Rogue in Porcelain (10 page)

‘You never had any doubts yourself?'

He shook his head emphatically. ‘It was all I ever wanted to do, go to the factory with Dad. Edward and I used to pester him to take us in the school holidays, and we'd spend hours watching the different processes in action, particularly the painting and decorating. I still find it fascinating.

‘But as I mentioned last time,' he continued, ‘we might well have to revise our men-only attitude, since Edward's the only one of our generation to produce a son. Oliver and Sally have three daughters, Sam and Emma one, and Nick and I have completely let the side down, with no children at all.'

‘Has your sister any sons?'

‘Three, yes. No justice, is there? We might end up press-ganging them!'

That there was time for both Finlay and Nick to produce sons of their own, was, Rona felt, not a point she could mention. The past was safer ground.

‘So have there been any scandals in the last hundred-plus years? They always liven up a series!'

Finn laughed. ‘Again, you'll need to ask the older generation, but to the best of my knowledge, we've all behaved admirably, apart from old George, who was considered a bit of a rake in his time.' He gave her a crooked smile, and she thought again how attractive he was. ‘If there
are
any skeletons,' he added, ‘I have a feeling you'll unearth them. It might be safer to confine you to writing about the firm, rather than the family. Only joking!' he assured her, seeing her startled glance.

‘Your website's full of the firm's history,' Rona pointed out, ‘but with all due respect, people are more interesting than plates! I think that's why the series has attracted so much interest; the firms and businesses I write about are household names, but no one knows anything about the people behind them, who founded them and built them up. It's the human element that's so intriguing; who married whom, how many children they had, and so on. And if there's a scandal buried somewhere in the past, so much the better. As long, that is, as it's far enough in the past not to hurt anyone still alive.'

Which, she thought soberly, hadn't always been the case.

Finlay got to his feet. ‘Well, I promised to help you, and I shall, so let's hope you don't unearth too many skeletons. Now, I really must be getting back. Thanks for the tea.

‘When are you going to pay us another visit?' he asked as Rona opened the front door for him.

‘I'm not sure. I'll be spending the next day or two going through the albums and no doubt making out a list of questions. Then I hope to start on the family interviews, if that's all right, beginning with the older members.'

He took out his wallet and handed her his business card. ‘My mobile number and email address. Let me know who you want to see, and I can advise you the best way to contact them.' He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Rona. And good luck with the research.'

‘Thank you. And, again, for the albums. I'll be in touch.'

She waited while he walked down the path, got into his car, and, with a raised hand, drove off down the road. Then she closed the door, feeling oddly flat. Were she not a happily married woman, she reflected, she could be in danger of falling for Finlay Curzon. And that was quite a thought. Unlike Lindsey, who, since her teens, had fallen in and out of love with monotonous regularity, there had only ever been two men who mattered in her life: Max, and Gavin Ridgeway, now married to her closest friend.

Which reflection didn't help with the present circumstances. There was no denying the spurt of excitement Finlay's presence evoked, and furthermore she suspected it was mutual. It was a situation that called for careful handling, and was one reason why she was in no hurry to return to Chilswood.

‘You went all the way to Marsborough?' Edward said, with lifted eyebrow.

‘It's not exactly the ends of the earth, and I thought the old family albums would interest her. Anyway, I wanted a word with Philip Yarborough at Netherby's. They've put in a large order for the Chiltern range.'

The fact that customers were usually contacted by telephone or email was glossed over by both of them.

Edward said neutrally, ‘His wife's ill, isn't she? I heard she was with her parents in Norwich.'

‘That's right; it's a mental illness, but she's doing well and he's hoping she'll be home in the summer.'

There was a pause. Then Edward said bluntly, ‘You like her, don't you? Rona Parish?'

‘That obvious?'

‘To me, it is. She's an attractive girl, no denying it, and with plenty of character, to boot. But we've been dangling attractive girls in front of you ever since Ginnie left, and not getting any response. What's different about this one?'

