Rogue in Porcelain (3 page)

Oliver said, ‘Did that bloke ring back, Finn? About the tour?'

Finlay started to reply, breaking off in surprise as Charles Curzon came into the room. Well into his retirement, he seldom visited the pottery.

‘Dad!' Nick exclaimed. ‘What brings you here? I didn't see your name on the lunch list.'

‘It was a snap decision,' the older man replied, pulling out a chair. ‘I wanted a word with Finn here, and it seemed easier to talk in person. Besides, apart from you and Oliver, I've not seen anyone for a while.'

He glanced down the table. ‘Edward not in today?'

‘He was earlier, but he's lunching at Pembrokes',' Finlay told him. ‘They're hoping to open up a new outlet.' He poured water into their glasses; wine didn't appear at lunchtime unless guests were present.

‘So,' he continued, ‘what can I do for you, Uncle?'

The courtesy title, traditionally used by all the Curzons, was one he felt comfortable with. Despite his progressive ideas, he couldn't imagine calling his older relatives by their first names, and it was surely only in the novels of Jane Austen that people addressed each other as ‘Cousin'.

‘I had a call this morning from Tom Parish,' Charles replied.

‘The bank manager?'

‘The
retired
bank manager, yes. His daughter writes sporadically for
Chiltern Life
, and is working at the moment on a series about family businesses. She'd like to do one on us, and I told him you were the person to speak to.'

Finlay said resignedly, ‘Someone else I'll have to fob off, when she starts probing about Genesis.'

‘I've been thinking about that,' Charles said slowly, leaning to one side for the waitress to place a bowl of soup in front of him. ‘Since she'll be aiming to publish about the time we make the announcement, I suggest we let her in on the secret a little ahead of time. Then it can be incorporated into the article.'

There was a sudden startled silence, and Charles glanced down the table. ‘I shall, of course, consult everyone before reaching any firm decision, but remember she'll be starting with old Samuel and the founding of the business. She won't get down to the present for some time, so we'd only be jumping the gun by a few weeks. Still, you don't need to worry about that now, Finn. I told Tom she should write to you, outlining what she has in mind and asking for an appointment.

‘So –' he looked round their still-apprehensive faces – ‘what's the news from the coalface?'

Taking it as a signal that the subject was, for the moment, closed, the atmosphere lightened and, as Sam began to talk of production figures, the rest of them picked up their soup spoons and began their meal.

On the way home from lunch, Rona called in to the offices of
Chiltern Life
, handing Gus's lead to the willing receptionist before she went upstairs. The dog was already wagging his tail in anticipation. ‘Only one biscuit, Polly,' Rona warned smilingly. ‘We have to watch his figure!'

Barnie Trent, the features editor, was bent over his desk when, after his terse ‘Enter!', Rona pushed open his door. However, he smiled at the sight of her and leant back in his chair.

‘There's a sight for sore eyes!' he said.

‘You're looking fraught, Barnie. Having problems?'

‘Just the usual – getting the copy in on time. Got something for me?'

‘Not this time, no; it's a social call.'

‘I'm honoured!'

‘Max and I were wondering how you, and particularly Dinah, are feeling, now the nest's empty again? It must seem very quiet, after having Mel and the family for so long.'

The Trents' daughter, who lived in the States, had been staying with her parents while her husband was on a six-month assignment in the Gulf.

‘Dinah is a bit depressed,' Barnie admitted, ‘but it's early days yet. She'll soon settle down.'

‘How about coming over for supper? Would that cheer her up?'

‘No better way.'

‘I'll give her a ring, then.' She hesitated. ‘You weren't expecting the article, were you? Surely it's not due yet?'

‘No, that's one thing I'll say for you, you're always in good time.'

‘I added another name to the list this week: Curzon, the porcelain firm.'

‘Good one, yes. They're in the news a lot at the moment – an important anniversary coming up. Have you made contact?'

‘Not yet; Pops knows one of the older directors, and he's given me the name of the person I'm to contact. I'll get the letter off this afternoon. Could we manage to slot it in around the time of the anniversary?'

