Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Of course I’ll come.’ Another instance of the brother’s ‘uselessness’, she thought. ‘A bit hard on the friend, isn’t it? What’s she supposed to do with the things? There must be a whole lot more at the flat.’

  ‘Her worry, not ours,’ Lindsey said succinctly.

  ‘So what time is she arriving?’

  ‘I don’t know; the police have given her directions. Presumably she’ll be coming from Reigate.’

  ‘That’s just off the M25, isn’t it? Provided the traffic’s not too bad, it should take under two hours, which would make it around mid-morning. No need to stay overnight, anyway.’

  ‘For which we can be duly thankful. Her name’s Deborah Phillips, by the way. Oh, and I’m moving back home tonight. Mum’s over the worst of the shock, and preparing for this Sarah will keep her occupied, once Julia’s things have gone. So – thanks for that, sis, and I’ll see you Saturday, if not before.’

  ‘Saturday?’ Rona repeated with a frown.

  ‘The family lunch in Cricklehurst. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten!’

  ‘With all that’s happened, it had gone completely out of my head. Just as well you reminded me, though I suppose I’d have seen it in the diary. Shall the three of us go together?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. Safety in numbers! Shall I drive to your house?’

  ‘No, don’t bother; we can pick you up and go via the ring road. We’re to be there at twelve thirty, so we’d better collect you soon after eleven, to allow for holiday traffic.’

  ‘I’ll be ready.’

  Lindsey’s second phone call came that evening, as Rona was awaiting Max’s midweek return.

  ‘Ro – guess what?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I’ve just got home, and there’s a message on the answerphone from Dominic!’

  ‘Ah, I’m favoured with a name at last.’

  ‘He rang on Sunday; what should I do?’

  ‘Wait for him to ring again.’

  ‘But he left his number; he’s probably been expecting me to call back.’

  ‘Then let him expect a little longer; it won’t do him any harm. What was the message?’

  ‘That he’d like to see me sometime.’

  ‘Fine. Well, it’s not incumbent on you to answer that, is it? If he’s interested, he’ll be in touch.’

  ‘But after all this time, he probably thinks I’m not.’

  ‘“All this time”? It’s only three days, Linz, and he waited over a week to contact you; you don’t want to seem too eager.’

  ‘Even though I am?’

  ‘Especially if you are. And when he does phone – and he will – mind you don’t apologize for not getting back to him.’

  ‘All right, I’ll play it your way. But if I miss out over this, I’ll never forgive you.’

  The Stokely Gazette was lying on the mat when Rona came down the next morning, and she steeled herself to pick it up. Being a local paper, the murder was, as she’d feared, still front-page news.

  ‘Hitting the headlines?’ Max queried, joining her in the hall.

  ‘That’s what I’m checking,’ she answered grimly.

  Together, they read through the update, relieved to note Tess had kept her promise and Rona’s name was mentioned only briefly at the end of the report:

  It has emerged that the unnamed friend with Finlay Curzon was the writer Rona Parish, who is engaged on a history of the family. Ms Parish, whose work regularly appears in Chiltern Life, has, through her researches, helped the police close more than one ‘cold case’ over the past year. It will be interesting to see if she’s of equal assistance in a more immediate one.

  ‘Barrett will love that,’ Rona commented. She’d have preferred no mention of her previous exploits, but after all Tess was a journalist, and owed it to both the paper and her readers to pass on such information as she had.

  ‘Should keep him on his toes,’ Max agreed. ‘All in all, though,’ he continued as they went down to the kitchen, ‘I reckon you’ve got off pretty lightly. Had she been so inclined, Tess could have made a much bigger story of it.’

  Finlay Curzon sat gazing at the letter that had arrived with the morning post. Printed in clear block capitals, it was brief and to the point, and read: YOU KILLED HER, YOU BASTARDS, AND I’LL SEE THAT YOU PAY FOR IT.

  He looked up at his assistant’s worried face. ‘I wondered when it would be my turn. No clues on the envelope, I suppose?’

