Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  The brothers had devised a system whereby they unwrapped the objects out in the garage and their father carried them indoors to Sybil, who deposited them in the place allotted to them. Pieces with an undetermined position were rewrapped and placed in a separate crate.

  ‘No point filling the place with stuff you’ve no use for,’ Nick said breezily.

  ‘You sound like your mother,’ Charles remarked. ‘She’s been pretty ruthless about discarding everything she doesn’t consider necessary. Personally, I’ll all for hanging on to them.’

  ‘We’re not talking of throwing them on the scrap heap, Dad,’ Oliver pointed out. ‘What you haven’t room for at the moment can join the rest in storage, till you’ve had time to consider what to do with them.’ He paused, glancing at his father. ‘Your collection of books, for instance.’

  Charles bristled, as his son had known he would. ‘I’m not parting with any of my books,’ he declared. ‘I’ve a little room here I intend to use as a study, and I’m arranging to have shelves put all round the walls to accommodate them.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  ‘They can go on the floor in there.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to leave them out here till the shelves are up?’

  ‘No; this garage mightn’t be completely waterproof, and I’m not risking any damage.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Nick said resignedly, ‘but they’re pretty heavy, so Oliver and I’ll take them in later. Let’s get these boxes emptied first.’

  ‘Coffee for the workers!’ Sybil announced, coming into the garage with mugs on a tray. ‘My goodness, what a lot still to find places for! I’d forgotten all about that pressure cooker. It looks as if I’ll have to do another cull on the kitchen contents.’

  ‘As long as you confine yourself to the kitchen!’ Charles muttered darkly. ‘You’re sure you boys can’t find room for anything else?’

  ‘Nothing large, that’s for sure,’ Oliver said, as Nick shook his head. ‘We could probably house a bit of china or glass, if there’s any you don’t need.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Sybil said as she returned indoors.

  ‘What’s this about you foisting some girl on Mum at short notice?’

  Rona settled back in her chair. ‘And good morning to you, too, Linz.’

  ‘Who is she, exactly? And, more to the point, why didn’t you tell me? Mum was going on and on about her, and I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.’

  ‘Sorry; things have been a bit hectic the last couple of days. Her name’s Julia Teale, and I just bumped into her. Or rather, she bumped into me, in Guild Street, and we got talking. She’s here for a week or so on business, and as she hates hotels, I thought it would break Mum in gently before she starts on the long-term.’

  She paused, and when her sister made no comment, added, ‘All set for the big night?’

  ‘The party, you mean?’

  ‘Aren’t you due to meet Prince Charming again?’

  Lindsey said irritably, ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d never mentioned him.’

  ‘Oh, come on! Your love life is a continuing soap opera, and I can’t wait to hear the latest!’

  ‘If you carry on like that, you won’t hear anything at all. But, since you ask, yes, I am quite looking forward to this evening. I splashed out on a new dress at Magda’s – and by the way, she was asking after you. Says she’s not seen you for a while.’

  Rona’s friend, Magda Ridgeway, owned a chain of boutiques scattered round the county.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch with her,’ Rona said. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Fine; just back from foreign parts, attending fashion shows. It’s to be hoped Gavin knows how to cook.’

  ‘Oh, he does,’ Rona assured her.

  ‘Ah yes, I was forgetting he was an old flame of yours. Did you make it a rule only to go out with men who could cook?’

  ‘No, I just fell on my feet.’

  ‘Whereas I—’

  ‘Whereas you are having the time of your life, footloose and fancy-free. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.’

  ‘I’d swap the lot for a happy marriage,’ Lindsey said, and Rona’s heart twisted.

  ‘I know you would, sis. Never mind, perhaps the handsome stranger will turn up trumps. When’s the dinner date with Hugh, by the way?’

  ‘Next Tuesday. I told him I was busy till then.’

  ‘And Jonathan?’

  ‘Still twisting my arm.’

  ‘Well, at least you can’t complain no one’s interested.’

  ‘Trouble is, it’s never the right somebody.’

  ‘It will be, one day.’