‘If you get it to me soon enough, as I have no doubt you will.'

‘You're an angel, Barnie.' She reached for her shopping bag. ‘I won't hold you up any longer, but tell Dinah I'll phone when Max and I have compared diaries.'

‘We'll look forward to it,' he said, and had returned to his papers before the door closed behind her.

Sam Curzon, who had been reading his daughter a bedtime story, paused in the doorway of the sitting room to look at his wife. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a frown of concentration on her face, her dark head bent over
The Times
crossword, and he felt a lurch of love for her.

Aware of his presence, she looked up. ‘All settled?'

‘Yes; she wanted another chapter, but my voice was giving out.'

He walked across and seated himself in the armchair she was leaning against, running his hand over her sleek hair. He loved the way she wore it, in thick, well-defined layers down the back of her head, leaving her nape exposed and somehow vulnerable.

Feeling his caress, she tilted her head back and he gave her an upside-down kiss.

‘God, I'm lucky,' he said.

‘Why in particular?'

‘Having you and Victoria, my two girls. When I think of Finn and Nick going home to empty houses, it puts the fear of God into me.'

Emma patted his hand. ‘It's a high divorce rate, certainly, two out of the five of you. I wonder what went wrong.'

‘Well, we know the catalyst in Nick's case.'

‘But things couldn't have been right before that.'

‘Who knows?' Sam reached for his whisky glass. ‘He certainly hadn't seen it coming, and was pretty cut up when she went, though how much was hurt pride, I don't know. At any rate, he lost no time selling the house and moving into that luxury apartment of his, and has had a string of girlfriends ever since.' He sipped his drink. ‘Finn, though, is a different matter; seldom seen on the social circuit, and still living in the house he shared with Ginnie. Perhaps he's hoping she'll come back.'

‘Unlikely, I'd say, after three years,' Emma replied. ‘Maybe we should try some discreet matchmaking; invite him to dinner with a few attractive divorcees.'

‘Do we know any?'

‘I'll ask Sally to go through her clients.'

Sally Curzon owned a day spa in Chilswood, offering more beauty treatments than Emma had ever heard of to a clientele of glamorous women.

‘Pity I didn't think of it earlier,' she added. ‘I met her and Anna for lunch today. Anna's a bit worried about all the gossip on the new line.'

‘Surely it's a good thing, whetting everyone's appetite?'

‘Is it true the factory dustbins have been raided?'

Sam laughed. ‘Beloved, the factory dustbins are raided on a regular basis. It's a way of life.'

‘They can't find anything important, can they?'

‘Not a chance.'

‘Nevertheless, I'll be glad when all this secrecy's over.'

‘And so say all of us. On which subject, Uncle Charles put in an appearance at lunch today. It seems some journalist is wanting to write us up, and Uncle stunned us all by suggesting she should be told of Project Genesis ahead of the announcement.'

Emma swivelled to stare up into his face. ‘You're not serious!'

‘
He
seemed to be. So that it can be incorporated into her article, due out about the same time.'

‘But how can he be sure she'll keep quiet? You know what journalists are.'

‘Well, in her defence, she's not a tabloid one; she works for
Chiltern Life.
'

‘All the same,' Emma said dubiously.

‘Exactly. All the same . . . However, there's no point in worrying about it. Uncle did promise to discuss it with everyone before he makes a decision.'

‘Perhaps, after consideration, he'll decide against it. Has he spoken to your father?'

Sam shrugged. ‘He didn't say so. I'll give Pa a buzz later and see if he's heard anything.'

Emma got to her feet. ‘And in the meantime, since there's been no sound from upstairs, I'll take in the dinner.'

Two

A
vril Parish came out of the library and stood for a minute on the steps, looking about her and breathing in the sharp spring air. The trees along the pavements were already greening, and in the library forecourt a tub of daffodils was in full bloom. This morning she'd managed to track down an elusive reference book for a grateful customer. A minor achievement, no doubt, but satisfying nonetheless, and a reminder of how much she enjoyed working at the library, which – another advantage – was within walking distance of home. This afternoon she'd a game of bridge to look forward to, and this evening she must phone her daughters to arrange for them to come to supper.

