Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  She laughed. ‘We had, yes, except for the prospective mother, who wasn’t hungry.’

  ‘And did all go well?’

  ‘I think so; the baby’s two months premature and is in an incubator, but they seem hopeful of her chances.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. My daughter was in an incubator for ten days,’ said Dominic Frayne.

  Lindsey was momentarily silenced. Two divorces, OK, but there’d been no mention of offspring. ‘How many children have you?’ she asked, trying to sound equally nonchalant.

  ‘Three; two from my first marriage and one from my second. All independent now, thank God. Have you any yourself?’

  Again she was taken by surprise. ‘No.’

  ‘You have been married, though?’ And, at her nod, ‘I thought that’s what Jonathan said.’

  So they’d been discussing her. What else had Jonathan told him?

  That was the end of any personal discussion. He had been courteous and attentive, and she’d made him laugh a couple of times, but even on the way home, and despite the privacy afforded by the screen separating them from the driver, their conversation might have been between total strangers.

  And that’s what they were! Lindsey thought in frustration. Prior to that evening, they’d exchanged only a couple of sentences, and when he dropped her back at her flat, she felt she knew him no better than when they’d started out. How Dominic himself would evaluate the evening, she had no idea.

  Avril had been a little concerned that, since school didn’t start till Thursday, Sarah might be at a loose end the following day, while she herself divided her time between the library and the charity shop. Nor had she established the weekend routine; she certainly didn’t want the girl hanging round the house.

  On both counts, however, her fears were quickly put to rest. At breakfast the next morning, Sarah announced she was going into Marsborough, to shop and meet an aunt for lunch.

  Possibly seeing Avril’s relief, she added with a smile, ‘Dad warned me that in a B&B you’re expected to be out of the house between nine and five, though I might be back slightly earlier, depending what there is to do after school. And in case you’re worrying about weekends, I shan’t be in your way then, either. Until I make more friends here, I’ll be going home Friday to Sunday evenings, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Avril said awkwardly, ‘but don’t feel you have to go out. Your room’s a bedsit, after all.’ And marvelled at her own hypocrisy.

  The girl was making an effort to be accommodating, she thought, as Sarah left the house half an hour later, and they’d soon feel more relaxed with each other. The fact that there’d been no awkward initiation period with Julia was best forgotten.

  Since she would be working all day in the room allocated to her, Rona again dropped Gus off with Max. The task ahead filled her with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation; there had seemed no order to the piles of paper awaiting her, but by the end of the day, she should have a better idea of what they contained and how to set about sorting them.

  There was no sign of Finlay when she arrived at the pottery, and it was Meg Fairclough who took her up to the room. The boxes and folders were as she’d last seen them, but at least the room itself was warm and welcoming.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ Meg told her. ‘I’ll bring you a cup of coffee at ten thirty, and the directors have invited you to join them for lunch.’

  ‘Would it be very ungracious to decline?’ Rona asked. ‘To be honest, I’d much rather have a sandwich up here and get on with the work.’

  ‘Just as you like, of course. I’ll make your apologies and bring you up something from the canteen.’

  The next few hours passed slowly and laboriously, punctuated by the arrival firstly of coffee and later of a tray bearing a warm Cornish pasty and a bowl of fruit salad. Rona’s hands were soon black from the accumulated dust, and her nostrils filled with the musty smell of old paper. Bills, scrawled designs for patterns, and letters, letters, letters – none of which, in her opinion, were worth keeping, except as historical examples of the formal exchanges between family members.

  By three o’clock, her back was aching from bending over the boxes, and she had four or five separate piles of papers on the carpet. Although she’d originally hoped to sort them into date order, this proved virtually impossible, since only in official correspondence was the year given. At this stage, it was also impossible to separate those she felt could be scrapped; time enough for that when she knew exactly what she had.

  Meg Fairclough, coming in with a cup of tea and a biscuit, found her on her hands and knees.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she asked, setting them down on a clear surface.

