Rogue in Porcelain (14 page)

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.'

‘That should be interesting. Gavin was at school with some of them, weren't you, darling?'

Gavin nodded. ‘Most of them, actually, but I hardly knew the younger ones. Edward and Oliver were in my form.'

‘Did you like them?' Rona asked with interest.

‘Yes, I liked them, though they weren't particular friends of mine. Edward was very good at games, and in all the school teams. Have you met him?'

‘Only over lunch in the directors' dining room. I'm hoping to interview him more fully later. I'd like to see them all, individually if possible, to try to harvest any stories they might have of the old days.'

‘From what I remember, the “old days”, as you call them, are described pretty comprehensively in the display boards at the museum.'

‘I've not been there yet,' Rona admitted. ‘I'm aware a lot of information's already available, but it's nearly all technical, and I'm interested in the human element.'

‘They've got some anniversary coming up, haven't they?' Magda asked.

‘Their hundred and fiftieth, yes. We're hoping to time the articles to coincide with it.'

‘Articles in the plural? It'll run to more than one?'

‘I'm hoping so. It depends how much I can glean.'

‘She'll glean plenty, believe me,' Max put in humorously. ‘She's like a terrier at a rabbit hole when she gets going. I'm just thankful she's never likely to interview me!'

Rona half expected to find a message from Lindsey when they returned home, but the answerphone was ominously silent. Once Max had retired to the sitting room with the Sunday papers, she seated herself at the kitchen table and phoned her.

‘Well?' she said instantly, when Lindsey picked up. ‘How did it go?'

‘Don't ask.'

‘Oh, Linz! Wasn't he there?'

‘He was there all right, but so was his very glamorous companion.'

‘Uh-oh. Is he married, then?'

‘They have different surnames, but so have you and Max.'

‘They're a couple, though?'

‘Presumably.'

There was a pause, then Rona said lightly, ‘Well, to be frank, that hasn't stopped you before. Nor, for that matter, have wives.'

‘I suppose I deserve that.' Lindsey paused. ‘You'll never guess who introduced us: Jonathan.'

Rona drew in her breath. ‘Hardly a promising start. Was
his
wife there?'

‘Yes. Raving about my dress.'

‘How did Jonathan act?'

‘Flashing me eye signals as usual. I tell you, it was not a comfortable situation.'

‘Oh, Linz, I'm so sorry. Never mind, there are more fish in the sea.'

‘Yes.'

‘You don't sound convinced.'

‘The trouble is, Ro,' Lindsey said heavily, ‘I still fancy him rotten.'

And Rona, with a sinking heart, could think of nothing to say in reply.

Eight

O
n Monday morning, Lindsey's phone rang, and she lifted it to hear Jonathan's crisp tones.

‘Lindsey, I'd be grateful if you could slot me in for a working lunch today; there are a few things we need to discuss.'

Somebody was with him, she thought. She replied equally impersonally. ‘I think I can manage that. Twelve thirty at the Bacchus suit you? I've some shopping to do, so you go on, and I'll see you there.'

He'd want to discuss Saturday evening, she thought. It would be interesting to hear what interpretation he put on it.

Accordingly, she left the office at twelve fifteen and dropped a suit into the dry-cleaner's as she made her way up Guild Street. She saw Jonathan as soon as she entered the wine bar; he was in one of the booths against the wall, and half rose as she joined him, patting the cushioned bench beside him. Lindsey, pretending not to notice, seated herself opposite.

‘A business lunch, is it?' she enquired, with raised eyebrow.

‘You could call it that, but first things first. Let's get the ordering out of the way, then we can settle down to talk. What do you fancy?'

Lindsey ran her eyes down the menu. ‘Cheese omelette and a side salad, please. And a glass of white wine.'

‘Only a glass?'

‘I need a clear head; I'm seeing a client who requires careful handling.'

The waiter approached, removed a pen from behind his ear, and wrote down their order with a total lack of interest. Lindsey's modest request was supplemented by Jonathan ordering a bottle of Sauvignon, with the request that it be brought at once.

‘So,' he began, as the man moved away, ‘what did you think of our Businessman of the Year?'

Deliberately, Lindsey feigned ignorance. ‘And who might that be?'

‘Dominic Frayne, of course. He's making quite a name for himself.'

‘You surprise me. He didn't have much to say on Saturday.'

‘Struck dumb by your beauty, perhaps,' Jonathan suggested facetiously.

‘How do you know him?'

‘He's just joined the golf club – don't ask me how, when there's a year-long waiting list – and everyone who is anyone is falling over themselves to meet him.'

‘Why did you bring him over?'

‘As a means of getting to you, of course. I couldn't just make a beeline for you, could I? You looked totally gorgeous, by the way. I think even Frayne was impressed.'

Lindsey toyed with the roll on her plate. ‘Who was the woman with him?'

‘Carla? She's his personal assistant, and acts as his hostess when he entertains.' He grinned. ‘No saying what else she “personally assists” him with, though if their relationship
does
go beyond the professional, it must be pretty relaxed. His name's been linked with several women since his last divorce.'

‘His
last
?' Lindsey echoed. ‘How many has he had, for goodness' sake?'

‘Two that I know of. He's a serial womanizer, so bear that in mind if he tries to latch on to you.'

