Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Yes; I’ve been living at home while I was at college.’

  ‘So this is your first teaching post?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’ She paused, eying the photographs on the corner table. ‘Do you live here alone?’

  Avril was a little disconcerted; foolishly, she hadn’t anticipated the question. ‘I do now, yes. My husband and I separated at the end of last year.’

  Sarah nodded again, offering no comment.

  ‘My two daughters live in Marsborough,’ Avril added, almost defensively.

  ‘I wish I’d had a sister, but I was an only one.’

  ‘Your parents will miss you, then.’

  ‘There’s only my father; Mum died when I was a baby. He brought me up, with the help of a string of housekeepers.’

  He was to be congratulated, Avril felt, on producing such a self-confident young woman under what couldn’t have been easy circumstances.

  The business arrangements were concluded briskly and amicably. Breakfast would be served in the dining room at eight o’clock, and Sarah could have the use of the kitchen until seven in the evening if she so wished, to cook and eat her meal. The rent would be paid in advance, and a month’s notice would be required on either side. Sarah accepted the figure quoted, again without comment, and it was agreed she would move in two days before term started, which would be just after Easter.

  The entire interview was over in half an hour, and as Avril closed the front door, she was left with mixed emotions. The girl was down-to-earth, confident, and pleasant enough, but somehow Avril could not imagine herself warming to her. Still, it was a business arrangement and there would be no call to socialize.

  She returned to the sitting room and began to load the coffee cups on to a tray.

  The weekend in Tynecastle passed pleasantly. Max and his father spent a considerable amount of time together – which had been the point of the exercise – and he was also taken for a spin in Michael’s new car, the painting of which had been agreed. The two young men had plans for Saturday evening, but Cynthia had booked for the rest of them to see the latest Alan Bennett play, which they all enjoyed. On the Sunday morning, Paul drove Rona and Max up to the moors for a bracing walk while Cynthia prepared lunch, and they flew back later that afternoon.

  ‘Did Roland really seem better than when you last saw him?’ Rona asked anxiously, as they drove home from the airport.

  ‘I think so, though not as much as Cyn’s reports led me to expect. Still, she sees him day by day, so is better able to judge. I wish he could get rid of that cough, but it seems the doctor’s not too worried about it. One good thing – I persuaded him to show me the canvas he’s working on, and it’s powerful stuff. Quite up to standard, which was a relief. With his being below par, I was worried it mightn’t have been, and nothing would bring him down faster than a waning of his talent. His work’s all-important to him, and always has been.’

  Gus, who’d been lodging at the vet’s, gave them his usual enthusiastic welcome, and Max took him out for a quick walk while Rona unpacked.

  ‘There’s a message from Pops,’ she told Max when he returned half an hour later. ‘We’re invited to lunch at the Golden Feather on Easter Saturday. Apparently it’s Catherine’s birthday, and her son and daughter-in-law will be there.’

  ‘That’s a fair hike to go for lunch; let’s hope it’s a good one. We’ve nothing else on, have we?’

  ‘Not according to the diary.’ She paused. ‘I hope Linz is OK about it.’

  ‘Why the hell shouldn’t she be?’ Max demanded. ‘Surely she’s got over her sulks by now.’

  Rona bit her lip, regretting her unthinking comment. Though wanting to defend her twin, she’d no wish to start an argument with Max. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ she said quickly. ‘She was when we had dinner with Pops, wasn’t she?’

  Max glanced at her, pulled her against him, and gave her a squeeze. ‘Of course she was,’ he said.

  Rona wasn’t left long in doubt about her sister’s reaction. As she sat down at her desk the next morning, the phone rang.

  ‘I see the extended family is reaching out its tentacles,’ Lindsey said, without preamble.

  ‘One way of putting it, I suppose.’

  ‘How else? These people aren’t claiming relationship with us, are they? Step-brother-and-sister-in-law or something?’

  ‘Heavens, I’d never thought of that! I suppose, when Catherine becomes our stepmother, they will be.’