  Meg shook her head. ‘Also block capitals, and the postmark was Chilswood. A first-class stamp.’

  ‘The same as the others. You’re hanging on to them, aren’t you, the envelopes too? If there’s any more trouble, the police might want to test the flaps or stamps for DNA.’

  ‘Shouldn’t they be informed?’

  ‘We discussed it when the first one came, but there doesn’t seem much point. In the circumstances, it’s probably par for the course.’

  ‘They can’t be from the murderer, can they?’

  ‘God knows,’ Finlay answered wearily. ‘Put me through to Edward, would you please, Meg?’

  At ten o’clock, Rona left home, and drove to her mother’s house with a heavy heart. Gus, up to now an unwelcome visitor here, accompanied her; she felt in need of him.

  ‘Best behaviour, now,’ she warned him as she unlocked the front door, wondering when she’d last used a key to let herself into this house. She stood for a moment in the hall, feeling the emptiness enfold her, and the dog paused at her side, looking up at her enquiringly. From somewhere – probably the dining room – came the steady tick of a clock, and the fridge hummed tunelessly in the kitchen.

  ‘Stay!’ she ordered Gus, and reluctantly went up the stairs and into the guest room. At first glance, it looked no different from when her mother had shown herself and Lindsey the new decorations. But as she moved further into the room, she could see some personal items on the dressing table: a small leather travelling clock, a brush and comb, and a box of tissues, with a crumpled one bearing the imprint of a pair of lips.

  Rona averted her eyes. Julia must have blotted her lipstick before leaving on her last, fatal journey. Why had she gone to Chilswood? Wouldn’t she have been wary of bumping into her erstwhile relatives? Or, as Tessa clearly suspected, had she arranged to meet one of them?

  Rona opened the wardrobe and surveyed the few clothes hanging inside: a raincoat, a short grey skirt, and a few blouses. On the shelves alongside were some items of underwear and an unopened pack of black tights, while on the floor beneath, two pairs of shoes and some bedroom slippers stood neatly side by side.

  A fly was buzzing against the window pane, and Rona opened it to let it out. But despite her attempts to guide it, the fly refused to take the offered escape route, and eventually she gave up. She was still at the window when a small blue car drew up outside, and she saw that Deborah Phillips had arrived.

  Rona took a step back and watched as the driver emerged from it, a slight figure with a mass of unruly brown curls. Then she ran down the stairs, and opened the front door just as her visitor reached for the bell.

  ‘Oh!’ The young woman looked taken aback. ‘Mrs Parish?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘No, her daughter. She hopes you’ll excuse her, but she’s at work, so she asked me to meet you.’

  Deborah Phillips’s face cleared. ‘You’re Rona?’

  ‘Yes – and you’re Deborah.’

  ‘Debbie.’ She held out her hand, which Rona took. ‘I was hoping to see you; I’ve heard so much about you from Julia.’

  Her voice shook as she said the name, and Rona took her arm and drew her inside. ‘Would you like some coffee before you start on the packing?’

  ‘Thank you, that would be great.’

  She followed Rona into the kitchen and sat down at the table while Rona filled the kettle. With her back to her visitor, Rona said quietly, ‘I’m so very sorry about Julia. It’s been an awful shock for us all, but it must have been far worse for you. Or would you rat
her not talk about her?’

  She turned, surprising tears in Debbie’s eyes. ‘Actually, I want to. I want to know everything you can tell me about her time up here.’

  Rona smiled ruefully. ‘And I was hoping you could tell me.’ She took down the cafetière and ladled coffee into it. ‘When did she decide to come?’

  ‘It was decided for her, about six weeks ago. She went where her firm sent her.’

  ‘So it wasn’t her idea?’

  Debbie flicked her a glance. ‘I think she suggested they might consider Marsborough. It would—’ She broke off, and Rona didn’t press her.

  Instead, she said, ‘If you know about me, you must have spoken to her while she was here.’

  ‘Oh yes, several times. She – liked you very much.’

