Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (25 page)

‘Lovely house,’ she found herself saying.

‘Yes, it is. I won’t be here much longer.’

A man wandered into the kitchen. He was much older than the woman, and wore tortoiseshell spectacles and a cashmere sweater.

‘Callie – is everything OK?’

‘Yes, Daddy – these people know Charles. They have something to show me.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll go back to the sitting room. Call me if you need me.’

‘Do sit down,’ she said, and gestured towards the large glass dining table. ‘Coffee?’

Jeremy was on the verge of saying ‘yes’, but Miranda intervened. ‘No, no thanks – it’s all right. We don’t want to take up much of your time.’ She had a sudden sense of sympathy for this wan girl, her dark hair scraped messily back from her face.

‘So what do you want to show me?’

Jeremy took Miranda’s phone out of her hand and found the picture of the vase. ‘This,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ she replied.

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Why should I?’

‘It’s a Chinese vase – precise date unknown. Charles took it from Miranda here, just before Christmas. We wondered if the vase, and perhaps he, were here? Miranda rather wants it back, you see.’

‘I see,’ said the girl, gazing distractedly at the picture of the vase. ‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t really help you. The vase is certainly not here. You can search the house if you want to. And as for Charles, I’m afraid I’ve not seen him since about a week before Christmas myself. He was due back here on the 24th of December, but he never showed up.’

‘I thought he was going to Devon for Christmas,’ interjected Miranda.

‘Devon!’ said the girl. ‘Why Devon?’

‘Where his parents live,’ said Miranda

‘His parents! His parents are dead. And as far as I know, Charlie has never even been to Devon. Look, I don’t who you are, or what you’re doing here, but I think I should tell you something. Charles and I are engaged to be married, or at least we were. I don’t actually know where he is. As I said, he was due back on Christmas Eve. I arrived here from London, and there was no sign of him. I’ve not seen or heard from him since. I’ve told the police but they say there’s nothing they can do. I was scared something had happened to him, you see? But he appears to have just disappeared. His phone is dead and I simply can’t get hold of him. Frankly, it’s a mystery and if I’m honest, a total nightmare.’ Her large blue eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Miranda. ‘You poor thing.’ She instinctively got up and went round the table and put her arms round the girl.

‘The thing is,’ said the girl between sobs, ‘I don’t know whether to hate him or be worried about him. It’s all just such a complete mess.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Miranda as the three stood in the hallway preparing to leave. ‘Has Charles taken his passport?’

‘His passport? I suspect so, why?’

‘I just wondered if maybe he’d gone abroad?’

‘It’s a distinct possibility. He certainly took a bag of clothes with him.’

‘Do you have any way of checking?’ pushed Miranda.

‘Why do you care so much?’ asked Callie tetchily.

‘Because he has something of mine that I’d really like to get back.’

‘Do you mean he stole this vase of yours?’

‘In a way – he convinced me to get rid of it when I wasn’t really interested in selling.’

‘He is certainly very persuasive,’ said Callie. ‘Look, let me check his desk, that’s where he kept passports and things.’

The three followed her into the study and she opened the desk drawer.

‘That’s odd,’ she said. ‘The box where he kept his passport is open. He always locked it – he said to stop burglars – although I did wonder what he kept in there. There’s no passport and no cash either…’

‘So… Do you think he’s planning a foreign trip?’ said Jeremy.

‘Yup! It certainly looks that way,’ said the girl, slamming the desk drawer shut.

‘If there’s nothing else?’ said Callie.

‘No, and thank you,’ said Miranda hurriedly. ‘You’ve been very kind. I’m so sorry to have turned up at such an awkward time.’

‘That’s OK. And I hope you find your vase.’

She led them once again to the front door.

Miranda handed her a slip of paper. ‘This is my name and phone number; should he turn up, could you call me?’

‘It will be the first thing I do, I assure you,’ Callie said sarcastically.

As they retreated down the stone steps of the house, she called out, ‘And if you see the bastard before I do, tell him Callie sends her love.’

M
iranda pulled
her Volvo into the car park behind Cirencester High Street. She bought a ticket and stuck it to the windscreen.

‘Come on, you two, we’ve only got five minutes to spare before our appointment.’

Jeremy, Miranda and Georgie filed out of the Sheep Street car park and on to Castle Street. They turned left just before the magnificent parish church into Gosditch Street. The solicitor’s offices were a short way down on the right-hand side.

Martin & Co was above a shop selling designer housewares. The entrance to the office was via a narrow doorway next to the shop. Miranda pushed the wooden door and it opened, revealing a narrow steep staircase carpeted with a cheap scuffed nylon runner. At the top was a small landing and a glass doorway etched with the solicitors’ nameplate: Martin & Co. Miranda knocked on the door. A young woman with long brown hair braided in a plait down her back and wearing a green, knee-length woollen dress let them in.

‘We’re here to meet with Mr Martin,’ said Miranda.

‘Would you like to wait over there, please,’ said the receptionist, pointing at three shabby faux leather chairs lined against the walls. Clearly Martin & Co didn’t like to waste money on unnecessary luxuries, thought Miranda.

