Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  And a traumatic day it had been, Rona recalled, though not due to her parents.

  Impulsively, she laid a hand over her mother’s. ‘I’m really glad, Mum,’ she said.

  Charles Curzon glanced at his wife, half-hidden behind the evening paper. ‘Oliver tells me the journalist turned up yesterday, and had lunch with them.’

  Sybil lowered the paper. ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘They were quite impressed with her, Finn particularly. They think she’ll do a good job.’

  ‘And publication will be over the anniversary?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘What about that suggestion of yours, to make her privy to Genesis?’

  Charles pushed out his lower lip. ‘Time enough to consider that; I’ll need to meet her myself and form my own opinion. At the moment, though, I’m far more concerned with this move of ours. I must say, I’ll be glad when it’s over.’

  ‘So shall I.’ Sybil looked about her. ‘I thought I’d be upset to leave, having lived here for so long, but actually I’m quite looking forward to it. There are so many rooms we no longer use, and since all the family’s nearby, there’s no call for them to come and stay. We’ll be much cosier and more compact at Coppins.’

  Coppins was a large manor house on the edge of town, recently converted into luxury apartments.

  ‘My only regret is having to get rid of so much,’ Charles replied.

  ‘Well, the boys have taken a fair bit, but you have to admit neither of them has room for those large pieces, especially Nicholas in his bachelor pad.’

  ‘Some of them have been in the family for generations,’ Charles said gloomily.

  ‘Then offer them to the museum. They’d be glad to have them – old Frederick’s desk, for example. Then you needn’t feel you’re parting with them.’

  Charles’s face brightened. ‘Sybil, you’re a marvel! That’s a splendid idea. Once we start enlarging the museum, there’ll be plenty of space, and in the meantime they can be stored in the back room.’

  ‘Talking of the move, James and Elizabeth have invited us for supper on the day, to save us the bother of cooking. Elizabeth sounded quite envious; I shouldn’t be surprised if in a year or two they follow us to Coppins.’

  ‘There mightn’t be anything available,’ Charles reminded her. ‘We were lucky to get in on the ground floor, in both senses of the term.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘And I’m not sure I’d like my brother and sister-in-law literally on our doorstep, however fond I am of them. Our living in the same town has been an advantage in many ways, but the same building is another matter.’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t worry about it, it was only an impression. They might feel the same about living close to us!’

  ‘Indeed. Only another week to go. Did I tell you the boys have volunteered their services for unpacking the crates?’ He glanced out of the uncurtained window to where lawns and flowerbeds spread away into the darkness. ‘It will be good this summer to have all the pleasure of a garden, with none of the responsibility.’ He straightened. ‘Yes, my love; it took us a long time to reach this decision, but I think we’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ Sybil said equably, and, with a fond smile at her husband, she returned to her paper.

  On Fridays, Max’s only commitment was to his own work. At the moment, this consisted of a commissioned calendar of local views – which he’d almost finished – and an eighteenth birthday portrait of the Lord Lieutenant’s daughter. Today, he’d elected to work on the latter.

  After a quick breakfast, therefore, he went up to the studio, slotted a CD into the machine and, as the room filled with music, sat down at his easel. The girl had given him a couple of sittings, and he’d a sheaf of photographs and sketches from which to work, but as he picked up his brush, his thoughts were elsewhere.

  That evening, he and Rona were flying up to Tynecastle to spend the weekend with his sister Cynthia and her family. The main object, though, was to see his father, who’d not been well. In fact the state of his health had necessitated a flying visit last December – the first time Max had seen him in over a year, which, though the fact had not previously concerned him, had since become a source of guilt. On that occasion Rona hadn’t accompanied him, as the old man would then have refused to discuss his ailments and Max needed his undivided attention. But both father and sister had requested her company on his next visit, which he’d promised would not be too far distant. In the event it was now three months, longer than he’d intended, but regular phone calls had reassured him that the old man’s health was slightly improved. He’d even started to paint again, a sure sign that Roland Allerdyce, Royal Academician, was on the mend.

