She hesitated, and Roland said quickly, ‘That was unfair of me. Forget I asked.’
‘I feel desperately sorry for them all,’ Rona said unsteadily. ‘They’ve worked so hard on this, and were so excited by it. And heaven knows, they’ve had enough trouble over the murder, without this.’
‘Do you think it was arson?’ Cynthia asked.
‘Probably; there’ve been attempts before.’
‘But this time a man has died, so it would be murder. Again,’ she added, looking with compassion at Rona’s stricken face.
‘They say things go in threes,’ Paul said grimly. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t follow in this case.’
On their return home on Sunday evening, Rona hurried to check the answerphone, certain that by now there’d be a message from Finn. There was not. Max, coming into the kitchen behind her, saw her frustration as she turned away.
‘Be fair, love,’ he said. ‘They’ve a hell of a lot on their minds at the moment. Their whole livelihood could be at risk, which is a darn sight more important than some article you’re writing.’
She nodded miserably. He was right, of course. All the same, she resolved that if she’d not heard from one of them by five o’clock the next day, she’d put her scruples aside and phone Finlay.
The following morning, Rona set about sorting the notes she’d made on her interviews, and found, slightly to her surprise, that she already had enough for one article; all being well, her conversations with the younger directors and their wives should provide sufficient material for a second. It was sad, though, that she wouldn’t, after all, be able to end with the crowning glory of Genesis.
She worked steadily all morning, and was considering stopping for a lunch break when, at last, the phone on her desk rang, and she snatched it up.
‘Finn?’
There was a pause, then a woman’s laugh. ‘In a manner of speaking. It’s Polly, Rona.’
The receptionist at Chiltern Life.
‘Hello, Poll. How do you mean, in a manner of speaking?’
‘Well, I presume you were expecting Finlay Curzon? I’ve a message from him. He phoned us because he’s lost your number.’
Along with everything else? Rona wondered. ‘And what’s the message?’
‘He said there’s been a development and he’d like you to meet him, but it would be better if at this stage you weren’t seen together.’ She hesitated. ‘And he asked me to apologize in advance, but he suggests Chilswood cemetery.’ Polly paused again, but when Rona didn’t speak, she continued.
‘It was the only place he could think of where you’d be private. And he added that the police and sightseers have all gone now, and you needn’t worry about there being any trace left of Julia.’
‘Right. Thanks, Poll. What time did he say?’
‘As near two o’clock as you can manage.’
‘Just time for a bite of lunch, then.’
Rona rang off and ran down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen. At least Finn had contacted her, though his choice of rendezvous left much to be desired. Still, as he’d said, after the hordes of police, scenes of crime officers and sightseers, it must be thoroughly purged of Julia’s poor ghost.
Hurriedly she opened a tin of sardines and made some toast. Why, she wondered as she sat down to eat, was he so anxious they shouldn’t be seen together? Because of Ginnie? Or because of some development on the fire? Whatever the reason, he’d be able to give her a first-hand update, and some idea of whether or not her services with the papers were still required.
Lunch finished, she clipped on Gus’s lead and walked with him round to the garage in Charlton Road. There was warmth now in the sun, and after a cold spring, blossom was at last appearing. Rona felt a sudden wave of optimism. Perhaps, after all, the damage at the factory would turn out not to be as extensive as was feared. Though Genesis was undeniably lost, if the rest could be salvaged, that, at least, would be a bonus.
It was ten minutes to two when she turned into the lane leading to the church. There was no car park and the country road was narrow, but the state of the grass verge suggested it was the custom to park on it, so she did likewise. No other car was in sight; Finn might have left his at the factory, as he had before, and walked over the fields.
‘You’d better stay here,’ she told Gus, who opened one eye in acknowledgement. She left the window ajar for him, locked the car, and set off up the path that led, between the weathered old stones, to the Curzon plot.
Despite herself, she felt a tremor as she went through the green archway into the enclosed space. But unlike on her previous visit, the sun, still almost overhead, shone directly into the clearing, making it considerably less threatening.