  ‘God!’ said Lindsey theatrically. ‘As if life isn’t complicated enough.’

  Rona said cautiously, ‘You don’t sound in the best of spirits after your weekend tryst. How did it go?’

  ‘It went.’

  ‘That’s all you’re going to say? You and Hugh aren’t all lovey-dovey again?’

  ‘Lucy,’ Lindsey said acidly, ‘ever the soul of propriety, put us in separate bedrooms at opposite ends of the landing.’

  Rona laughed. ‘I hope Hugh’s feet didn’t get cold!’

  ‘He got cold feet, all right,’ Lindsey answered tartly, ‘but not from coming down the corridor.’

  ‘You mean he didn’t . . .?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. What the hell’s he playing at, Ro? He’s been trying to get me into bed for months, and then, when the opportunity arises, he backs down.’

  ‘But you’ve refused him up to now. Perhaps he’s finally accepted it.’

  ‘Then why invite me down in the first place?’

  ‘I’d guess,’ Rona said slowly, ‘it was to make you feel exactly the way you’re feeling now.’

  ‘The crafty devil!’ Lindsey said after a minute.

  ‘Did you let him see you were miffed?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’ve got some pride.’

  ‘Then it’ll be interesting to see what his next move is.’

  ‘If he bothers to make one.’

  ‘Oh, he will,’ Rona assured her. ‘Believe me, he will.’

  ‘I’ll keep you posted, but I have to go now; I’m phoning from the office.’

  ‘Linz – you will be there on the fifteenth, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be there. I can’t wait to meet my new relations.’

  With which, sarcasm and all, Rona had to be content.

  The next phone call, an hour or so later, was, to Rona’s surprise, from Finlay Curzon.

  ‘I persuaded my mother to unearth some old photo albums,’ he said. ‘There are several prints of my grandparents, and even a sepia one of Great-grandfather. I thought you’d be interested to see them.’

  ‘Oh, I should,’ Rona told him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll be coming into Marsborough later today. Perhaps I could hand them over then?’

  ‘If it’s no trouble, that would be great.’

  ‘The thing is, they’re fairly heavy; is there somewhere we could unload them straight from one car into the other?’

  ‘That could be a problem; parking’s quite tricky in town.’ She hesitated. ‘The simplest thing might be for you to bring them to the house. It’s pretty central, and during the day it’s easy enough to park outside.’

  ‘Right, I’ll do that. About three o’clock? I have the address from your letter.’

  ‘Three would be fine; I’ll see you then. Thanks very much, Mr Curzon.’

  ‘Finlay,’ he corrected, and put down the phone.

  Rona took out the family tree she’d brought back from Chilswood and spread it on her desk. His grandfather and great-grandfather, he’d said. That would be – her finger moved up from his entry – Spencer Curzon, the wearer, she remembered, of a watch and chain, and his father, George – who’d actually been the son of Samuel, founder of the firm. The albums would indeed be a gold mine.

  The final call of the morning was from Avril. ‘All fixed,’ she announced with satisfaction. ‘I become a landlady on Tuesday the eighteenth of April.’

  ‘Well done, Mum! What’s she like, your new lo
dger?’

  ‘Her name’s Sarah Lacey. She’s all right, but she struck me as being very sure of herself. I don’t think we’ll have much difficulty keeping our respective distances.’

  ‘Well, you don’t want her in your pocket, do you?’

  ‘Indeed I don’t,’ Avril agreed, though she added disconcertingly, ‘She might thaw a little when we get to know each other.’

  Thaw? Rona pondered when her mother had rung off. She’d thought Avril had simply wanted someone in the house, a goal she was on the point of achieving. Now, though, she wondered uncomfortably if, subconsciously, she’d been hoping for a surrogate daughter, someone who would come in from work and perch on the kitchen table, telling her about the day’s doings. Which was not a landlady/lodger relationship at all, nor one, it seemed, that this Sarah Lacey envisaged.

  Finlay rang the doorbell at exactly three o’clock.