  Her sister, Rona reflected after they’d rung off, was a prime candidate for an arranged marriage. Her taste in men was, in Rona’s opinion, abysmal, and what she needed was someone disinterested who could stand back, assess what was in her best interests, and produce the right man out of a hat. Fleetingly she thought of Finlay Curzon, but immediately dismissed him. With a failed marriage already behind him, he didn’t make the grade. Nor, if she were honest, would she welcome him as a brother-in-law.

  Max’s call from the foot of the stairs was a welcome distraction. ‘How about a spot of fresh air before lunch? Gus didn’t get his evening walk last night.’

  ‘Good idea!’ she called back. ‘I’ll be right down.’

  Perhaps after all, she thought as she shrugged on her jacket, the man at the party might be the answer to Lindsey’s prayers. She could only hope so.

  Jenny Bishop said worriedly, ‘I still feel that if they’re coming all the way to Cricklehurst, we should invite them here.’

  ‘My darling girl,’ Daniel said patiently, ‘the reason they’re coming, quite apart from the Feather’s excellent reputation, is to save you travelling to Marsborough. If we entertain them here, you’ll be completely worn out and undo all the benefit. Anyway –’ he smiled at her teasingly – ‘they’re looking forward to a meal at the Feather; they wouldn’t thank us if we switched it to here!’

  She smiled unwillingly back. ‘It’ll be a bit of a strain anyway, won’t it, meeting Tom’s family?’

  ‘No reason why it should. Ma’s not said much about Lindsey, but I know she’s fond of Rona, and likes her husband.’

  ‘It’s odd, to think you’ll have stepsisters.’

  ‘I rather like the idea. After being an only one, it’ll be great having siblings, even if they’re only “step”.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. I’m being a wimp – sorry!’

  ‘Don’t worry, my love,’ Daniel said wickedly. ‘Put it down to your condition!’ And ducked, as she threw a cushion at him.

  Charles had an impressive collection of books, most of which were large tomes and awkward to carry, and after a morning’s strenuous work, his sons were tiring. It had been agreed that, since the kitchen was still less than orderly, they’d all repair to the nearest pub for lunch, and they were more than ready for it.

  ‘Only one more lot,’ Nick said, passing his brother in the hall.

  ‘Just as well; there’s not much floor space left.’

  It was in avoiding the pile of books nearest the door that Nick tripped, and the three top volumes of the pile he was carrying crashed to the floor. He swore under his breath, hoping his parents hadn’t heard the noise, and, having gingerly placed the remainder of his load on the floor, bent to retrieve the dropped volumes. As he did so, he noticed a corner of paper sticking out from one of them. Curious, he opened the book and extracted the yellowing, folded sheet.

  ‘What have you got there?’ Oliver asked, coming in behind him with the last batch.

  ‘Not sure; it was inside this book. Looks like a letter.’ He unfolded the fragile paper and ran his eyes down it.

  ‘Good Lord!’ he said softly. ‘It’s addressed to Grandfather.’

  ‘Really?’ Oliver, having deposited his load, came to look over his brother’s shoulder. The sheet was indeed a letter, dated 23rd July
, with the year unspecified. It read:

  My dear Frederick,

  Over these past days, I have come to doubt the wisdom of setting to paper the matter on which I wrote you last week. Lest it inadvertently fall into the wrong hands, creating all manner of problems, I beg you immediately to put it to the flame, and oblige

  Your loving brother,

  Spencer

  ‘You never signed yourself my loving brother, when you wrote to me,’ Nick said after a moment.

  ‘You’d have clobbered me if I had. But what the hell’s it about, Nick?’

  ‘Something, it seems, that could have created “all manner of problems”.’

  ‘Let’s see if Dad knows anything about it.’

  They found their parents in the sitting room. Sybil was trying to decide how to position various pieces of furniture, and Charles was engaged in pushing them around under her direction.

  ‘Thank God you’ve come,’ he greeted his sons. ‘All this hard work is giving me a thirst.’ He straightened, eying the paper in Nick’s hand. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A letter. From Great Uncle Spencer to Grandfather.’