  ‘Slowly,’ Rona replied.

  ‘Anything of interest?’

  ‘To the family, yes, but not for my purposes.’

  ‘I suppose that’s only to be expected,’ Meg said, and Rona was forced to agree.

  At four thirty she decided to stop for the day, and, leaving the sorted piles on the carpet, went down the passage to wash the dust off her hands. Feeling slightly less disreputable, she returned to the room to collect her bag, and it was as she was leaning across a half-emptied box to reach it that something in the box caught her eye – handwriting that she recognized.

  With a sudden flare of interest, Rona lifted the file that partially obscured it, to retrieve a torn scrap of memo in Spencer Curzon’s hand. Seconds later, she turned and ran up the corridor to Finlay’s office and knocked urgently on the door.

  There was a pause, then his voice called, ‘Come in,’ and she flung the door open.

  He was not alone. Standing beside him in the centre of the room was a slim, dark young woman, whose hand was on his arm. For a minute, all three of them stared at each other. Then Finn said, ‘Rona! This is Ginnie, who—’

  ‘Yes.’ Rona forced a smile, which was briefly acknowledged. Clearly she resented the intrusion.

  Finn turned to his ex-wife. ‘And this is Rona, whom I was telling you about. She’s doing a great job sorting through a century of accumulated rubbish, in the name of research.’

  His eyes dropped to the paper in her hand. ‘What have you got there?’

  Before she could reply, Ginnie said quickly, ‘You’ll want to discuss it. I’ll see you later, Finn.’

  He half raised a hand to stop her, but she walked quickly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Rona, feeling the wind had been taken out of her sails, went on standing there.

  Finlay smiled at her. ‘Well? What have you found?’

  Silently, she moved forward and handed it to him, watching his face change as he read:

  Had the de Salis woman in again, still maintaining Papa had fathered her child and trying to extort more money. Word has reached me she’s begun styling herself Curzon, but I swiftly scotched that. If she—

  ‘Good God!’ Finn said softly. ‘Where did this come from?’

  ‘One of the boxes. There can’t be any mistake, can there? I mean, there couldn’t be two families in the area with that name?’

  ‘I’d say it’s pretty conclusive.’ He smiled. ‘Well, you’ve lived up to your reputation by solving our family mystery for us. Well done. I wonder if Nigel knows; odd, that his affair with Julia should be following family tradition.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘Well, I’ll let everyone know, of course, though we won’t want it broadcast outside the family. Washing dirty linen and so on.’

  ‘But your uncle said I could use it in the article.’

  ‘That was before we knew her name. Check with him, by all means, but I suggest that if you use the story, you keep the woman anonymous. We don’t want a libel case.’

  He was waiting for her to go, she realized, as he had been after Ginnie’s phone call. Since she’d come back into his life, everything else had been put on a back burner.

  ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ he asked.


  ‘Oh yes; it’ll take several days to go through everything, even once. Then there’s the final sorting. Do you want to keep that?’ she added, nodding at the paper in his hand. ‘Or shall I put it with the rest?’

  He glanced down at it. ‘I’ll hang on to it for the moment, to show Edward. Thanks very much, Rona.’

  Damn it, she thought as she made her way to the car park; she’d slaved all day over their blasted papers, and when she finally found something of interest, it had been taken from her. But she wouldn’t give up ‘the de Salis woman’ and her story without a struggle.

  ‘Wonderful news, Tom!’ Catherine told him on the telephone. ‘Daniel’s just called to say the baby’s to be allowed home tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent! So no doubt you’ll be hot-footing it over to Cricklehurst?’

  ‘I shall indeed. She’ll need a lot of extra care for a while, but at least they’ll all be under the same roof – a proper family. And they’ve finally chosen a name – Alice Catherine.’

  ‘A little namesake for you – that’s nice.’

  ‘Isn’t it sweet of them? She’ll be known as Alice, of course. Oh, Tom, I’m so relieved everything’s going well, after all the trauma last time.’