  ‘What a fabulous house!’ he commented, when Rona answered it.

  ‘We like it, yes. There aren’t many rooms, but that’s our fault; we knocked down walls to make space.’ She paused, eying the car parked at the gate. ‘Shall I help you carry in the albums?’

  ‘No, don’t worry, I can manage. I was just checking I had the right house.’

  She waited while he returned to the car and retrieved six or seven large books from the boot.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to go to this trouble,’ she told him as he came into the hall with them.

  ‘No problem. Where would you like them?’

  ‘If you’ll leave them on the bottom stair, I’ll take them up when I go.’

  ‘Better, surely, if I carry them up for you?’

  ‘Well – thanks.’

  She led the way to the study and he followed her, laying the albums, under her direction, on a side table.

  ‘You’re well kitted out here, aren’t you?’ he remarked, noting the small fridge and electric hob.

  ‘The kitchen’s down in the basement,’ Rona explained. ‘This saves me having to run up and down two flights of stairs every time I want a drink.’

  He walked to the window and looked down at the tiny paved garden with its statues and containers.

  ‘Another good idea. Much easier to manage than grass.’ He turned to her with a smile. ‘Not thinking of selling, are you?’

  She smiled back. ‘Not a chance!’ She opened the topmost album, to be confronted with a wedding group, circa 1900. ‘I’d need permission to reproduce these in the article.’

  ‘You have it. Ninety per cent of them are taken by family members, and the professional ones are out of copyright. I just thought it would help, to visualize the people you write about – as, presumably, one can with biographies.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you write biographies? My mother was wondering.’

  ‘I do, yes, under another hat.’

  ‘You didn’t mention them in your CV.’

  ‘They weren’t relevant.’ She glanced back at the album. ‘There’s rather a dearth of names, isn’t there? The people who stick in the photos know so well who everyone is, they don’t bother noting it down, which leads to a lot of frustration for their descendants.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be much help there, but my mother could fill you in. I suppose you’ll be wanting to see her?’

  ‘I’d like to see everyone who’s willing, principally to gather as much family lore as possible.’ She closed the album. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Thanks, that would be welcome.’

  Gus was awaiting them at the foot of the stairs, tail wagging furiously. Finn went down on his haunches to stroke him, and Gus, embarrassingly effusive as always, licked his face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rona apologized, taking hold of his collar and pulling him back.

  ‘Don’t be; I’m fond of dogs. We had one when I was married, but he was more my wife’s really, and when we split, she was granted custody.’ The quirk to his mouth made Rona unsure whether or not he was serious.

  She pushed open the sitting room door. ‘If you’d like to wait in here, I’ll put the kettle on.’

  When she returned minutes later with the tray, he was studying the group of modern paintings, displayed to perfection on the plain duck-egg walls. He turned as she came in.

  ‘What an interesting collection.’

  ‘They’re my husband’s; he’s an artist himself.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned that. Are any of these his?’

  ‘No, he’s very chary of hanging his own work. We have a couple in the bedroom, but most of them are commissions, anyway.’

  He looked about him at the marble fireplace, the antique side tables and comfortable sofas and chairs, the shelves of assorted books, and the richly curtained windows at either end. ‘This is one of the rooms you enlarged? It’s charming.’

  She nodded. ‘The back half was a dining room, but we prefer it this way. We always eat in the kitchen, even when we have people to dinner.’

  ‘And, as you also told us, your husband’s the chef,’ Finn observed, seating himself at her invitation.

  ‘It seems to go together; his arrangement of food on the plate is often worthy of a photograph.’ She glanced at Finlay as she poured the tea. ‘I told him how shocked you all were that I don’t cook.’

  ‘Thereby enhancing our reputation as dinosaurs.’

  ‘Oh, I never implied that!’

  ‘Chauvinists, then.’

  ‘Look, I did apologize. I can’t keep doing it.’

  ‘There’s no need. The fact that no women in the family wanted to join the firm is immaterial. I doubt if they were ever asked.’

