Rogue in Porcelain (16 page)

‘I see what you mean about being a showcase!' she said. ‘You have some beautiful pieces.' She switched off the recorder. ‘Thank you so much for your time, Mrs Curzon.'

‘It's been very interesting, looking back over the past and seeing the old photographs again. I hope I've been of some help.'

Rona's route out of Chilswood took her past the pottery, reminding her that she must go back and visit the museum. Minutes later, she was clear of the town and, since there was time in hand, she stopped to exercise Gus. There being no readily accessible fields, she clipped on his lead and walked with him along the side of the road, allowing him to stop and sniff the grasses as her mind went back over the interview just finished.

Despite being, as Hester had said, on the fringes of the company, it seemed that it was from the women of the family that she'd learn most about the various characters who had comprised it. Already, helped by their photographs and Hester's thumbnail sketches, the shadowy figures of the older generations were beginning to come to life. She'd have liked to know more about Mary and Janet, John Samuel's unmarried sisters, but doubtless never would.

The journey to Woodbourne took, as Jacqueline had estimated, just over twenty minutes, and she found the town centre car park without difficulty. She'd brought a bottle of water with her, and poured some for Gus into the bowl she kept in the car. Then, leaving the window slightly open, she settled him on his rug on the back seat, and set off for her next appointment.

Jacqueline Sturton was awaiting her in the foyer of the office building. Edward had said she was an accountant, Rona remembered. She was not as tall as her mother, and the long blonde hair in the wedding photograph had been shortened to a smart bob. Rona searched her face for resemblances to her brothers, but found none.

Woodbourne was an attractive market town with plenty of open spaces and a well laid-out shopping area. As they walked along the wide pavement, she promised herself a look round after lunch. The restaurant they turned into was French, with red and white checked tablecloths and a generally rustic air about it.

‘There's a set three-course lunch if you're hungry,' Jacqueline said. ‘Otherwise, you can choose from the à la carte. Personally, I prefer something light midday; they do a quiche Lorraine to die for.'

‘That sounds just right,' Rona told her.

‘And a glass of house plonk, since you have to drive?'

‘Perfect.'

Jacqueline placed the order in fluent French, then sat back in her chair. ‘Right,' she said. ‘How can I help you?'

‘I'm trying to build a composite picture of the various family units. Your mother kindly lent me some albums, which were interesting.'

‘Oh God!' Jacqueline clapped a dramatic hand to her forehead. ‘Not me lying naked on a rug?'

Rona laughed. ‘No; in the only one of you, you were eating an ice cream on the beach. But do you remember any of your older relatives? Anything that would help me to flesh them out?'

Like Finlay, Jacqueline remembered her grandfather, and there were stories, too, of Grandma Florence and her collection of lace caps. ‘I think they'd belonged to her mother,' Jacqueline said. ‘I used to love trying them all on, but I never saw her wear one herself.'

Unfortunately, Frederick had died the year she was born and Charlotte soon after, so she'd never known them.

‘You married a naval officer, didn't you?' Rona said, as their quiches arrived, and, at Jacqueline's look of surprise, added, ‘I saw the wedding photo at your mother's.'

‘That's right, though he's no longer in the Navy. He's a retired Surgeon Commander, and now he has his own firm making surgical instruments.'

‘You never thought about joining the family business?'

‘No, I decided very early on that I wanted to do accountancy. Numbers have always fascinated me, and still do. As far as I was concerned, the pottery was a job for the boys.'

The ethic seemed ingrained into the whole family, Rona thought.

‘What about your sons, when they grow up?'

Jacqueline smiled. ‘That will be up to them. At the moment, they're five, seven and nine, so I can't say I've given it much thought.'

The recorder being useless in these noisy surroundings, Rona jotted down odd reminders in her notebook. It wasn't until they were sitting over coffee that she asked her question about scandals, hoping for more on the Rogue in Porcelain. When there was no reply, she looked up to see Jacqueline thoughtfully stirring her coffee.

‘
Have
there been any?' she prompted.