  Max smiled to himself. In their teens, Cynthia’s sons had irreverently christened their grandfather RA, RA, which had soon degenerated into Rah-Rah. The old man had accepted the soubriquet with equanimity, even pride, which, as Max well knew, would not have been the case had he and Cyn bestowed it on him in their youth. Age, it appeared, mellowed everyone, even his father.

  His eyes refocused on the unformed face on his easel, and, pushing aside his musings, he began to paint.

  Avril was preparing lunch when the phone rang.

  ‘Mrs Parish? This is Sarah Lacey. Your name was given to me by Mrs Haydock at Belmont Primary.’

  ‘Oh yes; you’re the one looking for accommodation?’

  ‘That’s right. I was wondering if I could come and see the room?’

  ‘Of course. When were you thinking of?’

  ‘Would tomorrow morning be convenient? I live in Stokely, but I could be with you any time after ten.’

  Avril worked at the library on alternate Saturdays, but this was her free weekend. ‘That would be fine,’ she said, ‘though it’d suit me better if you made it nearer to eleven.’ She liked to get her weekend shopping done before the crowds descended.

  ‘No problem,’ Sarah assured her.

  ‘Then if you’ve a pen handy, I’ll give you directions. I’m quite close to the school, so you shouldn’t have any difficulty.’

  After all the delays, things were moving swiftly, Avril thought with satisfaction as she replaced the phone. Belatedly, she hoped that she and her proposed lodger would like each other.

  The Deer Park Hotel and Country Club was a ten-minute drive from the outskirts of Nettleton, and the car park looked ominously full as Finlay drove into it. Eventually he found a space at the far end, and, since it was raining, was fairly wet by the time he reached the foyer. His family, he saw, was awaiting him in the bar, and, smoothing down his damp hair, he went to join them.

  ‘Happy birthday, Harry,’ he said, holding out his hand, which the boy took.

  ‘Cheers,’ Harry replied, unaware of his grandmother’s wince. ‘And thanks a lot for the cheque, Uncle. It’s very welcome.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Finn bent to kiss first his mother, then Anna and Becca.

  ‘What are you drinking?’ Edward asked him. ‘We’re all on champagne cocktails, if that appeals?’

  ‘All except us,’ corrected Becca, eying her soft drink with resignation.

  Finn flashed her a sympathetic smile. ‘Sounds wonderful, thanks.’ He sat down next to his mother. ‘You’re looking very glamorous, Mama.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  He spoke no more than the truth. Before her marriage, Hester Curzon had been an opera singer, and the lessons she’d learned in make-up and deportment had stood her in good stead for the rest of her life. Her pale gold hair was only faintly touched with silver, and her skin, nurtured over the years and meticulously protected from the sun, had remarkably few lines for a woman of her age. In the two years of her widowhood, Finn reflected with pride, there had been no shortage of escorts.

  Edward returned with his drink, and they all toasted Harry, who flushed, looked away, and muttered something inaudible in acknowledgment.

  ‘Too bad Jackie couldn’t make it,’ Edward commented. ‘Bill has a we
ekend conference in Edinburgh, and she’s gone up with him. She sent her best, Finn.’

  Finlay turned to Hester. ‘She never showed any interest in joining the firm, did she, Mother?’

  Hester looked at him in surprise. ‘Jacqueline? Not that I remember. What put that thought in your head?’

  Edward laughed. ‘Not “what”, but “who”. It was our chronicler, wasn’t it, Finn?’

  ‘Your what? Oh – that girl you mentioned, who’s writing the article. Has she met Jacqueline?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Finlay replied, ‘but she will; she wants to see everyone. It’s the family that interests her.’

  Hester raised her eyebrows. ‘Even if we’re not in the firm?’

  ‘Yes; that was the point of my question. She was surprised no female members of the family had joined. It hadn’t struck me before, but it does seem a bit odd, particularly these days.’

  ‘We’ve all done our own thing,’ Hester said complacently.

  ‘That’s what I told her.’

  ‘Didn’t you say, Edward, that her name’s Parish? She’s not the biographer, by any chance?’

