Rogue in Porcelain (27 page)

‘A lovely meal, dear,' Elizabeth said with satisfaction, sitting back in her chair. ‘Easter wouldn't be Easter without roast lamb.'

Charles gave a slight cough, and, as he'd intended, they all turned to him. ‘I know these occasions have always been purely social,' he began, ‘but since James and I retired, we're seldom all together like this, and I feel we should take the opportunity to discuss some matters that concern us. If Edward and Anna will allow?'

Anna, whose heart had sunk, murmured the anticipated consent, as did her husband.

‘First of all, this ghastly murder. There don't seem to have been any developments over the last few days. I'd ask you all to rack your brains and see if you can come up with any reason at all why Julia should have been in Chilswood, let alone at the cemetery.'

Finn said thoughtfully, ‘There seems to be a connection with Rona Parish, but neither she nor I knows what it is.'

‘Explain!' James barked, and Finlay related the story of Julia's handbag.

‘But that doesn't make sense,' Sybil protested. ‘Why would she want to meet Rona Parish?'

‘I've been wondering about this ever since she told me on Thursday,' Finn replied. ‘I doubt if Julia herself was interested in us, but she was still in touch with Nigel de Salis, remember.' He flung an apologetic glance at Nick, who was staring into his coffee.

‘I fail to see the significance,' Charles said.

Finlay raised his shoulders. ‘So do I, but I've a feeling there is one. Rona says she went into their shop after lunch with Jackie, and both de Salis and his wife reacted to hearing she was writing about us.'

‘Embarrassment, probably.'

‘She thought it was more than that.'

Sybil said, ‘She's coming to interview us on Tuesday. We could sound her out then.'

‘There's something else,' Charles told them. ‘I was going to bring it up later, but since Miss Parish has been mentioned, this might be the appropriate place. One way or another, she's become much more involved in our affairs than we'd anticipated when we agreed to her articles. For instance, she found that letter in Father's desk, she's about to go through the family papers – a task long overdue – and she knew Julia personally, not to mention being present when her body was discovered.'

James looked at his brother from beneath beetle brows. ‘So? What are you leading up to?'

‘I think we should tell her about Genesis.' He looked round at their startled faces. ‘I did mention the possibility earlier, but I promised to discuss it with you all, since any decision must be a joint one.' He paused. ‘I've a feeling Genesis lies behind a lot of the trouble we've been having. Certainly such sabotage as we've had has been aimed at it, and if Julia
were
interested in us for some reason, all that's changed since she left is the announcement of this new line we're about to produce.'

‘And what good would it do her to know about it?' asked Hester.

‘She could pre-empt us by selling the story to the tabloids,' Sam suggested.

‘No!' Nick looked up at last. ‘She'd never do that. Julia had a lot of faults, but she was never vindictive.'

‘To reply to your question, Hester,' Charles resumed, ‘I've no idea what advantage it would be. But this Parish girl has a good brain by all accounts, and if we present her with all the facts, she might make some connection that's escaped us. Her parents are friends of longstanding, which predisposes me to trust her, and it goes without saying there'd be an embargo on publishing anything before the anniversary.

‘So, I'm asking you to support me in this decision. Is anyone definitely opposed to it?'

There was some murmuring, but no direct answer. ‘Then I'll go down the table and ask each of you in turn. I must stress you're perfectly free to object, and if we all agree the objection's valid, we won't go ahead. So – Oliver?'

‘As long as she keeps quiet about it, I've no objection.'

‘James?'

‘I suppose so,' grumbled James.

‘Finlay?'

‘OK by me.'

‘Sam?'

‘No objection.'

‘Edward?'

‘If you think it's best.'

‘Nick?'

‘I'll go with the flow.'

Finn imagined Rona's reaction to none of the women being consulted. But then none of them was privy to the secret of Genesis; it had been very tightly guarded. Until now. It was, he thought, to the women's credit than none of them had voiced a complaint that an outsider should be informed of it ahead of themselves.