‘A colourful past is a prerequisite for old families,' Jacqueline answered slowly, ‘and ours is no exception. But stories get embroidered and exaggerated along the way, and I never paid them much attention.'

Rona felt a prickle of excitement. ‘Until?'

‘Until my father was dying. I was sitting with him, to give Mother a break; he had a high fever, and was tossing and turning and mumbling to himself. I thought he was delirious, but suddenly he spoke very clearly. Only a few sentences, but I've been puzzling over them ever since. Then he lapsed into silence, and died later that night. I asked my mother and brothers what he could have been referring to, but Mother was too upset to talk about it, and the boys dismissed it as delirium.'

Neither Finlay nor Hester had mentioned that.

‘I heard there were rumours at the turn of the last century,' Rona prompted.

Jacqueline frowned. ‘About what?'

‘I don't know. I hoped you might.'

She shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, I can't help you. I wasn't supposed to hear what I did, and I feel honour-bound not to repeat it.'

Rona saw her point, but it was doubly frustrating to find there might, after all, have been something, only to have the subject abruptly terminated.

‘I must be getting back,' Jacqueline added, glancing at her watch. ‘Nice to have met you, Rona, and I look forward to reading the article in due course. It will be interesting, as Burns said, to “see ourselves as others see us”.'

They parted outside the restaurant, Jacqueline to retrace her steps, Rona to walk on towards an interesting-looking arcade. On the corner of it was a large store with the name
De Salis China and Crystal
painted above it, and her eye was immediately caught by the window display, entirely given over to Curzon. There were tea sets, dinner services, commemorative plates, ornamental vases and dozens of figurines, all shown to advantage on a series of satin-covered stands.

Almost without thinking, she pushed open the door and went in. Inside the shop, the display was more catholic, with several other manufacturers represented in a series of glass cabinets down the centre of the store. A wide staircase led to another floor, with a notice promising ‘Much more upstairs!'.

A man approached her with a smile. ‘Are you looking for something special, madam, or just browsing?'

‘Just looking, really. You have the best range of Curzon I've seen for a long time.'

‘We like to support local industry, and it's very popular, of course.'

‘I'm particularly interested, because I'm writing an article about them, to tie in with their anniversary.'

The man stiffened, staring at her with an expression she couldn't decipher. He moistened his lips, but before he could speak, a woman's voice cut in. ‘Of course, we deal with their sales reps. We hardly know the family at all.'

Rona turned. The woman who had joined them was smiling, though her eyes were watchful and her tightly clasped hands indicated tension.

‘This is my wife,' the man said, after a taut silence, ‘and I'm Nigel de Salis. We own the store.'

‘Rona Parish.' Feeling the atmosphere to be unaccountably tense, she went on to chat about the displays, while at the same time sizing up the couple in front of her. De Salis looked to be in his late forties; of medium height, he had thick, light brown hair, a broad nose and deep-set hazel eyes. His wife, probably a year or two younger, was thin rather than slim, the sinews clearly visible in her neck, and her hair, a sandy brown, was loose on her shoulders, in a style rather too young for her.

‘Well, I mustn't monopolize you,' Rona said lightly. ‘And I should be getting back to my dog; I left him in the car while I had lunch.'

‘Nice to have met you, Miss Parish,' Mrs de Salis said, with another insincere smile, and her husband nodded.

It was a relief to be back on the pavement. What an odd couple, Rona thought. The man's attitude had changed noticeably when she'd mentioned writing about the Curzons. And why had his wife been so anxious to stress they barely knew them?

With a philosophical shrug, Rona dismissed them from her mind and returned to the car.

Nine

O
n her return from Woodbourne, Rona phoned Julia's mobile.

‘I wanted to thank you again for last night,' she said. ‘I really enjoyed it.'

‘So did I,' Julia replied. ‘It was great not to have to cook my own supper, for once!'

‘That's the other reason I'm ringing; how about coming here for dinner before you go? I'm no cook myself, but my husband is, and I'd like you to meet him. He'll be away part of the weekend, but is Wednesday next week any good? You'll still be here, won't you?'