  Edward looked surprised. ‘I’ve no idea, but I shouldn’t think so. She writes for Chiltern Life.’

  ‘It’s not mutually exclusive,’ Hester pointed out. ‘If she interviews me, I shall make a point of asking her.’

  A waiter appeared at Edward’s elbow to inform him their table was ready. They finished their drinks and followed him through to the restaurant, where they were shown to a window table. In daylight, the windows that made up this entire wall overlooked the golf course. Now, on a wet March evening, heavy curtains closed off the view.

  The congestion in the car park was explained; every table was either occupied or reserved, and the room was filled with the hum of voices. Finlay was studying the menu when Anna suddenly touched his sleeve.

  ‘Look who’s just come in!’ she said in a low voice.

  He glanced up to see a man and woman being shown to a table not far from their own.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said softly.

  Edward turned to look behind him, by which time the couple had seated themselves.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Nigel de Salis and his wife.’

  Hester gave an exclamation of annoyance.

  ‘Who’s Nigel de Salis?’ Becca asked curiously.

  ‘The man who broke up your uncle Nicholas’s marriage,’ her grandmother answered tightly.

  ‘But not, apparently, his own,’ Anna remarked.

  ‘No; she took him back, more fool her. No pride, some women.’

  ‘Perhaps she still loves him,’ Becca said innocently, and Hester, nonplussed, changed the subject.

  Finlay did not immediately join in. Mention of the breakdown of his cousin’s marriage necessarily reminded him of his own. Its ending had been considerably less dramatic than Nick’s: no passionate accusations, no lovers fleeing their respective marital homes. He and Ginnie had simply, over the years, grown apart, and the fact still hurt him. He’d had no news of her since the divorce, and wondered now if she’d remarried.

  ‘Finn?’

  Anna was smiling at him, and he saw she understood his momentary withdrawal.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I was miles away.’

  ‘We were wondering if you’ve chosen your starter?’

  He glanced back at the card in his hand. ‘I’ll go for the whitebait, please,’ he said.

  It was also raining in Tynecastle, and Cynthia’s raincoat was glistening with moisture as she hugged them.

  ‘Rona! It’s been ages since we saw you! You’re looking great!’ She turned to Max. ‘You too, you old reprobate! The car’s in short-term parking; I’m afraid it’ll mean a dash through the rain.’

  ‘We won’t melt,’ Max assured her. ‘How’s the old man?’

  ‘Looking forward to your visit. You’ll see an improvement since you were last here; he’s eating better, according to Mrs Pemberton, though he still has that cough. Paul’s picking him up on his way home from work.’

  They emerged from the airport building, opened their umbrellas, and hurried after Cynthia’s small, round figure. The rain slanted down in the beams from the overhead lights and the ground was treacherous with puddles. The sanctuary of Cynthia’s roomy car was more than welcome.

  ‘The boys will be in for dinner,’ she told them, as she slowed at the exit to slot money into the machine. ‘Did I tell you Michael’s bought a new car? It’s his pride and joy, and I rather think, Max, he’s hoping to persuade you to do a painting of it.’

  ‘What kind is it?’ Max asked guardedly.

  ‘A red MG. He’s taken photographs of it from every angle, for you to take back with you if you agree.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ Max said. ‘It’ll make a change from views of Buckfordshire and pretty debutantes.’

  Cynthia laughed. ‘Don’t tell him I forewarned you.’

  Paul’s car was in the driveway when they arrived at the house, and Roland Allerdyce came into the hall to greet them. Despite Cynthia’s optimistic assessment, Rona was shocked at the change in him. Though still tall and straight-backed, his features stood out prominently from his sunken cheeks and his clothes seemed to hang on him. But his grip was as strong as ever as he pulled her towards him for a fierce hug.

  ‘Too long since I’ve seen you, my girl,’ he said gruffly, before turning to take Max’s hand.

  Paul also came to welcome them, but his sons had not yet returned from work. ‘Come in and get warm,’ he said. ‘It’s a wild evening out there.’