Charles drew in his breath. ‘Very well. I take it, then, that I have the agreement of you all that, with the strict proviso that it mustn't be disclosed prior to the anniversary, Rona Parish should be told about Genesis. As Sybil said, she's coming to interview us on Tuesday; I shan't make a final decision until I've met her, but I don't expect to have any reservations. If she meets my criteria, I'll tell her then.'

Rona was about to leave the house on Tuesday morning when Tess phoned.

‘Not claiming your free meal already?' Rona teased her.

‘No; in fact, I might have forfeited it.'

‘Why? You played fair; I've no complaints.'

‘The trouble is, someone else at the paper picked up on it. He went through back numbers and has done a thorough reconstruction job on your crime-solving career to date.'

‘Oh, no!' Rona groaned.

‘I tried to remonstrate, but didn't get anywhere. It's been given the go-ahead and will appear on Friday. Rona, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't mentioned you in the first place—'

‘Don't blame yourself,' Rona said wearily. ‘You wouldn't have been doing your job if you hadn't.'

‘I really do feel awful about it. At least let me buy you the meal.'

‘We'll go Dutch,' Rona said. ‘Thanks for the warning, anyway. I'll keep my head down for the next week or so.'

Rona arrived at the pottery just on nine thirty, and was shown up to Finlay's office. He stood up, holding out his hand, and as she took it, she had an unwelcome flash of that moment in Oliver's hallway. The attraction was still there, however well they held it in check.

‘Reporting for duty,' she said brightly. ‘Or at least, reporting to be given my assignment.'

‘There are more papers than I realized,' Finn apologized, ‘and frankly, the best place for a lot of them is the bin. If you come across any you feel aren't worth keeping, I'd be grateful if you could put them on one side, so we can flick through them before consigning them to the shredder.'

‘Perhaps you should hire a bona fide archivist,' Rona suggested, remembering Max's comment.

Finn grimaced. ‘You're right; we've a damn cheek, expecting you to go through them for nothing.'

She flushed. ‘Not at all; I'm used to doing research for my articles. I only meant—'

‘But you're
not
used to being asked to judge the merit of what you find, irrespective of its interest to you, and I'd no right to suggest it. A fee would definitely be in order.'

‘I really wasn't—' Rona began again, but again was interrupted, this time by the telephone. She distinctly heard Meg Fairclough's voice say, ‘A call for you, Finlay. She wouldn't give her name.'

Finn frowned. ‘Put her through, then.'

There was a pause, a click, a voice, and Rona saw him suddenly straighten. ‘
Ginnie!
'

She turned and walked quickly over to the window, heart pounding. Though she'd put as much distance between them as possible, she couldn't blot out his voice.

‘It's good of you to phone . . . Yes, it has, rather . . . No, they're no nearer finding the culprit . . . Nick? He's all right, though of course it's been a terrific strain, on all of us.'

There was a longer pause, and when he spoke again, his voice had subtly altered. ‘You're sure? Yes, of course I would. Very much . . . I'll wait to hear from you, then. Goodbye.'

Rona remained at the window, staring unseeingly into the courtyard below. For several seconds silence stretched between them, then Finn said with an effort, ‘Sorry about that. What were we saying?'

She turned and came back to the desk. His face was flushed and his hand shook as he shuffled some papers.

‘You were about to show me where I'll be working,' she said.

He glanced up, meeting her eyes. ‘As you'll no doubt have gathered, that was my ex-wife. She's been abroad for two weeks and has only just heard about Julia.'

Rona nodded, unsure what to say.

‘She's – coming up to see us.'

‘That's nice,' Rona said carefully.

‘Yes. Right; the room you'll be using is two doors down.' He held the door open for her and she walked past him, turning left down the corridor. The room he showed her into was much the same size as his, but with the radiators off, the air felt chill. It was equipped with two desks, phone, fax and computer, and on one of the desks was piled a motley collection of binders, files and old, torn envelopes with their contents spilling out. Several cardboard boxes, also in danger of overflowing, stood on the floor beside it, together with some concertina files.

‘You see what I mean,' Finlay said.

She did. ‘I won't know where to start,' she said with a little laugh.