‘That's sweet of you, Rona, but no, unfortunately I shan't. Ten days was the maximum I allowed myself, and that's up this weekend. I've told your mother I'll be leaving on Saturday.'

‘That's too bad. Then we'll have to arrange it for your next visit. Any idea when that will be?'

‘Not at the moment, but obviously I'll let you know. We'll keep in touch anyway, won't we?'

‘Of course we will. In the meantime, good luck with your research.'

‘And you with yours!'

‘A penny for them?'

Lindsey looked up to find Hugh watching her. ‘They're not worth it,' she said.

‘They are to me.'

She sighed, looking about her at the softly lit restaurant. ‘Sorry, not for sale.'

He reached over and put his hand on hers. ‘Lindsey, when are we going to get back together?'

‘Who said we were?'

‘You know you're coming round to the idea.' He studied her face. ‘You've been very subdued this evening; is the other fellow playing you up?'

She snatched her hand away, meeting his eyes defiantly. ‘What other fellow?'

‘Oh, come on! Your business colleague, Jonathan Whatever-his-name-is.'

‘Hugh, I've told you—'

‘And I know you too well to believe you. He's married, sweetheart, and he's going to stay that way. Give him up and come back to me. We can make it work this time.'

She looked at him, at his pale face and light blue eyes, his red hair. And though as always her pulses raced in his presence, another image superimposed itself: a strong, autocratic face, with a network of fine lines round the eyes and a firm, unsmiling mouth. She gave a little shudder.

‘Is it because I didn't come to your room at Lucy's?' Hugh persisted. ‘God knows, I wanted to. I got as far as the landing a couple of times. But I'd promised myself I wouldn't rush you, and I didn't want you to think I'd an ulterior motive in asking you down there.' He paused, searching her downcast face. ‘Would you have let me in, if I had?'

She didn't reply, and he prompted gently, ‘Lindsey? Would you?'

‘Probably,' she said in a low voice.

‘Oh God!' he breathed. ‘I can't win, can I? Don't you see what you're doing to me?'

She looked up then, unwilling to take all the blame. ‘We're doing it to each other, Hugh. We both know if we did get together, things would start to go wrong within a few months. We're – temperamentally opposed – we grate on each other. All right, so we want each other like crazy, which is fine for the odd date, but not enough for any lasting commitment.'

There was a long silence. She'd said too much, she thought in panic, and again the spectre of Dominic Frayne rose in front of her, and with some sixth sense she knew with certainty that he'd be contacting her within a few days. She couldn't become involved with Hugh again, not when she was on the brink of a new relationship; it wouldn't be fair on either of them. And by ‘either', she meant herself and Hugh. It didn't occur to her to consider Dominic Frayne.

Finally, Hugh spoke, but he was too late. ‘If those are the only terms on offer, I'll take them,' he said.

Blindly, she shook her head. ‘Hugh, I'm sorry. I can't. Please will you take me home now?'

Rona phoned Lindsey the next morning.

‘How did the date with Hugh go?'

‘It was pretty sticky, actually. I – more or less gave him the brush-off.'

‘Not, I trust, to leave the way clear for Jonathan?'

‘Not for Jonathan, no.'

‘So you're still hankering after that man at the party?'

‘He'll be contacting me soon. Don't ask me how I know, I just do.'

Rona bit back an ironic retort. ‘Free for lunch, to talk it over?'

‘Sorry, no, and I'm working from home tomorrow. How about Friday?'

‘I suppose I can contain myself till then,' Rona said drily.

She spent the rest of the day transcribing first the recording of her interview with Hester, then the notes she'd made over lunch with Jacqueline. Added to the anecdotes already gleaned from James and Elizabeth, the Curzon dynasty and its component parts were coming together nicely.

As she worked, her mind kept returning to John Samuel. What had weighed on his mind to such an extent that it had cut through the fog of delirium when he was close to death? Something he urgently needed to impart to the family, but had left too late? Or something he'd never have told them in his right mind? Or was the seeming lucidity merely a facet of his delirium, creating traumas where none existed? That, at any rate, was what his sons believed.