Rogue in Porcelain (23 page)

Rona told Max about the proposition on the phone that evening.

‘Isn't that beyond the call of duty?' he asked.

‘I'm quite happy to do it. You know how I love ferreting about in family history.'

‘Will they pay you for it?'

‘Heavens, it never crossed my mind. It's just an extension of what I'm already doing.'

‘But it will save them the bother of sorting through all those papers, or paying an archivist to do it.'

‘A more pertinent question is whether or not Barnie will allow me extra space. We could be looking at three articles, if something worthwhile comes up. I'll have a word with him, once I've seen Charles Curzon and have a better idea of what's involved.'

‘On your own head be it,' Max warned her.

‘It usually is!' Rona replied. ‘Oh, and by the way, I'll be featuring in the
Stokely Gazette
this week, thanks to Tess.'

She went on to relay that morning's phone call. ‘Tess said the police had been unusually forthcoming. In other words, that blasted Barrett has been spilling the beans.'

‘Well, it was bound to come out,' Max soothed her. ‘I've been expecting it daily. Even if your pals at Curzon avoided naming you, all it needed was the right question at a press conference.'

‘Especially if it was Barrett who happened to be holding it.'

‘Don't let him get to you, honey. In this instance, he'd only have been doing his job.'

‘Wasn't that the Nazis' excuse?' Rona asked bitterly.

Lindsey phoned the next morning.

‘Mum's been fussing about Julia's things,' she told Rona. ‘They're still in her room, and she has to get it ready for the new girl, who's due on Tuesday. The only thing the police removed was her briefcase; they said her brother would collect the rest when he came to identify the body. Naturally we heard no more, and when I phoned to ask what was happening, they said he'd “declined” to take them, and that Julia's flatmate would come for them. Talk about passing the buck. Anyway, I explained the position, stressing that it wasn't up to Mum to clear the room so would they please chivvy the girl along; and the upshot is she'll be here in the morning.

‘Which is the point of this call; Mum can't face meeting her, or seeing Julia's things being packed up, and I'll be at work, so she wonders if you'd come over and supervise proceedings. Would that be a problem?'

Rona's heart sank; it wouldn't be easy for her, either, though it was possible she'd learn something from the flatmate. In any case, she'd no option.

‘Of course I'll come.' Another instance of the brother's ‘uselessness', she thought. ‘A bit hard on the friend, isn't it? What's she supposed to do with the things? There must be a whole lot more at the flat.'

‘Her worry, not ours,' Lindsey said succinctly.

‘So what time is she arriving?'

‘I don't know; the police have given her directions. Presumably she'll be coming from Reigate.'

‘That's just off the M25, isn't it? Provided the traffic's not too bad, it should take under two hours, which would make it around mid-morning. No need to stay overnight, anyway.'

‘For which we can be duly thankful. Her name's Deborah Phillips, by the way. Oh, and I'm moving back home tonight. Mum's over the worst of the shock, and preparing for this Sarah will keep her occupied, once Julia's things have gone. So – thanks for that, sis, and I'll see you Saturday, if not before.'

‘Saturday?' Rona repeated with a frown.

‘The family lunch in Cricklehurst. Don't tell me you'd forgotten!'

‘With all that's happened, it had gone completely out of my head. Just as well you reminded me, though I suppose I'd have seen it in the diary. Shall the three of us go together?'

‘Oh, definitely. Safety in numbers! Shall I drive to your house?'

‘No, don't bother; we can pick you up and go via the ring road. We're to be there at twelve thirty, so we'd better collect you soon after eleven, to allow for holiday traffic.'

‘I'll be ready.'

Lindsey's second phone call came that evening, as Rona was awaiting Max's midweek return.

‘Ro – guess what?'

‘Tell me.'

‘I've just got home, and there's a message on the answerphone from Dominic!'

‘Ah, I'm favoured with a name at last.'

‘He rang on Sunday; what should I do?'

‘Wait for him to ring again.'

‘But he left his number; he's probably been expecting me to call back.'

‘Then let him expect a little longer; it won't do him any harm. What was the message?'