  ‘So now you can relax and enjoy your granddaughter. Give Jenny my love. Once the novelty’s worn off, I’ll come over with you, but for the moment the four of you need to be alone.’

  ‘I knew you’d understand,’ Catherine said gratefully.

  ‘I gather from your side of the conversation that your sister has a new man,’ Max observed that evening.

  ‘Yes; a different kettle of fish, this one. Chauffeur-driven car and a private plane, if you please.’

  ‘Poor old Hugh will have his nose out of joint; there’s no way he can compete with that.’

  ‘Lindsey says he’s still hanging in there. Yesterday, he waited for her outside the office.’

  ‘I can’t think why she doesn’t put him out of his misery,’ Max said. He topped up her glass of vodka. ‘No more news on the murder, I suppose? I had Father on the phone, worrying about your involvement.’

  ‘He really needn’t.’

  ‘That’s what I told him, but he seems to think I should be keeping more of an eye on you.’

  Rona smiled. ‘He’s living in a different century, bless him.’

  ‘I told him that, too, after a fashion. All the same, you do seem to land yourself in it. You won’t take any chances, will you, love?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.

  Sixteen

  Rona spent the next day again sorting through papers, but found nothing of note. Having dug down to Spencer’s stratum, as it were, she came across several other missives from him, but all were of an impersonal nature. It seemed that, apart from the memo she’d passed to Finlay, discretion had finally stayed his hand, more was the pity.

  As before, she elected to have a working lunch in her room, only half admitting that part of the reason was to avoid Finlay. It looked very much as though his marriage was getting back on track – and good luck to them. She just didn’t want to join in the celebrations.

  Another day should finish the initial sorting, she thought, sitting back on her heels and surveying the rapidly emptying files and folders; and then, to be honest, she’d have had enough. Apart from the de Salis connection, none of it had any relevance to what she’d be writing about, nor did it shed any light on the family itself, but at least she’d satisfied herself on that score.

  Again, she stopped at four thirty, and set off for home feeling slightly flat. Halfway through the journey, she phoned Lindsey at the office. ‘Doing anything this evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Like to come to Dino’s with me?’

  ‘Why not? Only problem is there’s a board meeting in half an hour, and I’m not sure how long it’ll go on.’

  ‘Phone me when you’re ready to leave. There shouldn’t be any problem getting a table.’

  Having collected Gus from Farthings, Rona took him for a long walk in Furze Hill Park, glad of the empty spaces around her and the wind blowing through her hair after the musty confinement of the last two days.

  Lindsey didn’t phone until seven.

  ‘That was quite a session, wasn’t it?’ Rona commented.

  ‘Par for the course. They’re a long-winded bunch.’

  ‘Like to come here first, or shall we meet at Dino’s?’

  ‘Let’s go straight there. To be honest, I’m feeling a bit frazzled and don’t want to be late home.’

  ‘OK. See you in fifteen minutes.’

  To Rona’s relief, Lindsey seemed to have forgotten her teasing about the ‘attractive men’ she’d met; Dominic Frayne must have wiped them from her mind. They were both glad to relax after a tiring day and give themselves up to comfort food and Dino’s cosseting, making idle conversation and content just to be companionably together.

  The last time she’d been there was with Julia, Rona thought at one point, but clamped down on the memory, refusing to allow it to dispel her present well-being.

  ‘Don’t fall asleep on the way home,’ she warned her sister, when they parted on the pavement outside the restaurant.

  ‘That’s why I went easy on the booze. I’ll drive back with all the windows open, and have a nightcap when I get there.’

  Glad a fifteen-minute drive didn’t separate her from her own bed, Rona walked slowly home, Gus trotting at her side. It was only nine thirty, and Max wouldn’t phone before ten, when he’d tidied up after the evening class. She decided not to wait downstairs for his call, but to go straight up, and take it in bed. Like Lindsey, she needed an early night.