Finn shrugged. ‘We seem to be on the same wavelength, that's all. Don't worry, I shan't let it get out of hand. She's married, after all.'

‘Ah yes, the absentee husband. Making her – what was the phrase Nick coined? – a class widow.'

‘Absentee or not, his influence in the house is very noticeable. It's an amazing place they've got there; pure Georgian from the outside, and though they've altered the interior, it's still totally in keeping. There's definitely an artist's hand in it.'

Edward leaned back in his chair. ‘So what's the next move?'

‘She wants to interview Ma and the aunts and uncles. Then, no doubt, the rest of us. It's a family history she's after, rather than the firm's.'

‘Well, you're the marketing man, but it can't do any harm, can it?'

‘Of course not. On the contrary, it should do us a power of good. You know what they say about publicity.'

‘That there's no bad?' Edward grimaced. ‘Our forebears mightn't agree with you, but that's a closed book. As far as the articles go, I'd say we've everything to gain.'

‘Which is why I'm giving her a helping hand,' Finn said, holding his brother's sceptical gaze.

‘Fine. Let me know if there's anything I can do.'

Finlay nodded. ‘Thanks for Friday evening, by the way. It was great.'

‘Yes, everyone seemed to enjoy it, despite the spectre at the feast.'

‘Nigel de Salis? I shouldn't lose any sleep over him. Relations between us are on a strictly business level and he
is
a good customer. Everything else is water under the bridge.'

‘Let's hope there's never a flood tide,' Edward commented.

Six

R
ona spent the next two days going through the Curzon family albums. In some instances she was able to attach names to anonymous figures by dint of their appearing on another page, duly annotated. The album she'd first glanced at, opening with the wedding group, wasn't the earliest chronologically, and to her delight she came across a faded print of Samuel Curzon himself. Though obviously taken in a studio, the outlines of the factory had been artistically sketched in the background. It was dated 1860. The unknown compilers of the albums, though sometimes negligent in the naming of their subjects, were meticulous in their dating.

She worked with the family tree open beside her, ticking names on it as she discovered corresponding likenesses. Some photographs were so faded that they'd need a lot of work to make them clear enough to reproduce, but then not many would be used in the articles anyway. As Finn had foreseen, their chief advantage was to her personally, in bringing to life the people she'd be writing about.

The most recent album covered a longer period than the others, with only a few photos taken after the end of the 1950s. This could have been either because the Curzons became less interested in recording events, or because slides took over from prints at about that time. However, it did contain one of particular interest, showing three fair-haired children on a beach, squinting against the sun. It was labelled:
Edward, Jacqueline and Finlay. August 1969
. Rona studied it for several minutes. The two little boys, aged, she estimated, ten and six, were in swimming trunks, their legs caked with sand. Their sister, between them in size and presumably also in age, was wearing a large sun hat that left part of her face in shadow, and appeared more interested in her ice cream cone than in the photographer.

Rona flicked through the remaining pages, but there were no further pictures of the children, and in fact the last few leaves were left blank. There might, of course, be later albums, but she was aware of her disappointment. In particular, she'd like to have seen the woman Finlay had married and later divorced.

She clamped down on the thought, and was relieved when the phone on her desk broke the silence with its warbling.

‘Ro? Reporting back as promised. Hugh phoned last night.'

‘And?'

‘Invited me out to dinner.'

‘You're going?'

‘Yes, though I turned down the first two dates he suggested. No point in seeming too eager.'

‘
Are
you eager, though? To get involved with him again?'

‘We're already involved.'

‘To go further, then.'

Lindsey's sigh came over the wires. ‘I admit I was annoyed he didn't even
try
to make a move at the weekend. If he had, I doubt if I could have held out. You know the effect he has on me.'

Not a satisfactory response. After a moment, Rona asked, ‘And Jonathan?'

‘Is anxious to continue as before.'

‘And how do you feel about that?'

‘God, I don't know. I'm tempted there, too.'

‘So your conscience has gone into hibernation?'