  Rona poured boiling water on the coffee, then turned and leant against the counter. ‘Debbie, did Julia know about me before she came up here?’

  Debbie’s eyes fell. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She took down two mugs and put them on the table. ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk, please.’

  Debbie watched as Rona depressed the plunger and poured the coffee. ‘She was so grateful to you, arranging for her to stay here. It made all the difference.’

  Rona didn’t reply directly. ‘How long have you shared a flat?’

  ‘Since she came to Reigate.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘About eighteen months ago.’

  ‘But you’d known her before?’

  ‘Oh yes, since schooldays.’

  ‘She was using the name Teale up here. Do you know why?’

  ‘She always used it for work. Curzon was too well known, and she wouldn’t revert to her maiden name, because it reminded her of her brother. Teale was her grandmother’s name.’

  A simple explanation, after all. And it seemed Julia really had come up here on business, even if she’d suggested it. That much was true, at least.

  She said suddenly, ‘Did she ever lose her handbag?’

  Debbie looked at her in surprise. ‘Yes, she did. How did you know?’

  ‘I’ll explain in a minute; can you tell me how it happened?’

  Debbie took a sip of coffee. ‘It was about a week before she came up here. We’d arranged to meet for lunch, and she arrived with a brand new shoulder bag. When I commented on it, she said she’d been on her way to meet me when the strap of her old one snapped, so she went into a department store to buy another.

  ‘When she’d chosen it, she handed over her credit card, and while the assistant was busy at the till, started to transfer things to the new bag – wallet, diary, keys, and so on. Then she was asked to punch in her PIN, so she dropped the old bag on a chair. The shop was crowded, and when she turned back, it had gone. The assistant was very upset and wanted to call the manager, but Julia told her not to bother. She’d removed everything of value, and would have thrown the bag away anyway. She told me all she’d lost was a favourite lipstick. “I wish whoever it was joy of it”, she said.’

  Another mystery explained, and, again, quite simply. Debbie was looking at her curiously.

  ‘Are you going to tell me how you knew?’

  ‘I had a phone call from the Reigate police, saying my bag had been handed in.’

  Debbie stared at her. ‘Your bag?’

  ‘Yes. Apart from a few cosmetic items, all that was in it was a slip of paper with my name, address and phone number on it. That’s why I asked if Julia knew of me before she came.’

  A dull flush spread over Debbie’s cheeks. ‘I think she did, yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Through Nigel – the man she was in love with.’

  ‘They were still in touch?’

  ‘Oh yes; they met at every opportunity. He belonged to a London club and used that as an excuse for going there. Julia would meet him, and they’d spend the night together.’

  It was Rona’s turn to look confused. ‘If they were still so fond of each other, why did they split up?’

  ‘Because of the effect it was having on his family. The children were at an impressionable age and his wife couldn’t cope. I believe she’s a very nervy individual.’

  ‘But how did Nigel know my address and phone number, and why ask Julia to contact me? At that stage, I’d never even met him.’

  ‘I’m not too clear on that. She was very vague when I asked her, but I think it had to do with the family. The Curzons, I mean. Are you connected with them at all?’

  ‘I’m writing an article on the firm, yes.’

  ‘That must be it, then.’

  ‘They’re launching a revolutionary new line in the autumn. Perhaps he thought I’d know about it and be prepared to tell a friend; though what use it would be to him, I’ve no idea. It’s not as though he’s a competitor – he only sells the stuff.’

  Debbie fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

  ‘No wonder it knocked the stuffing out of him, when I appeared in his shop as large as life,’ Rona went on, thinking aloud. ‘It must have been like the mountain coming to Mahomet.’ She drew a deep sigh. ‘Well, I wasn’t much use to either him or Julia. I’ve no idea what the product is.’

  Debbie said awkwardly, ‘I don’t blame you for being annoyed, but although admittedly she set out to meet you, she really did like you. Very much.’

  ‘I liked her, too, and so did my mother.’