  ‘Great Heavens!’ Charles held out his hand, and Nick put the letter into it, watching as his father’s brows came together.

  ‘What the devil’s it all about?’

  ‘We were hoping you could tell us,’ Oliver said.

  ‘What have you found, dears?’ Sybil, who’d been studying the current layout of furniture, came over and joined them. Charles silently handed her the letter.

  ‘Well, well!’ she commented when she’d read it. ‘It sounds as if old Spencer had been indiscreet!’

  ‘But about what? That’s the point.’

  ‘Probably gambling debts, or something of the sort.’

  ‘Where exactly did you find this?’ Charles enquired.

  ‘It fell out of one of your books when I – was putting it down,’ Nick replied. ‘I think it was A History of Ancient Porcelain.’

  ‘That belonged to my father,’ Charles said slowly. ‘He must have been reading it when the letter was brought to him, and used it as a bookmark.’

  ‘But why would they write to each other?’ Oliver demanded. ‘Surely they worked together every day, as we do?’

  ‘I believe Father was sent to another pottery for a while, to gain experience. That could be the explanation. Without an envelope giving his address, it’s probably the closest we’ll get.’

  ‘Well,’ Sybil said philosophically, ‘their indiscretion died with them, so that’s that. Now, how about some lunch?’

  The walk in the park had given Rona and Max an appetite, and on their return, they’d had a larger lunch than usual. They were still sitting over coffee when Magda rang.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to phone you for weeks,’ Rona told her.

  ‘Likewise, but I’ve been away a fair bit.’

  ‘So I heard, from Lindsey. I believe she’s been patronizing you?’

  ‘Yes; she bought a gorgeous dress, and looks sensational in it.’

  Rona hoped silently it would work its magic.

  ‘The reason I’m ringing,’ Magda continued, ‘is that we were thinking, since it’s a good forecast for tomorrow, it might be nice for us all to drive out somewhere for lunch. Are you free this weekend?’

  ‘Yes, and that sounds great. I’ll just check with Max.’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Magda suggests the four of us have a day out tomorrow. OK with you?’

  ‘Great idea.’

  ‘Max says yes,’ Rona relayed into the phone. ‘How about Penbury Court? We don’t need to go round the house, but the grounds should be lovely at this time of year, and there’s a choice of eating places.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  ‘It would be good for Gus, too, if you don’t mind him coming. There are plenty of places he can run free.’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of going without him!’

  Rona laughed. ‘In that case, we’ll take Max’s car; it has a wired-off section to contain him when there are back-seat passengers. What time shall we collect you?’

  ‘Gavin won’t appreciate too early a start – he values his lie-in on Sundays. How about ten thirty?’

  ‘We’ll be there on the dot, and can catch up on all the news then.’

  As she’d intended, the party was in full swing when Lindsey arrived, and she was promptly handed a glass and welcomed into its midst. It was an odd fact that she and Rona had few mutual friends, so seldom attended the same functions. Many of her own were couples she’d met during her marriage to Hugh; others were connected with her work – business colleagues who’d become friends, and a few she’d kept in contact with since schooldays.

  As she laughed and chatted to them, Lindsey’s eyes discreetly searched the room, but there was no sign of the man who interested her. All she knew about him was his name – Dominic Frayne – but it had been mentioned almost as an inducement when she’d been invited to this gathering. Perhaps he’d been unable to come. She fought disappointment; she’d spent a fortune on this dress, and knew she was looking her best. It would be irony indeed if the person she’d most wanted to impress wasn’t even here.

  Then, suddenly, she saw him, and her heart jerked before abruptly plummeting. He was at the far end of the room, in a group that included, of all people, Jonathan and Carol Hurst. As though drawn by her gaze, he turned, looking directly at her, and her own eyes dropped as she joined with increased animation in the conversation about her.