  Roland resumed his place on the sofa, and tapped the cushion beside him. ‘Sit next to me, Rona,’ he instructed, and, as she did so, enquired, ‘That boy of mine looking after you all right?’

  ‘We look after each other,’ she answered, and he gave a bark of laughter.

  ‘You modern young women! Independent as always. Mind you, it’s no bad thing; I couldn’t be doing with those shrinking violets, who took to their beds with smelling salts.’

  ‘Really, Father!’ Cynthia protested. ‘What century were you living in?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that on the whole I applaud the change, though it can be disconcerting when they decline to take your seat in a bus, or to allow you to open the door for them. Throwing out the baby with the bath water, I call it.’

  ‘You can open the door for me any time,’ Rona told him, patting his hand.

  Catherine put the tray of coffee on the table and joined Tom on the sofa.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ she began.

  ‘Uh-oh! What have you come up with now?’

  ‘Nothing controversial, I hope. It’s just that it’s my birthday in a few weeks—’

  ‘And you’d like the Kohinoor diamond?’

  ‘Will you please let me finish! It occurred to me that now we’ve broken the ice with your family, it might be time for our respective clans to meet.’ She glanced sideways at him as she poured the coffee. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Might it be a bit soon? Lindsey’s only just coming round.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Tom! At this rate, they’ll meet for the first time at our wedding! Surely it’s the ideal opportunity, and if we leave it much longer, Jenny mightn’t feel up to making the effort. She’ll be seven months by my birthday, as it is.’

  Tom took the cup and saucer she handed him. ‘Were you thinking of dinner here?’

  ‘Either that, or out somewhere. If we met halfway, no one would have to travel too far.’

  ‘There’s not much of interest between here and Cricklehurst,’ Tom pointed out. ‘We’d do better going all the way, to the Golden Feather. You’re sure of a good meal there, and Jenny’d have no travelling at all.’

  ‘But it’s a good hour’s drive for the rest of us, which would make it late getting home.’

  ‘How about lunch, then? That might suit her better anyway.’

  Catherine brightened. ‘Now that is a good idea. The on
ly drawback to eating out is that it’s Easter weekend, and the Feather might well be booked up. We ought to phone straight away and see if they can take us, before we start issuing invitations.’

  ‘No sooner said than done.’ Tom reached for the phone. ‘What date are we talking about?’

  ‘Preferably Saturday the fifteenth; otherwise, any date they’re available.’

  ‘Leave it to Jeeves,’ Tom said.

  Five

  Eleven o’clock the next morning found Sarah Lacey on Avril’s doorstep. Well-built without being overweight, she was wearing a denim jacket with matching skirt, and suede boots. Her mid-brown hair was drawn back in a low ponytail, accentuating the length of her face, and her eyes, meeting Avril’s in frank appraisal, were a clear grey.

  A very self-possessed young lady, Avril thought, registering her firm handshake.

  ‘Do come in,’ she said, feeling, as she often did, that her own small stature put her at a disadvantage. ‘I’ll show you the room first, and then, if you like it, we can discuss terms.’

  She had made enquiries on the rates currently charged, and was confident that what she had in mind was a reasonable sum.

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ Sarah exclaimed involuntarily, as Avril stood aside for her to enter the guest room. ‘What a pretty paper!’

  Avril relaxed a little. ‘I’ve tried to make it more of a bedsit,’ she said, ‘and the bathroom across the landing will be for your sole use.’

  Sarah walked to the window and looked out.

  ‘It’s lovely having all the trees along the road, and, of course, great being so near the school. It can only be – what? – a five-minute walk?’

  ‘About that,’ Avril agreed, adding, as Sarah turned back into the room, ‘I think you’ll find there’s plenty of storage space, with the chest of drawers and wardrobe.’ She paused but could think of nothing further to add. ‘Is there anything you’d like to ask?’

  ‘No, it looks absolutely fine, thanks.’

  ‘Then let’s go down and discuss the details over coffee.’ ‘Did you say you’re in Stokely at the moment?’ she asked when they were settled with their coffee cups.