‘That he'd like to see me sometime.'

‘Fine. Well, it's not incumbent on you to answer that, is it? If he's interested, he'll be in touch.'

‘But after all this time, he probably thinks
I'm
not.'

‘“All this time”? It's only three days, Linz, and he waited over a week to contact you; you don't want to seem too eager.'

‘Even though I am?'

‘Especially if you are. And when he
does
phone – and he will – mind you don't apologize for not getting back to him.'

‘All right, I'll play it your way. But if I miss out over this, I'll never forgive you.'

The
Stokely Gazette
was lying on the mat when Rona came down the next morning, and she steeled herself to pick it up. Being a local paper, the murder was, as she'd feared, still front-page news.

‘Hitting the headlines?' Max queried, joining her in the hall.

‘That's what I'm checking,' she answered grimly.

Together, they read through the update, relieved to note Tess had kept her promise and Rona's name was mentioned only briefly at the end of the report:

It has emerged that the unnamed friend with Finlay Curzon was the writer Rona Parish, who is engaged on a history of the family. Ms Parish, whose work regularly appears in
Chiltern Life
, has, through her researches, helped the police close more than one ‘cold case' over the past year. It will be interesting to see if she's of equal assistance in a more immediate one.

‘Barrett will love that,' Rona commented. She'd have preferred no mention of her previous exploits, but after all Tess
was
a journalist, and owed it to both the paper and her readers to pass on such information as she had.

‘Should keep him on his toes,' Max agreed. ‘All in all, though,' he continued as they went down to the kitchen, ‘I reckon you've got off pretty lightly. Had she been so inclined, Tess could have made a much bigger story of it.'

Finlay Curzon sat gazing at the letter that had arrived with the morning post. Printed in clear block capitals, it was brief and to the point, and read: YOU KILLED HER, YOU BASTARDS, AND I'LL SEE THAT YOU PAY FOR IT.

He looked up at his assistant's worried face. ‘I wondered when it would be my turn. No clues on the envelope, I suppose?'

Meg shook her head. ‘Also block capitals, and the postmark was Chilswood. A first-class stamp.'

‘The same as the others. You're hanging on to them, aren't you, the envelopes too? If there's any more trouble, the police might want to test the flaps or stamps for DNA.'

‘Shouldn't they be informed?'

‘We discussed it when the first one came, but there doesn't seem much point. In the circumstances, it's probably par for the course.'

‘They can't be from the murderer, can they?'

‘God knows,' Finlay answered wearily. ‘Put me through to Edward, would you please, Meg?'

At ten o'clock, Rona left home, and drove to her mother's house with a heavy heart. Gus, up to now an unwelcome visitor here, accompanied her; she felt in need of him.

‘Best behaviour, now,' she warned him as she unlocked the front door, wondering when she'd last used a key to let herself into this house. She stood for a moment in the hall, feeling the emptiness enfold her, and the dog paused at her side, looking up at her enquiringly. From somewhere – probably the dining room – came the steady tick of a clock, and the fridge hummed tunelessly in the kitchen.

‘Stay!' she ordered Gus, and reluctantly went up the stairs and into the guest room. At first glance, it looked no different from when her mother had shown herself and Lindsey the new decorations. But as she moved further into the room, she could see some personal items on the dressing table: a small leather travelling clock, a brush and comb, and a box of tissues, with a crumpled one bearing the imprint of a pair of lips.

Rona averted her eyes. Julia must have blotted her lipstick before leaving on her last, fatal journey. Why had she gone to Chilswood? Wouldn't she have been wary of bumping into her erstwhile relatives? Or, as Tessa clearly suspected, had she arranged to meet one of them?

Rona opened the wardrobe and surveyed the few clothes hanging inside: a raincoat, a short grey skirt, and a few blouses. On the shelves alongside were some items of underwear and an unopened pack of black tights, while on the floor beneath, two pairs of shoes and some bedroom slippers stood neatly side by side.

A fly was buzzing against the window pane, and Rona opened it to let it out. But despite her attempts to guide it, the fly refused to take the offered escape route, and eventually she gave up. She was still at the window when a small blue car drew up outside, and she saw that Deborah Phillips had arrived.