Mr Martin arrived a few minutes later, bursting through the door. There was a sense of urgency and irritation about him, she noted: he clearly didn’t believe in wasting time either.

‘Ah, Mrs Sharp, you’re here. Good. Oh, you’re not alone. Is this your cousin?’ he said, leading the way to his office and gesturing towards Jeremy. He carried a plastic shopping bag filled with bits of paper that he almost threw onto his cluttered desk.

‘My cousin?’ said Miranda. ‘No, I don’t have a cousin. This is my friend, Jeremy…’

‘Oh? How odd. I took a call from your cousin – Manning, I think he said his name was – yes, Simon Manning, that was it. Do sit down… What do you mean, you have no cousin?’ He fell silent and stared at the three visitors. It was as if he had run out of steam; the engine that had been motoring at full tilt since he blasted into the office had suddenly stalled. He looked accusingly at Miranda.

‘I have no cousin, Mr Martin. And I don’t know anyone called Simon Manning. What did this man want? Did he know me?’

‘Yes, how peculiar. Carole!’ he shouted through to his receptionist. ‘Carole, bring us some tea, could you? I presume you’d like tea?’ The three nodded pointlessly at this rhetorical question as he took up the narrative once again. ‘Yes – most peculiar. He was interested in the estate of your great aunt. He appeared to know all about it, and so I presumed that he was… How peculiar. Oh, how embarrassing. I don’t think I said anything indiscreet.’

‘He knew about Celia?’ said Miranda, astonished. ‘But no one, only Jeremy here, and my parents knew about Celia, apart from…’ She stopped.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Martin, peering over his half-moon spectacles. ‘Apart from?’

‘Charlie,’ said Miranda to Jeremy and Georgie.

‘No, he was definitely not called Charlie. I’d have remembered that, as I myself am called Charles. No, not Charlie.’

‘Did he say where he was phoning from?’ asked Miranda.

‘From… No. I didn’t speak to him long. He asked about the estate, he mentioned you by name and said he was your cousin, hence the confusion – ah, tea! Yes. Good. Carole, put it down here on the desk. Excellent… And biscuits. Do take one please, Mrs Sharp, and…’ He looked blankly at Jeremy.

‘Jeremy,’ said Jeremy. ‘Thanks I’d love one.’ He handed the plate on to Georgie, who took two.

‘No he didn’t say where he was phoning from.’ Mr Martin took a slurp of tea. ‘And I did think it was a bit odd, because at the time of your great aunt’s demise the list of recipients for her will was limited to the three charities and your good self. There was no mention in the will of another young person. Anyway, I’m afraid I told him that I couldn’t tell him anything about the vase, as I was far too busy, and that if I had anything to say, I would say it to you this afternoon.’

He crunched down heavily on a chocolate digestive and chewed for a moment before taking another huge slurp of tea.

‘He asked about the vase?’ said Miranda.

‘Yes, and as you had already rung about it, I naturally assumed that you must have discussed it with him in some way… But as I say, I was in a bit of a hurry and didn’t really say much.’

‘I see,’ said Miranda. ‘So you told him nothing about it.’

‘No. Well, to be honest, I’m not sure what I can tell
you
about it. I was simply your great aunt’s executor. I didn’t even know her. It was a strange business. As I said, apart from your good self, and I presume one of your parents. . .’ He looked questioningly at Miranda before continuing. ‘She appeared to have no living relatives.’

‘My mother, yes. She was my mother’s aunt.’

‘Quite so. But you were the only beneficiary named in person. No one else. The bulk of the estate was left, as you know, to three organisations. I had to sell the house and dispose of the furniture, which seemed a bit of a shame, as some of it was quite good, you know? I was surprised that she hadn’t bothered to name individuals who might have liked some of those items. I arranged for it to be sold here in Cirencester through the auction house down the road. In fact, I bought one or two pieces myself – a rather pretty writing desk and a very attractive side table.’

‘Yes. . . but what I am interested in, Mr Martin, is did she leave any instructions or information about the items that she left to me?’

‘Yes – quite. That is why I was out when you arrived and was a few moments late.’ He gestured towards the plastic shopping bag.

‘I have a storage area nearby,’ he continued. ‘Clients’ papers take up so much room, and one simply doesn’t have space for it all here. Anyway, I had a box of bits and pieces from your aunt’s estate that I didn’t know what to do with. So they’ve been stored there. To be honest, I was considering getting rid of it all the other day, but then I got your phone call. I’ve not really had a look through it, but there might be something helpful in there.’ He tipped the papers out onto his desk and gestured to them to take a look. There were old bank statements and out of date share certificates.

‘I presume that all these accounts have been closed now?’ asked Miranda.

‘Oh yes. All closed and dealt with. Really it’s probably all rubbish, but one feels responsible, you know.’

He handed a sheaf of the papers to both Jeremy and Georgie and the three began to work through them.

‘Do you mind us doing this in here?’ asked Miranda.

‘Well, no, if you don’t mind if I get on,’ replied Mr Martin. He wandered out to his receptionist’s office and started to dictate a letter.