‘Only partially.' Another sigh. ‘The trouble is that there are complications with both of them. What I could really do with is someone completely new.'

‘Oh, yes; I'd forgotten the latest object of interest. Any more sightings of him?'

‘No, but I think he'll be at a party I'm going to on Saturday.'

‘Going to with whom?'

‘It's not that kind of party. I'll go along by myself, then I'm not beholden to anyone.' Lindsey paused. ‘How about the two attractive men you had lunch with last week?'

Rona bit her lip. ‘One of them was round here on Monday. He brought me some photo albums to look at.'

‘Makes a change from etchings.'

‘Lindsey, for God's sake!'

‘All right, all right. No need to snap. I was joking, but it seems I touched a nerve.'

‘Of course you didn't; it's simply that your one-track mind gets a bit wearing.'

‘Beg pardon, I'm sure.'

Rona drew a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Linz. I've been poring too long over these dusty books and am in need of some fresh air. You're not free for a cup of tea at the Gallery, I suppose?'

‘Sorry, I can't. I've an appointment in ten minutes.'

‘Never mind, I have to go out anyway. Gus needs his walk, and I must get the ingredients for tonight's dinner, or Max will kill me. Good luck with your men – all of them. Keep me posted.'

She put down the phone and stretched luxuriously. Then she pushed back her chair and ran down the stairs. Gus, asleep on the front door mat, looked up, tail wagging hopefully.

‘Yes, we're going out,' she told him. ‘And I hope I'll be in a better mood by the time we get back.'

The wind was strong and unseasonably cold, and Rona's head was down as she battled against it on her way back along Guild Street. Which is why she had no warning when someone suddenly catapulted out of a shop doorway, cannoning into her and knocking her shopping bag out of her hand. She stumbled and almost fell as Gus, taking avoiding action, succeeded in winding his lead round her legs. Then a hand caught her arm, steadying her, and a breathless voice exclaimed, ‘Oh, I'm terribly sorry! Are you all right?'

She looked up into the concerned face of a young woman, who took the lead out of her hand, untangled it, and handed it back.

‘
I'm
all right,' Rona said ruefully, ‘but I doubt if my shopping is. There are eggs in there.'

The young woman bent down, retrieved the bag, and peered anxiously into it. ‘I'm afraid the flour bag's split,' she said apologetically. ‘I'm not sure about the eggs, but nothing's seeped out of the box. I really am most dreadfully sorry.' She opened her handbag and took out a purse. ‘Let me pay you for the damage. It was entirely my fault.'

Rona shook her head. ‘There's no need for that; it was an accident, and they're easily replaced.'

‘Then at least let me buy you a cup of tea. I must do something to make amends!'

Rona, who by this time was more than ready for some tea, hesitated, and the girl, encouraged, went on, ‘There's a café just along here, isn't there? I passed it as I went up the road.'

They were, in fact, almost opposite the iron staircase leading to the Gallery.

‘Please!' her assailant insisted, adding with a little laugh, ‘Apart from wanting to apologize, I'm a stranger in town, and it would be nice to have someone to chat to.'

There was something immediately engaging about her, and Rona found herself smiling back. ‘You've talked me into it!' she said. ‘The café's just up these steps.'

The Gallery was, as usual, crowded, but their arrival coincided with a couple vacating one of the window tables, and they were able to claim it.

‘My name's Julia Teale,' the girl volunteered, as they seated themselves.

‘Rona Parish.'

‘I'm glad to meet you, Rona, even if the meeting itself left a lot to be desired. I'm notoriously clumsy; my ex always said I couldn't walk across a room without bumping into every piece of furniture.'

‘There's no real harm done,' Rona said. Now that she had a chance to look properly at her companion, she liked what she saw. Julia Teale had soft dark hair that the wind had freed from the comb that had held it, so that tendrils curled down either side of her face. Her eyes were wide and deep blue, and her skin flawless. It occurred to Rona that hers was just the kind of face Max would like to paint.