you know. We’ll keep in touch anyway, won’t we?’

  ‘Of course we will. In the meantime, good luck with your research.’

  ‘And you with yours!’

  ‘A penny for them?’

  Lindsey looked up to find Hugh watching her. ‘They’re not worth it,’ she said.

  ‘They are to me.’

  She sighed, looking about her at the softly lit restaurant. ‘Sorry, not for sale.’

  He reached over and put his hand on hers. ‘Lindsey, when are we going to get back together?’