It was Georgie who found it. In a self-sealing envelope that had resealed itself, and which was addressed to Mr Martin in beautiful hand-writing, was a list of instructions on the items that should be sent to Miranda.

‘Mum, here’s a note from Celia. Look.’

Miranda opened it and read the note penned in Celia’s neat, rounded, feminine hand-writing.

D
ear Mr Martin
,

Further to my letter of the 12th inst. regarding the handling of my estate, I am writing to you with explicit instructions concerning my great-niece Miranda Sharp and the small bequest I wish to make to her.

I have ensured that the items I wish her to have are labelled with little pink stickers in order to avoid confusion. It is extremely important that the items are all sent to her recorded and carefully wrapped. Some of them are quite valuable, or of great sentimental value.

They are as follows:

A set of French flan dishes that I acquired early on in my marriage to Hubert. We were living in Amsterdam at the time and he bought them for me from a little shop round the corner from our house on the Herengracht. They are a little worn, but I think Miranda will appreciate them.

A Victorian carriage clock. I remember her admiring it one day when she came to visit me. I would like her to know that I did so appreciate her visits. I was rather lonely after my beloved Hubert died. I had one or two friends of course, but having never had a child, Miranda took on a great significance for me.

A leather-bound set of Dickens novels – I know she loves to read. And one can never be lonely with a good book.

A complete set of Walter Scott – not everyone’s cup of tea, but I think she will like them.

An early edition of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. Again, my husband bought it for me. He was always in and out of antique shops and second-hand bookshops. He said this was a good edition.

A quilt that my mother made for me. She was a wonderful quilter and the bedspread has been well looked after. Perhaps that is where Miranda got her talent for handicraft from. I’m sure that Miranda will appreciate it.

Finally, I am leaving her the Chinese dragon vase. It has been in my husband’s family for many years. He always said it went back into the mists of time. The dragon has a rather angry appearance, but he is nevertheless quite beneficent I believe. He has gazed down at me from the mantelshelf in my bedroom for many years now. Hubert always said that it was a family tradition that the vase must be handed down from one generation to the next. I have decided that Miranda should have it. We have no children, and many of Hubert’s family were killed in the war. I have no idea where any of his relatives might be now. Scattered across the globe, I imagine. And so I hand it to her… May it bring her luck.

M
iranda sat in stunned silence
, watched by Jeremy and Georgie.

‘Well?’ said Jeremy eventually, unable to bear the suspense a moment longer.

She handed him the letter.

‘I don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or be angry.’

‘Why Mum? What’s the matter? Is it bad news?’

‘No darling… It’s good news really; but I feel a bit sad that Celia obviously thought of me as a sort of surrogate daughter. I should have seen more of her.’

‘But why angry?’ asked Georgie.

‘Because Mr Martin,’ said Miranda, lowering her voice to a whisper, ‘should have handed this letter on to me ages ago. I need to have a word with him.’

She stood up just as Mr Martin came bustling in.

‘Ah… Good. Was it useful?’

‘Yes,’ said Miranda curtly. ‘To be honest, Mr Martin, it is pretty crucial. It does explain that the vase my great aunt left me was rather valuable. It would have been very useful to have had this from the start.’

‘Oh!’ Mr Martin sat down at his cluttered desk and held out his hand. ‘May I take a look at it?’

He scanned the letter.

‘Yes…’ he said after a few moments. ‘Something of an oversight on my part. Not quite sure what I can say.’

‘Well, at least we’ve found it now and it does make it clear that I am the rightful owner. So that’s some sort of good news.’

‘I don’t suppose there were any photographs of the items Celia left, were there?’ Jeremy asked.

‘Photos? No I shouldn’t think so. Sorry… I certainly didn’t take any. I left all that sort of thing to my receptionist, Carole. She packed everything up and sent it on. I can ask her, though. Carole, could you come in here, please?’

Carole thought for a few seconds before replying to their queries about photographs. ‘Yes, I think I took some pictures on my phone – you know? Just in case anything went missing.’

‘And where are the photos now?’ asked Miranda, her faith in Martin & Co now at an all-time low.

‘They’re probably on my computer. I’ll have a look.’

Carole scrolled through the various files, eventually finding a folder labelled “Mrs Celia Kaerel”. ‘Here you go – pictures of all the items I sent you and also of her furniture that we sold.’

‘May I have a look?’ asked Miranda. Scrolling through the postage stamp-sized images of dining chairs, kitchen dressers, desks, kidney-shaped dressing tables and dinner services, she at last found a picture of the dragon vase, shot from two angles – one upright on a side table, the dragon’s face in the centre of the frame, and another photograph clearly showing the markings on the base of the vase.

‘Oh, well done! You took a picture of the base as well,’ said Miranda incredulously.

‘Yes, well it had some writing on it, so I thought I ought to.’

‘Carole,’ said Jeremy, ‘I could kiss you.’

‘Well, please don’t!’ said Mr Martin crossly. ‘Well done, Carole – very thorough, as always. So, is that everything?’

‘Yes, yes it is Mr Martin,’ said Miranda. ‘I think we have everything that we need.’