  ‘Were they strong personalities, those women? You said your sister is.’

  ‘Well, as I told you, the earlier ones disappeared off the map – or at least the family tree – so I can’t say, though my uncles might be able to enlighten you. I do know Grandma Florence was quite a tartar; my father used to tell us how she ruled the roost when he was young.’

  ‘I look forward to seeing her photo. And your mother?’

  ‘My mother was an opera singer in her youth, with the temperament that goes with it. We had to watch our Ps and Qs. Come to that, we still do! As to Aunts Sybil and Elizabeth, you’ll have to ask my cousins. As far as Edward and I are concerned, they’ve always been pussycats.’

  Rona stirred her tea reflectively. ‘So you maintain none of the women wanted to join the firm; what about the men? Did they have a choice?’

  ‘An interesting question. To the best of my knowledge there were no dissenters, but then the choice of careers on offer is pretty wide – accountancy, design, management, marketing, product co-ordinating – there’s room for them all. And now we have computer-aided design, we need IT specialists as well.’

  ‘You never had any doubts yourself?’

  He shook his head emphatically. ‘It was all I ever wanted to do, go to the factory with Dad. Edward and I used to pester him to take us in the school holidays, and we’d spend hours watching the different processes in action, particularly the painting and decorating. I still find it fascinating.

  ‘But as I mentioned last time,’ he continued, ‘we might well have to revise our men-only attitude, since Edward’s the only one of our generation to produce a son. Oliver and Sally have three daughters, Sam and Emma one, and Nick and I have completely let the side down, with no children at all.’

  ‘Has your sister any sons?’

  ‘Three, yes. No justice, is there? We might end up press-ganging them!’

  That there was time for both Finlay and Nick to produce sons of their own, was, Rona felt, not a point she could mention. The past was safer ground.

  ‘So have there been any scandals in the last hundred-plus years? They always liven up a series!’

  Finn laughed. ‘Again, you’ll need to ask the older generation, but to the best of my knowledge, we’ve all behaved admirably, apart from old George, who was considered a bit of a rake in his time.’ He gave her a crooked smile, and she thought again how at
tractive he was. ‘If there are any skeletons,’ he added, ‘I have a feeling you’ll unearth them. It might be safer to confine you to writing about the firm, rather than the family. Only joking!’ he assured her, seeing her startled glance.

  ‘Your website’s full of the firm’s history,’ Rona pointed out, ‘but with all due respect, people are more interesting than plates! I think that’s why the series has attracted so much interest; the firms and businesses I write about are household names, but no one knows anything about the people behind them, who founded them and built them up. It’s the human element that’s so intriguing; who married whom, how many children they had, and so on. And if there’s a scandal buried somewhere in the past, so much the better. As long, that is, as it’s far enough in the past not to hurt anyone still alive.’

  Which, she thought soberly, hadn’t always been the case.

  Finlay got to his feet. ‘Well, I promised to help you, and I shall, so let’s hope you don’t unearth too many skeletons. Now, I really must be getting back. Thanks for the tea.

  ‘When are you going to pay us another visit?’ he asked as Rona opened the front door for him.

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ll be spending the next day or two going through the albums and no doubt making out a list of questions. Then I hope to start on the family interviews, if that’s all right, beginning with the older members.’

  He took out his wallet and handed her his business card. ‘My mobile number and email address. Let me know who you want to see, and I can advise you the best way to contact them.’ He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Rona. And good luck with the research.’

  ‘Thank you. And, again, for the albums. I’ll be in touch.’

  She waited while he walked down the path, got into his car, and, with a raised hand, drove off down the road. Then she closed the door, feeling oddly flat. Were she not a happily married woman, she reflected, she could be in danger of falling for Finlay Curzon. And that was quite a thought. Unlike Lindsey, who, since her teens, had fallen in and out of love with monotonous regularity, there had only ever been two men who mattered in her life: Max, and Gavin Ridgeway, now married to her closest friend.