  Her first thought, when the persistent ringing woke her, was that she must have fallen asleep while waiting for his call, though she’d a vague memory of speaking to him. Nevertheless, when she scrabbled blindly for the phone, it was Max’s voice that reached her.

  ‘Sorry if I woke you, darling – it’s gone seven, by the way – but I’ve just heard. There’s been a fire or some sort of explosion at Curzon.’

  ‘What?’ She sat up in bed, the last strands of sleep evaporating. ‘When? Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was in the early hours, so presumably only the security staff would be there.’

  Rona was struggling to grasp the situation. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘Pretty extensive damage, from all accounts.’

  ‘Genesis!’ she gasped, making a horrified connection. Hadn’t Edward said there’d been sabotage before?

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The new line: has it been destroyed?’

  ‘I haven’t heard, but I should think it’s too early to say; they’re not able to get into the building yet.’

  Her mind raced, taking in the worst-case scenario. Suppose it was all lost – the long years of research – the triumphant announcement coinciding with anniversary celebrations – the wonder of the delicate, indestructible model she’d held?

  ‘Oh, Max!’ There were tears in her voice.

  ‘Switch on the TV and see for yourself; they’re still showing it. The fire’s out, but the whole area’s been cordoned off, and the fire investigation team are standing by to move in once it’s cooled down enough. One thing’s for sure, though; you won’t be sorting any papers there today.’

  Rona monitored the television and radio bulletins all morning, restlessly moving from one room to another; even the details of her previous exploits in the Gazette failed to distract her. Genesis wasn’t her only worry. Had the museum survived, with its earliest records of the firm? And the shop, where she’d bought the marmalade pot? What about the papers she’d laboriously been sorting? And the rooms she’d seen on her tour, where potting, slip casting, decorating and glazing were carried out? Could the firm survive, if all that was destroyed?

  Various phone calls punctuated the morning – from both parents, Barnie, Lindsey. But no one contacted her from Curzon, and she felt it would be intrusive
to try to reach them.

  Towards midday, it was announced that a night watchman had died in the blaze and another was in hospital with severe burns. There was still no word on damage to the buildings and their contents.

  Shortly afterwards, Max phoned again. ‘We’re going to Tynecastle for the weekend,’ he announced. ‘I’ve booked the flight, so put a few things in a case and I’ll collect you at four o’clock.’

  ‘It’s not your father, is it?’ Rona asked in alarm.

  ‘No, it’s you, but I’m acting on his advice: you’ve been too tied up with this blasted family, and with the fire on top of everything, you need to get right away for a couple of days. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she echoed meekly.

  And the weekend away did give her a different perspective. She listened to all the latest reports, but she wasn’t continually on edge, waiting for Finlay or Charles to phone. For the rest, Roland looked better than on their last visit a month ago, and Max had to admit to his nephew that he’d not yet started on his painting of the car.

  They went for long walks on the fells with Cynthia and Paul, and had a couple of pub lunches. On the Saturday evening, Charles Curzon was interviewed on television, and Rona ached with sympathy for him. Speaking calmly and gravely, he voiced his deep regret at the death and injury to his staff, paid tribute to both men, and offered condolences to their families.

  Only when the interviewer pressed him on ‘the secret new line we’ve all been eagerly awaiting’ did Charles state, still in the same measured tones, that it had been totally destroyed.

  Rona put her hands to her mouth while the interviewer expressed conventional regret, adding, ‘Then can you now tell us what it was?’

  Charles lifted his chin and met the man’s eyes. ‘I’m afraid not. This is a severe set-back, admittedly, but as soon as the damage is cleared up and we’re able to get back into the factory, work on it will begin again. Perhaps –’ a bleak smiled touched his mouth – ‘in time for the next anniversary.’

  Seeing the tears in his daughter-in-law’s eyes, Roland asked gently, ‘You’ve met this man?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And did he tell you about the product?’