‘If you'd rather not tackle it—'

‘No, I said I'd do it, and I will.' Aware of the constraint still between them, she added with a forced laugh, ‘Who knows what secrets I might unearth?'

‘If you're sure, then. How soon can you start?'

‘Tomorrow morning?'

‘Excellent. I'll make sure the heating's turned on.'

She had the impression he wanted to be rid of her, to be free to consider the implications behind his wife's call. Well, she'd no intention of detaining him.

‘Till tomorrow, then,' she said, gave him a tight little smile, and walked out of the room, along the passage and down the stairs.

So the unknown Ginnie had graciously offered to come and see ‘them' (for which, read Finn), no doubt adding a cautionary,
If you'd like me to?
To which he'd replied,
Yes, of course I would. Very much.
Heaven knows, that was clear enough. What wasn't clear was why they'd ever parted in the first place, since he was obviously still in love with her. Hadn't his mother told her she resembled Ginnie? Obviously, that had been the source of her attraction for him.

So what was the problem? She hadn't
wanted
that awareness between them; it was unsettling and wrong, and they'd both known it would go no further. Why, then, was she left feeling as though all her rabbits had died?

With an exclamation of annoyance, she started the car.

A brisk walk with Gus helped clear her head, and by the time she reached Nettleton, Rona had put the episode behind her. Coppins, to which Charles and Sybil had recently moved, was a handsome old house at the end of a short drive. She'd been told the Curzons' apartment was at the far end on the right, and she drove into one of the spaces marked Visitors' Parking, and went to ring the bell.

Sybil opened the door to her. She was plump and silver-haired, wearing a heather tweed skirt and lilac cashmere jumper. Very different, Rona thought, from Elizabeth's severity.

‘Come in, my dear,' she invited, leading Rona into the small hallway and through to an attractive room running along the back of the house. Charles, tall, straight and white-haired, with a small moustache, came forward to meet her.

‘Miss Parish. Your father has told us a lot about you.'

Rona smiled at him. ‘It's always a little unnerving to hear that.'

‘It shouldn't be. Sit down, sit down. Sybil has the coffee on. You must forgive the odd boxes dotted around; we're still trying to find places for things. We've disposed of an inordinate amount, to our sons and the factory museum—' He broke off. ‘But you know that, of course. You've seen the old desk, not to mention what it contained.'

‘Yes, I'm – sorry about that; I wasn't trying to pry, just to get the drawer to close.'

‘Finlay told you we found another letter? Extraordinary, that after all these years they should turn up within a week of each other.'

‘I understand the contents weren't a total surprise?'

Sybil returned with the coffee tray, and Charles stood to help her. ‘We're talking about Spencer's letters, my dear.' Then, to Rona, ‘Yes and no. The story of the paternity claim became part of family lore, but it consisted largely of guesswork and overheard scraps of gossip, since neither my father nor Spencer ever spoke of it. Out of loyalty to George, I presume, and possibly – less admirably – watching their own backs.'

‘And the missing parish records?' Rona queried delicately, accepting the cup of coffee.

‘I'd say she stole them herself, to give credence to her story.'

‘You don't think there's a remote chance your grandfather
might
have married her?'

‘Not the slightest,' Charles declared robustly. ‘She was a scheming little minx, by all accounts – one of the factory workers – and blatantly out for what she could get. Admittedly Grandfather had earned himself a reputation—'

‘The Rogue in Porcelain,' Rona supplied.

‘You've heard that, have you? Yes, well I dare say it was warranted in his youth. But at the time we're speaking of, he had two adolescent sons and a thriving business. There's no way he'd have allied himself to a woman like that.'

‘She was only good enough to sleep with?
Droit du seigneur
, and all that?'

Charles shot her a swift look. ‘I'm not condoning his behaviour, but men can be fools, Miss Parish; you'll be aware of that. A pretty face, open flattery, and they fall like flies. In mitigation, my grandmother had been unwell for the last ten years of her life, bedridden for five. That would have played into the girl's hands, and even though George would have been more than twenty years her senior, he was still a handsome man.'