Rogue in Porcelain (12 page)

‘The Curzons?'

‘Some of them, yes. James and Elizabeth. Have you met them?'

‘On a couple of occasions, but it was Charles who your father knew best.'

‘What are they like?'

Avril considered. ‘Elizabeth struck me as a bit severe. Tall and thin, with very short grey hair. James, on the other hand, gives rather a bumbling impression, but that's just a front. Tom said he doesn't miss a trick.'

‘Fine. Armed with prior knowledge, I'll know how to approach them. They're Sam's parents, aren't they?'

‘That's right. According to Sybil, it was a difficult birth, and Elizabeth couldn't have any more children. It was quite a blow, I believe.'

‘Lucky, in that case, that she had a son,' Rona commented, still critical of the Curzon criterion. She picked up her handbag. ‘I'll phone you in a day or two, to see how things are going. And thanks again, Mum, for taking Julia in.'

‘I'm sure we'll get along fine. In fact, from first impressions, I think I'll feel more at ease with her than with Sarah Lacey.'

Lying in the familiar bed in a strange room, Sybil felt drained to the point of exhaustion. The move had been a two-day operation, the men having completed a large proportion of the packing the previous day. But complications had arisen, since the contents of the house were to be split between a variety of destinations. Some furniture was to go to Oliver, some to Nicholas, and the pieces they were undecided about to a storage depot. Frederick's desk and a few other items were earmarked for the museum, and all that remained had come here to Coppins.

Even after such a wide dispersal, Sybil felt the flat was bursting at the seams, and at least a dozen packing cases were stacked in the garage, awaiting her sons' arrival at the weekend to help unpack them.

Despite her conviction of the rightness of the move, it had been depressing to see the old house stripped to its bones. The shapes on bare walls where pictures had hung gave it a forlorn air which, as they finally drove away, had brought tears to her eyes. It had, after all, been their home through good times and bad for the last forty years, and she was grateful to it.

She turned her head as Charles came into the room, feeling a stab of worry at his drawn face. She reached out a hand to him.

‘All right, darling?'

‘I shall be,' he replied, taking it in both his own, ‘once we get settled in.'

‘I hope you haven't overdone it. There was no need, you know, to help the men as much as you did.'

‘Well, that young lad seemed a bit cack-handed and I didn't want the family heirlooms spilling out on to the path.'

Sybil smiled. ‘I'm sure he knew what he was doing.'

Her eyes moved critically round the new room. Their bedroom furniture looked over-large in these surroundings, and it might well be necessary to replace it with smaller pieces. Time enough for that, though.

‘Thank God for James and Elizabeth,' she said. ‘That meal was our salvation. I couldn't even have found the pans, let alone cook.'

‘Things will sort themselves out in the morning. But yes, it was good of them. Quite apart from the meal, it was a relief to be able to relax in a room where everything was in place and there was a conspicuous lack of packing cases.'

‘You're not going to do any more tonight, are you?'

‘No. I intend to have a long, hot bath, in the hope of forestalling any aches and pains tomorrow.'

‘I was too tired even for that. I'll have mine in the morning.'

‘Well, the worst is over, and at least we're here.' He bent over and kissed her. ‘Goodnight, my love. Sleep well in your new home.'

‘And you,' she murmured. But her eyes were already closing.

Seven

B
y the time the Trents arrived for supper on Friday evening, Rona felt she'd had enough of the Curzons for one week.

‘I'm building up a comprehensive file on them,' she told Barnie and Dinah, as they sat over drinks while Max put the final touches to the meal. ‘I went on a factory tour last week, and had lunch with the present generation. Since then, I've been immersed in old family albums. Some of them go back to the eighteen hundreds, but they came to a dead halt around nineteen-sixty.'

‘Any worth reproducing?' Barnie asked.

‘A few, yes; principally one of Samuel, the founder, looking very solid and prosperous in his frock coat. Then today, to round off the week, I went to Nettleton, to meet the James Curzons.'

‘Were they amenable to your questions?'

‘Yes, despite first impressions, they were quite forthcoming.'