Furthermore, the plumbers had actually arrived before she'd had to leave for work, and it seemed, after endless delays, that the shower room would soon be completed. The guestroom, on the other hand, should be finished today, and the curtains she'd ordered were promised by midweek. Everything was at last falling into place, and she felt an unaccustomed surge of well-being. Life, she thought in mild surprise, was, after all, good.

She went slowly down the steps, still revelling in this unfamiliar
joie de vivre.
Once everything was straight again, she could start looking for a paying guest, she told herself, as she set off along the pavement. It would be wonderful when she'd no longer be the only one in the house, when she could expect someone home in the evenings. Even during those painful last weeks with Tom, she'd at least had someone to cook for, someone in the house with her. It was some small consolation that he too now lived alone, and hadn't moved in with his lady-love. Avril doubted this had been for her benefit, but she was grateful nonetheless.

Her thoughts returned to the proposed lodger; Lindsey had advised against trying for a couple, and Avril saw the sense in her reasoning. She'd therefore reverted to her original idea of a school teacher, for whom, situated as she was not far from Belmont Primary, she was ideally placed. She could only hope some new teachers were expected at the start of the summer term, and would be looking for accommodation. In which case, she thought suddenly, she'd be well advised to start advertising now, rather than wait till the house was in order. She'd draft the wording over lunch, then phone the
Gazette
before she went out. And it would do no harm to put notices in the post office and on the library board as well.

Full of plans, Avril turned into Maple Drive, noting with relief the two vans still parked at her gate. The worst was behind her, she told herself on a wave of optimism. Though Tom's leaving had left her shattered, it had also been a wake-up call. In the last few months she'd changed radically, in both appearance – at Lindsey's instigation – and in attitude. The world was now her oyster, and she determined to make the most of it.

Finlay Curzon leant back in his chair and reread the letter from the journalist. After a brief résumé of previous work, it set out how, with his permission, she hoped to research the history of the firm. It was clear, concise, and businesslike, and the signature, in bold black ink, had been written with a flourish:
Rona Parish
.

Thinking back, Finn remembered meeting her parents at a party at his uncle's, a year or so ago. They'd seemed an agreeable couple. Well, he was all for extra publicity, and if it was decreed she be made privy to Genesis, so be it. She could probably be trusted to keep it to herself.

He pressed the buzzer for his secretary and, when she came in, handed her the letter.

‘Phone Miss Parish, would you, Meg, and make an appointment for later in the week. How's Wednesday looking?'

‘So far, the morning's clear.'

‘Fine, let's make it then. She'll be coming from Marsborough, so allow her a little time. Around ten o'clock.'

‘Right; I'll get on to it straight away.'

‘Has my brother anyone with him at the moment?'

‘I can check for you.'

‘If he's free, put me through, would you?'

A minute later the phone rang on his desk, and he lifted it to hear Edward's voice.

‘It just struck me,' Finlay said, ‘that you weren't at lunch on Friday, and we haven't been in touch since.'

‘So?' Edward asked drily. ‘Did you all go down with food poisoning?'

‘Seriously, have you spoken to anyone? About the lunch?'

‘Now you
are
making me curious. No, I haven't.'

‘The point is that Uncle Charles joined us, with the information that a journalist wants to do a write-up on us.'

‘Nothing world-shattering there, is there?'

‘He suggested she should be told about Genesis ahead of the announcement.'

There was silence, followed by a low whistle. ‘Did he indeed?'

‘How do you feel about it? It's your baby rather than mine.'

‘You say “suggested”; nothing definite, then?'

‘He promised a full consultation before reaching a decision. Has he actually got the last word on this, if, for instance, the rest of us were against it?'

‘I suppose so. He
is
Managing Director, after all. The point's never arisen before; in important matters, there's always been a consensus of opinion. Perhaps, when we've weighed the pros and cons, there will be this time.'