No sign of Finn; she decided to sit on the bench and wait for him. But as she started towards it, in that sunlit space the nightmare was suddenly, horrifyingly reborn. She stopped abruptly, watching, mesmerized, as, from the shadows behind the bench, a figure rose up and, even as the strangled scream clogged her throat, revealed itself as the figure of a man. No, of a boy.
Eyes wide, fists clenched, and poised for flight, Rona stared at him across the fifteen feet or so that separated them, and some of her panic abated as recognition came. It was the de Salis boy – what was his name?
‘It’s Aidan, isn’t it?’ she said, above the hammering of her heart. And then, ridiculously, ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’
‘It’s a private one,’ he said. ‘We don’t go back till tomorrow.’
‘But you live in Woodbourne, don’t you? What are you doing here?’ Another ghoulish sightseer?
‘I came to meet you,’ he said, and walked round the bench to face her.
‘How could you—?’
Fear, cold and insistent, drenched her again. It seemed that this spotty youth, on the last day of his school holidays, was suddenly, incredibly, a threat to her.
She licked dry lips. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, hating the shrillness in her voice, ‘but Finlay Curzon will be here any minute, and he—’
She stopped again, as a smile spread over the boy’s face, and the hideous truth came to her a split second before he confirmed it.
‘He won’t, you know,’ he said. ‘It was me that sent the message.’
Rona stared at him. ‘Why?’ The word was barely above a whisper.
‘Well, I couldn’t text, could I, ’cos I don’t have your mobile number. And if I’d rung you at home, you’d have known I wasn’t Finlay bloody Curzon. I thought it was cool, phoning the mag.’
‘I meant, why did you want to see me?’
He opened his mouth to reply, then she saw him stiffen as his eyes moved past her, and in the same instant a voice demanded angrily, ‘Aidan! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Rona spun round, to see Nigel de Salis advancing towards them across the grass. A stirring of air behind her warned that the boy had moved, and the next instant she was simultaneously aware of his breath on her neck and the sharp prick of metal.
‘Don’t come any nearer, Dad,’ he said, ‘or she’s for it.’
Nick Curzon slid on to the bench seat opposite his brother. Oliver, dreading the conversation ahead of him, thought he looked tired and ill.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I got bogged down by a phone call.’
‘Have you eaten?’ Oliver asked.
‘No; are they still serving lunch?’
‘They serve food all day here. What would you like?’
‘Nothing too heavy. Antipasto or something.’
Oliver raised a hand and called the waiter over, ordering food for them both and a bottle of Chianti.
‘So,’ Nick said, ‘why did you want to see me? Have they found out what caused the fire?’
‘Not that I’ve heard.’ Oliver twirled the salt shaker in his fingers. ‘Nick, there’s no easy way to say this.’
‘Now you have got me worried.’
‘So you should be.’ Oliver looked up, relucta
ntly meeting his brother’s eyes. ‘You were seen here in Chilswood, on the afternoon of the murder.’
Nick went on staring at him, and a little tick jumped at the corner of his eye. ‘Impossible,’ he said.
‘No.’
‘Who says they saw me?’
‘Someone who wouldn’t lie. God, Nick, don’t you realize how serious this is? You stated categorically, to the police and the rest of us, that you went straight home from Aylesbury. Now it turns out you were here – and what’s more, at the crucial time of five o’clock. What the hell’s going on?’
Nick was silent for a moment. ‘Are you going to shop me?’
Oliver said steadily, ‘Yes, if you killed Julia.’
‘Oliver!’
‘Well, why else would you keep quiet about it? You were taking one hell of a risk, thinking no one would see you. You’re pretty well known around here.’
‘I didn’t know I was taking a risk, for God’s sake! Ordinarily, no one would have thought twice about seeing me. God, where’s that wine?’
As if summoned, a waiter appeared with the bottle.