Dinah laughed. ‘Despite first impressions?'

‘Well, they both looked rather fierce. James has thick, beetle eyebrows and a disconcerting habit of peering at you from underneath them, and when he speaks it's like a machine gun being rattled off.'

‘Good heavens! And his wife?'

‘Tall and thin, with a very lined face and severely short grey hair. However, she was much nicer than she appeared, especially when she discovered I was Tom Parish's daughter. She dug out a few photos of her own to show me, and once I'd persuaded them to open up, they'd lots of stories about James's father, Frederick, and Frederick's brother Spencer. Just the kind of thing I was hoping for. And on Tuesday, I'm seeing Mrs Hester and her daughter.' Finlay's mother and sister.

‘And you want to earmark this article for September?' Barnie confirmed.

‘There might well be two, as I warned you, so either August and September, or September and October would be fine. It seems sensible to tie in with the celebrations. They're bringing out a new line to coincide with them, but it's all very hush-hush.'

Barnie leaned back, staring reflectively into his glass. ‘You know, ever since you mentioned the Curzons, I've had this niggling feeling at the back of my mind.'

‘Niggling how?'

‘Something I seem to remember hearing, way back, about rumours that were circulating at the turn of the last century.'

Rona leaned forward excitedly. ‘What kind of rumours?'

‘That's what's niggling me.'

‘Finlay did say one of his ancestors had been a rake. Could they concern him?'

‘Possibly, but I might be mixing them up with another family.'

‘Do try to remember, Barnie. It could be useful.'

He nodded. ‘I'll give it some thought, and let you know if I come up with anything.'

‘Will we be dining off Curzon this evening?' Dinah enquired, with lifted eyebrow.

Rona shook her head ruefully. ‘We leave that to my future stepmother.'

‘That reminds me, how are your parents? I've been wondering how they're getting along.'

‘They're fine; Pops is happily settled in his flat, and Mum has started taking in lodgers. In fact, I've just slipped her an extra one; someone who's in town for a week or so, and hates hotels.'

Max appeared in the doorway, his face flushed from the stove. ‘Ladies and gentleman,' he announced, ‘dinner is served.'

Despite their lack of dining room, the kitchen table, with its white cloth, crystal and candles, was worthy of the highest cuisine, and with the lights at the other, business end of the room extinguished, an intimate atmosphere prevailed. Reflections of the candle flames flickered in the glass of the door like a host of fireflies, and outside, in the giant urns, the first spring bulbs were beginning to appear.

Life, Rona decided, was good. She always enjoyed evenings spent with the Trents; though they were older than herself and Max, she felt more relaxed with them than with some friends their own age. Barnie was known at
Chiltern Life
for his short fuse, and was rumoured to rant and rave when copy was late, though Rona had never witnessed such tantrums. Over six feet, he towered above his diminutive wife, but what Dinah lacked in inches she made up for in personality; her wiry black hair was untameable, and her deep voice and rich laugh were a constant surprise, emanating as they did from so small a frame.

‘I had an email from Melissa this morning,' she was saying. ‘Sam's due to start playschool next term, and can hardly wait. He asks every morning if it's time to go.'

‘Let's hope such enthusiasm lasts throughout his schooldays,' Max commented.

‘I bet Mitch is glad his stint in the Gulf is over,' Rona said.

‘Actually, apart from missing the family, he enjoyed it,' Dinah told her. ‘He might well have to go back, and provided the children are a bit older when that happens, I think they'd all go with him. Mel liked it very much when she went out to visit. There's a good social life, and wall-to-wall sunshine can't be bad.'

‘Except when it reaches the forties,' Barnie put in. ‘But Mel and the kids would go home during the hottest months. However, that's pure speculation. As of now, they're all back in the U S of A, and glad to be together again.'

Talk continued as the wine was finished, the coffee drunk, and the candles guttered out.

When the Trents finally rose to go, Rona reminded Barnie of his promise about the Curzons.

‘He thinks there were rumours about them, in the early nineteen hundreds,' Rona explained to Max.