  ‘Yes; Julia said she was very kind to her.’ Debbie took a gulp of coffee. ‘Have you any idea who could have killed her?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘I did wonder, if she was poking her nose where she wasn’t wanted, if someone might have decided to stop her.’

  Rona’s mouth went dry. Not the Curzons, surely? ‘I can’t think who,’ she said.

  ‘What was she doing in the cemetery, anyway? It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Actually, it’s an ideal place to meet secretly. There’s a high hedge round it, so except at the entrance, no one can see inside.’

  Debbie stared at her. ‘You know it? You’ve been there?’

  Rona bit her lip. So after all her pleas to Tess, she’d given herself away. ‘I was with Finlay Curzon when he found her,’ she said.

  ‘Oh God, no!’

  ‘As I said, I’m writing about the firm and had been studying the family tree. He thought I might be interested to see where all the people I’d been reading about were buried.’ She looked at her visitor’s distraught face. ‘If it’s any comfort, I’m sure death was instantaneous,’ she added.

  Debbie didn’t reply, and Rona saw she was struggling to compose herself.

  ‘When did you last speak to her?’ she asked gently.

  Debbie fished in her handbag for a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘She phoned on Friday morning. Then I rang back later, to ask her to collect something on the way home, but her phone was switched off.’

  ‘How did she seem, when you spoke to her?’

  ‘Fine. She said she’d be back in time for lunch the next day. I was expecting her, when the police arrived. I just couldn’t—’

  ‘How did they know to contact you?’

  ‘From my message on her mobile – I’d rung from the flat. The police up here saw it was a Reigate code, and got on to the local station. They were very kind, the two who came to tell me, but then other officers arrived and went through the flat with a fine-tooth comb. They looked under her mattress, pulled out drawers, and went through all our books, cassettes and CDs, looking inside the covers in case anything was hidden there. I suppose they had to, in case there were any clues as to who might have killed her, but it was horrible.’

  ‘It must have been.’ Rona paused. ‘Are you alone in the flat now?’

  ‘For the moment, but as soon as the police give their permission, my cousin’s coming to join me. She’s been looking for somewhere, and I’m only too glad to have the company.’ She put down her mug. �
�Well, it’s no use putting it off any longer. Let’s get this over with.’

  Rona led the way upstairs and motioned her into the guest room. ‘There are a few things in the wardrobe,’ she said, opening its door.

  The sight of the familiar clothes was, finally, too much for Debbie, and she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Rona held her, letting her cry. She wasn’t far from tears herself. Who did this? she kept asking herself. Who in the name of heaven could have killed her?

  After a few minutes Debbie straightened and Rona, hastily concealing the lipstick-smudged tissue, passed her the box.

  ‘Sorry,’ Debbie said shakily. ‘I’ve been dreading this.’

  ‘I’m sure. Would you like me to help?’

  At her nod, Rona wheeled the neat little suitcase out of its corner, lifted it on to the bed, and opened it. It was empty; if it had ever held anything of note, the police would have taken it. Between them and in silence, they laid the clothes carefully in the case, together with the items on the dressing table and the sponge bag Rona retrieved from the bathroom.

  ‘What will happen to all her things?’ Rona asked, as Debbie finally closed the case.

  ‘She hadn’t made a will, so as next of kin, her brother will be the benefactor. But he made it clear he doesn’t want her personal effects, so most of them will go to charity shops. I’ll probably keep something as a memento – an ornament, or something like that.’

  They went down the stairs together and Gus, who was asleep on the front doormat, looked up hopefully and wagged his tail. Debbie was too upset to notice him.

  She handed Rona a card. ‘My phone and mobile numbers,’ she said. ‘You’ll let me know what’s going on, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Brought together by the shared tragedy, they reached for and held each other’s hand. Then Debbie went swiftly down the path, put the case in the boot, and got into her car. Two minutes later, the sound of her engine had died away.

  Rona returned to the kitchen, washed up the cafetière and mugs, and put them away. Then she, too, left, hoping that the house was now sufficiently purged to welcome the new lodger the following week.