‘Never mind the ceremony, just pour it,’ Nick ordered, and the waiter, with an offended glare, did so. He took a long drink, then sat back again.
‘So?’ Oliver said. ‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’
‘I was with someone. All right?’
‘Who?’
‘A woman.’
‘Surprise, surprise! Well, what’s the problem? Surely Saskia will give you an alibi?’
‘It wasn’t Saskia.’
‘Whoever it was, then.’
Nick shook his head. ‘That’s why I kept quiet. It couldn’t come out that we’d been together.’ He hesitated. ‘She’s married,’ he said.
‘God, you’re the limit!’ Oliver exploded. ‘You’re telling me you were cavorting with some married woman while your ex-wife was being murdered?’
Nick flinched. ‘I wasn’t to know that, was I?’
‘Who is she? You can at least tell me.’
Nick shook his head. ‘Actually, I can’t. Her husband’s big in local government; there’s no way this can come out.’
Oliver sat back disgustedly. ‘So to protect some fling, you lay yourself open to suspicion, putting the fear of God into your family?’
‘Ah! So it was someone in the family who saw me?’
‘You can thank God it was, or whatever you want or don’t want to come out, you’d have had no option.’
‘I appreciate that.’ Nick sighed and drank some wine. ‘When the appointment fell through, a free couple of hours seemed too good a chance to miss. But there’s something we need to get straight, Oliver; this is no fling. Saskia’s just a screen.’
‘Does she know that?’
‘Of course not, but she’s nothing to complain about. There’s nothing heavy between us; we just have a good time.’
‘You’re incorrigible,’ Oliver said heavily.
‘No doubt. But I’m not a murderer.’
The waiter returned with two plates of antipasto and laid them on the table. The brothers sat in silence, accepted a generous sprinkle of black pepper, and waited till he’d moved away.
Then Nick said, ‘Whoever it was has been a long time coming forward.’
‘They hadn’t realized the significance. It only struck home when I happened to say you’d not been anywhere near here that afternoon.’
‘How many people know?’
‘Three, including myself.’
‘I’d be grateful if you could keep it that way. Hell’s teeth, Oliver, you didn’t really suspect me, did you?’
‘Let’s just say I had some uneasy moments.’ At the sight of his brother’s stricken face, he relented. ‘No, you oaf, of course I didn’t, but I did wonder what the hell you’d been up to.’
‘And now you know.’
‘Yes,’ Oliver agreed, spearing an olive. ‘Now I know.’
‘I said, what the hell are you doing?’
The boy’s breathing was rapid in Rona’s ear. He’s frightened, she thought; he might be panicked into doing something stupid.
Instead, to her relief, he tried to brazen it out. ‘Never mind me, Dad,’ he retorted. ‘What are you doing here?’
De Salis advanced a few paces, but when Aidan tensed warily, he halted, his eyes suddenly suspicious. ‘What’s that in your hand?’ he demanded.
‘Just answer the question, Dad.’ The tremor in the boy’s voice belied the bravado. ‘Why are you here?’
There was a pause, while de Salis tried without success to make out what his son was holding. ‘I heard you on the phone at lunchtime,’ he said eventually. ‘I’d called in to collect my bank book, and caught the tail end, something about the cemetery. And you were speaking in an odd voice, which added to my curiosity. So I parked the car round the corner, then waited till you came out and followed you on foot.’
‘You spied on me?’ Aidan broke in furiously, but his father went on speaking.
‘When you got on the Chilswood bus, I dashed back for the car, but as luck would have it, a tractor broke down in front of me, which is why you beat me to it. Now, are you going to tell me what this all about?’
‘She knows too much,’ Aidan replied, prodding Rona in the ribs – mercifully with his free hand. ‘She’s solved murders before; it said so in the paper, and she’s been watching us. She followed us to Netherby’s, and Mum said she’d been to the shop, too, sniffing around.’
Nigel frowned, glancing at Rona’s rigid face. ‘Well, if she solves this one, so much the better.’