‘You'd better be careful, my girl,' Max warned her. ‘If you uncover dark secrets about every family you interview, you'll soon run out of takers.'

Barnie laughed. ‘He's got a point, Rona. Perhaps you shouldn't dig too deep.'

‘Oh, nonsense! As you know, readers are all for a bit of spice, and anything that happened so long ago must have lost its sting. Perhaps the newspaper archives would have something.'

Barnie shook his head. ‘Very doubtful. In those days, personal peccadilloes were respected as such, and the gentlemen of the press didn't intrude.'

‘Well, I might have a look anyway, on the principle of leaving no stone unturned.'

‘I was serious, you know,' Max said, as they went down to clear the table. ‘You've created quite a few upsets, one way or the other, over the last year or so. You don't want to get a name for investigative journalism.'

‘Nothing could be further from my thoughts,' Rona said lightly, opening the door for Gus to go out on the patio. ‘Sorry, boy, that's the best we can offer this evening.'

Max shrugged. ‘Don't say I didn't warn you,' he said.

The following morning, Rona phoned her mother.

‘Just wondering how you're getting on with Julia?'

‘Oh, she's a delight, Rona – a pleasure to have in the house. I'm trying to keep things on a formal footing, but it's difficult with someone so bubbly. She's always wanting to chat, and to be honest, I enjoy her company.'

‘I thought you'd get along. Since you're relishing the experience, perhaps you should revamp my room for another guest!'

‘Hold on, now. One at a time is quite enough, and Sarah looks like being long-term.'

‘Glad all's going so well, anyway. Tell Julia I'll give her a buzz next week, and perhaps we can meet for lunch.'

As Rona replaced the phone, she marvelled yet again at the change in her mother. This time last year, such a conversation would have been unimaginable. And Pops was so obviously happier than he'd been for years. All in all, it seemed that the effects of the dreaded split had been more beneficial than otherwise.

At nine o'clock, as promised, Oliver and Nick Curzon arrived at Coppins to assist their parents in sorting out their possessions. Fortunately, the garage allocated to the flat, and in which the storage boxes were stacked, was only yards from their front door. It was also fortunate that the strong, cold wind of the last few weeks had mitigated, and the air was warm enough for both doors to be left open while the unpacking was in progress.

The brothers had devised a system whereby they unwrapped the objects out in the garage and their father carried them indoors to Sybil, who deposited them in the place allotted to them. Pieces with an undetermined position were rewrapped and placed in a separate crate.

‘No point filling the place with stuff you've no use for,' Nick said breezily.

‘You sound like your mother,' Charles remarked. ‘She's been pretty ruthless about discarding everything she doesn't consider necessary. Personally, I'll all for hanging on to them.'

‘We're not talking of throwing them on the scrap heap, Dad,' Oliver pointed out. ‘What you haven't room for at the moment can join the rest in storage, till you've had time to consider what to do with them.' He paused, glancing at his father. ‘Your collection of books, for instance.'

Charles bristled, as his son had known he would. ‘I'm not parting with any of my books,' he declared. ‘I've a little room here I intend to use as a study, and I'm arranging to have shelves put all round the walls to accommodate them.'

‘And in the meantime?'

‘They can go on the floor in there.'

‘Wouldn't it be better to leave them out here till the shelves are up?'

‘No; this garage mightn't be completely waterproof, and I'm not risking any damage.'

‘Fair enough,' Nick said resignedly, ‘but they're pretty heavy, so Oliver and I'll take them in later. Let's get these boxes emptied first.'

‘Coffee for the workers!' Sybil announced, coming into the garage with mugs on a tray. ‘My goodness, what a lot still to find places for! I'd forgotten all about that pressure cooker. It looks as if I'll have to do another cull on the kitchen contents.'

‘As long as you confine yourself to the kitchen!' Charles muttered darkly. ‘You're sure you boys can't find room for anything else?'

‘Nothing large, that's for sure,' Oliver said, as Nick shook his head. ‘We could probably house a bit of china or glass, if there's any you don't need.'

‘I'll bear that in mind,' Sybil said as she returned indoors.