  Minutes later, a tap on her shoulder made her turn, to see the Hursts smiling at her, and, immediately behind them, Dominic Frayne and a tall, blonde woman in an oyster satin dress. Close to, Lindsey saw he was older than she’d thought – nearer fifty than forty, with a network of fine lines round his eyes. But the powerful magnetism she’d felt from across the room had intensified with his proximity.

  ‘Lindsey, you look ravishing,’ Jonathan was saying, his eyes conveying a deeper meaning. ‘You’ve met my wife, of course, but I don’t think you know my friends: Dominic Frayne and Carla Deighton – Lindsey Parish.’

  Frayne inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving her face, and the woman beside him nodded coolly. Who was she? Lindsey thought in agitation; when she’d seen him before, he’d been alone. To her consternation, the crowd she’d been talking to had drifted away, leaving her with these two couples who both, for different reasons, made her ill at ease.

  ‘What a fabulous dress!’ Carol said warmly, but Lindsey, though she smiled acknowledgment, recalled the embarrassment of their last meeting, and couldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘Lindsey looks good in everything,’ Jonathan said gallantly, his eyes clearly adding, and nothing!

  She felt her cheeks grow warm, forcing herself to reply lightly, ‘Thank you, kind sir!’ Things were not going at all as she’d hoped, and, to emphasize her isolation, someone claimed Carol’s attention, and she too turned away.

  Aware of her empty glass, Lindsey seized on a means of escape. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just—’

  But Jonathan took it out of her hand. ‘I’ll get you a refill. You three get to know each other.’

  Damn it! Lindsey thought, annoyance coming to her rescue; she would not be intimidated by this couple, whose aloofness was now beginning to irritate her.

  Her glance included them both. ‘Do you live round here? It’s strange we’ve not met before.’

  It was Frayne who replied, and his voice, measured and quiet, carried an underlying note of authority. ‘I bought a flat here relatively recently.’

  No mention of Carla Deighton’s living arrangements; perhaps they were synonymous with his own.

  ‘For work reasons?’ Lindsey persevered, when nothing further was forthcoming.

  Frayne smiled, and her insides flipped. ‘In a word, no. My activities cover a wide field, so where I live is immaterial. You work with Jonathan, I hear.’

  How much had Jonathan told him? Lindsey wondered feveris
hly. It wouldn’t surprise her if he boasted to his friends about their relationship.

  ‘We’re partners in the same firm, yes.’

  Carla Deighton spoke for the first time. ‘Have you lived here long yourself?’

  ‘All my life.’ And how provincial must that sound to this sophisticated couple. Were they a couple, in the fuller sense of the word?

  ‘It seems a very pleasant town.’

  Rightly or wrongly, Lindsey read condescension in the remark, but fortunately, before she could reply, Jonathan reappeared and handed over her glass.

  ‘Thanks, Jonathan,’ she said quickly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must have a word with Nicole and David.’

  And, fighting tears of disappointment, she threaded her way through the crowd in search of her friends.

  That night, Dominic Frayne filled Lindsey’s dreams, his image seemingly seared into her brain: the thick mid-brown hair, streaked with grey; the groove between his brows, the enigmatic eyes whose message she couldn’t read, and when she woke her pillow was wet with tears.

  Well, that was a wasted exercise, she told herself as her eyes fell on the sea-green chiffon hanging from the wardrobe door. How naïve he must have thought her, asking whether his work had brought him to Marsborough, when obviously he was a tycoon of some kind. No doubt he and that cool, sleekly groomed companion of his had smiled over it later. No explanation had been offered of their relationship, but she was of the same mould and much more suited to him, Lindsey thought savagely, than a small-town solicitor. So – write the whole thing off to experience, and in future don’t build your dreams on fantasies.

  Yet even as she thought of him, a tightening of her insides warned her that his lack of availability had done nothing to lessen his attraction for her. Which, to say the least, was unfortunate.

  ‘So what firm are you writing about at the moment?’ Magda asked casually, as they sat over lunch in Penbury Court’s Orchard Restaurant, it having proved, after all, too cool to eat outdoors.

  ‘Curzon. Admittedly they’re not based in Marsborough, but they’re local enough.’