Aidan gave a hoarse laugh. ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘Why? Everyone knows Nick Curzon killed her; they just can’t prove it.’
‘But why would he?’ Rona broke in, curiosity overcoming her fear. ‘They were divorced; she didn’t matter to him any more.’
Nigel said stiffly, ‘I really don’t see it’s any of your business.’
‘Answer the lady, Dad,’ Aidan said softly.
His father hesitated, and with a flourish, the boy brought the knife into full view, holding it at Rona’s throat. Oh God, she moaned inwardly, why did I leave Gus in the car? But hard on the thought came the knowledge that if he’d gone for the boy – as he undoubtedly would – the knife would have struck home.
The seriousness of the situation appeared to strike Nigel for the first time. He looked completely dumbfounded, but almost immediately recovered himself. ‘Put that away at once!’ he ordered. ‘It’s not a toy – you could do serious damage.’
There was an agonizing pause, then a lifetime’s obedience to the authority in that voice prevailed. Aidan lowered the knife and Rona released her breath.
‘Go on, then,’ he said truculently. ‘I deserve an explanation, even if she doesn’t. Why do you think he killed her?’
Nigel’s eyes remained on the knife, now harmlessly pointing at the ground. ‘Because of what I asked her to do,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The bastards must have found out.’
‘What did you ask her?’
‘In the first instance, to get to know Miss Parish; one of the reps heard on the grapevine that she was going to be shown the new line.’
‘The new line?’ Aidan repeated in bewilderment. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Word is, it’ll make their fortune; we’ve a right to our share.’
Aidan gave an uncertain laugh. ‘How do you work that out? Going off with one of their wives isn’t likely to make them generous.’
‘It’s not a question of generosity, they owe us.’ Nigel de Salis paused, then drew in his breath. ‘Well, you were going to hear one day, so it might as well be now. George Curzon was your great-great-grandfather.’
There was a long silence. Then Aidan said incredulously, ‘You’re saying we’re related to them? The Curzons?’
‘Yes. Marie de Salis was among a group of immigrant workers employed by the factory. George had a roving eye, she became
his mistress and had a child by him. When his wife died, he married her.’
‘There’s no proof of that,’ Rona interrupted, before she could stop herself.
Nigel’s eyes swivelled to her. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘I know she was given a generous, once-and-for-all settlement.’
‘Do you, indeed? Well, that’s correct as far as it goes. She bought a stall in Chilswood market, got her hands on some seconds from the factory, and started what eventually became De Salis China and Crystal. As soon as he was old enough, her son Georgie helped on the stall. Then, when old Mrs Curzon died, George married her, though he kept it from his family.’
‘You’ve no proof,’ Rona repeated.
‘Only because the relevant pages in the register were removed. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?’
‘Perhaps she took them, because no record existed.’
He shook his head dismissively. ‘After old George died, she went to one of his sons, told him the story, and asked for his help. He refused to believe her – or pretended to – and sent her packing.’
He moved impatiently. ‘But this is past history. To get back to Julia, I’m saying the Curzons had her silenced because they realized what she was up to.’
From the corner of her eye, Rona could see the knife still pointing downwards, and risked another question. ‘Why was it so important to know in advance? Why not wait for the announcement, and then make your claim? In all the euphoria, you might have stood a better chance.’
Nigel gave a harsh laugh. ‘No way. The only money I’d ever get out of it was by pre-empting them and selling the secret to the press, for what they call “an undisclosed sum”. And given the chance, that’s what I’d have done. I owe it to Marie.’
Rona said softly, ‘Did you start the fire?’
He held her gaze. ‘No, though I would have if I could. I tried once, but I couldn’t get near enough, and the blasted thing didn’t catch.’ His voice was bitter. ‘So I was reduced to writing anonymous letters, telling them I knew what they’d done. I hope they at least had sleepless nights.’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Being involved in ceramics, I suppose I’m a modern-day “Rogue in Porcelain”. Blood will out, after all.’
Rogue in Porcelain Page 24