Rona took a step back and watched as the driver emerged from it, a slight figure with a mass of unruly brown curls. Then she ran down the stairs, and opened the front door just as her visitor reached for the bell.

‘Oh!' The young woman looked taken aback. ‘Mrs Parish?' she asked hesitantly.

‘No, her daughter. She hopes you'll excuse her, but she's at work, so she asked me to meet you.'

Deborah Phillips's face cleared. ‘You're Rona?'

‘Yes – and you're Deborah.'

‘Debbie.' She held out her hand, which Rona took. ‘I was hoping to see you; I've heard so much about you from Julia.'

Her voice shook as she said the name, and Rona took her arm and drew her inside. ‘Would you like some coffee before you start on the packing?'

‘Thank you, that would be great.'

She followed Rona into the kitchen and sat down at the table while Rona filled the kettle. With her back to her visitor, Rona said quietly, ‘I'm so very sorry about Julia. It's been an awful shock for us all, but it must have been far worse for you. Or would you rather not talk about her?'

She turned, surprising tears in Debbie's eyes. ‘Actually, I want to. I want to know everything you can tell me about her time up here.'

Rona smiled ruefully. ‘And I was hoping you could tell me.' She took down the cafetière and ladled coffee into it. ‘When did she decide to come?'

‘It was decided for her, about six weeks ago. She went where her firm sent her.'

‘So it wasn't her idea?'

Debbie flicked her a glance. ‘I think she suggested they might consider Marsborough. It would—' She broke off, and Rona didn't press her.

Instead, she said, ‘If you know about me, you must have spoken to her while she was here.'

‘Oh yes, several times. She – liked you very much.'

Rona poured boiling water on the coffee, then turned and leant against the counter. ‘Debbie, did Julia know about me
before
she came up here?'

Debbie's eyes fell. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘It doesn't matter.' She took down two mugs and put them on the table. ‘Milk and sugar?'

‘Just milk, please.'

Debbie watched as Rona depressed the plunger and poured the coffee. ‘She was so grateful to you, arranging for her to stay here. It made all the difference.'

Rona didn't reply directly. ‘How long have you shared a flat?'

‘Since she came to Reigate.'

‘When was that?'

‘About eighteen months ago.'

‘But you'd known her before?'

‘Oh yes, since schooldays.'

‘She was using the name Teale up here. Do you know why?'

‘She always used it for work. Curzon was too well known, and she wouldn't revert to her maiden name, because it reminded her of her brother. Teale was her grandmother's name.'

A simple explanation, after all. And it seemed Julia really had come up here on business, even if she'd suggested it. That much was true, at least.

She said suddenly, ‘Did she ever lose her handbag?'

Debbie looked at her in surprise. ‘Yes, she did. How did you know?'

‘I'll explain in a minute; can you tell me how it happened?'

Debbie took a sip of coffee. ‘It was about a week before she came up here. We'd arranged to meet for lunch, and she arrived with a brand new shoulder bag. When I commented on it, she said she'd been on her way to meet me when the strap of her old one snapped, so she went into a department store to buy another.

‘When she'd chosen it, she handed over her credit card, and while the assistant was busy at the till, started to transfer things to the new bag – wallet, diary, keys, and so on. Then she was asked to punch in her PIN, so she dropped the old bag on a chair. The shop was crowded, and when she turned back, it had gone. The assistant was very upset and wanted to call the manager, but Julia told her not to bother. She'd removed everything of value, and would have thrown the bag away anyway. She told me all she'd lost was a favourite lipstick. “I wish whoever it was joy of it”, she said.'

Another mystery explained, and, again, quite simply. Debbie was looking at her curiously.

‘Are you going to tell me how you knew?'

‘I had a phone call from the Reigate police, saying my bag had been handed in.'

Debbie stared at her. ‘
Your
bag?'

‘Yes. Apart from a few cosmetic items, all that was in it was a slip of paper with my name, address and phone number on it. That's why I asked if Julia knew of me before she came.'