‘Oh, I will.'

‘Anyway, enough of Frayne; when am I going to see you? Tomorrow evening? I think I could swing it.'

‘I'm not free tomorrow.'

He looked at her for a minute, then leaned across the table towards her. ‘Lindsey, the fact that Carol nearly walked in on us doesn't change a thing. Can't you get that through your head? She doesn't suspect anything, honestly.'

This was the moment to end it, to prove to her sister that her conscience wasn't dormant.

But before she could speak, the waiter returned with an ice bucket and the bottle of wine, and the moment was lost. She would tell him, she promised herself. But not today.

Rona had set aside that Monday for research, which necessitated a fairly long drive to the county town of Buckford. Having made an appointment to see the Curzon archives, she spent the rest of the morning examining them, but as Finlay had warned her, the vast majority of their contents concerned the development of materials, and though it was interesting to see how now-famous designs and patterns had evolved, the process was in the main too technical to describe in her article. Even Samuel's journals, which she'd been counting on for a more personal aspect, contained virtually nothing of his private life.

After a dispirited lunch, she switched to newspaper archives, in the hope of unearthing the ‘rumours' that Barnie had mentioned; but despite searching a fairly wide time span, from 1890 to 1910, she again drew a blank. As Barnie had said, people's privacy had been respected in those days – praiseworthy at the time, but frustrating for future historians.

All in all, it had been a wasted journey, but one that had had to be made. On the way home, she drew into a lay-by to stretch her legs and allow Gus a romp in a field, and it was as she was throwing a stick for him that her mobile rang, and she answered it to hear Julia's voice.

‘Hi!' she said. ‘How are things?'

‘Boring,' Rona replied.

‘Oh dear! Why, what are you doing?'

‘I'm on my way back from Buckford, having been bogged down in archives all day.'

‘You sound a bit down; could you do with cheering up?'

‘Very definitely.'

‘Then how about letting me take you out to dinner?'

‘I'd love to have dinner with you, Julia, but I'll pay my own way.'

‘That's not an option. The whole point is to thank you for arranging for me to stay with your mother. She's a darling, isn't she?'

It was the first time Rona had heard her mother described in such terms. ‘I'm glad you're getting on so well,' she replied diplomatically. ‘But really, there's no need to—'

‘Not negotiable. And your husband's welcome to join us, if he'd like to.'

‘That's sweet of you, but he has a class this evening.'

‘Just the two of us, then. Where do you suggest we go?'

Gus was panting at her feet, waiting for her next throw, and Rona bent to pick up the stick. ‘I'd say the best place is an Italian, just round the corner from where I live. Suppose you come to me first, and we can have a drink before we go?'

‘Brilliant. Since you know the place, would you mind booking us a table? For what – about eight?'

‘Fine; yes, I'll do that. The road I live in is parallel to Guild Street. Turn off into Fullers Walk, just beyond where we had tea, and Lightbourne Avenue's the first turning on the right. I'm number nineteen, on the left about halfway along. If we're having a drink first, come about seven fifteen.'

‘See you then,' Julia said, and the phone clicked in Rona's ear. Gus whined a reminder and, realizing she was still holding the stick, Rona threw it for him. It would be good to go out this evening – just what she needed after a frustrating day.

Feeling decidedly more cheerful, she made her way back to the car.

After booking the table, Rona phoned Max.

‘Just to say I'm going out to dinner with Julia, so could you ring a little later this evening?'

‘That the girl who's lodging with your mother?'

‘Yes; you were invited as well, but I made your apologies.'

‘Nice of her. Actually, I've some news, too; I've just heard from Jack Striker.'

‘Your art school pal?'

‘Yes; he's working in Spain at the moment, but he'll be in London for a couple of days, and wonders if I could join him for a meal on Friday.'

‘Then go; it must be ages since you saw him.'

‘It is; but it would involve staying the night. If Jack's anything like I remember, there'll be plenty of booze flowing.'

‘That's not a problem, is it?'

‘It'll cut into the weekend, that's all.'

‘We've nothing special planned, and you'll be back – when? – mid-morning on Saturday?'

‘About then.'

‘Then enjoy yourself. Just don't get any ideas about moving to Spain!'

Max laughed. ‘No chance of that. Thanks, love; and I'll delay phoning this evening till about eleven. OK?'

‘Yes, I'm sure to be back by then. We're both working girls, after all.'

‘Have fun,' Max said, and rang off.

Julia was delighted with the house.

‘I've never lived in an old one,' she said. ‘There's no doubt about it, they've much more character. Could I possibly have a look round?'

‘Of course. I'll give you a guided tour.'

Everything met with her approval, from the spaciousness of the sitting room to the kitchen corner in the study. ‘I can just imagine you, beavering away up here, fuelled by countless cups of coffee!'

She moved to the desk, and her eyes fell on the Curzon albums. ‘What are these?' she asked curiously, opening the one on top.

‘They're to help my latest project,' Rona explained. ‘At the moment I'm researching the Curzon family.'

‘Oh yes, Avril told me, when she put out the marmalade pot.' (‘Avril'! Rona registered, with a small sense of shock.) ‘They've got an anniversary coming up, or something. Have you found out anything interesting about them?'