Rogue in Porcelain (28 page)

‘What happened to her and the child?'

‘I've no idea, but I'm confident they were taken care of.'

‘Would you have any objection to my including this in the article? As part of the family history?'

Charles stroked his moustache thoughtfully. ‘Will Julia's murder be featured?'

‘Since it's common knowledge, yes. I'm sorry.'

Sybil said sharply, ‘I wish they'd stop hounding poor Nicholas. The police are treating him as their prime suspect, and the press follow him everywhere.'

Charles said, ‘You knew Julia, I believe?'

‘For just over a week, yes.'

‘Finlay thinks she planned the meeting with you.'

‘Yes.'

Sybil said gently, ‘You liked her, didn't you, dear?'

Rona nodded, not wanting to discuss Julia with those so obviously hostile to her. As though reading her mind, Sybil went on, ‘However we might feel about her, what happened was a tragedy she didn't deserve. Her death has shocked and saddened us, naturally, but we can't regard it as a family bereavement. Not after what she did to Nicholas.'

Charles cleared his throat. ‘Well, if all this is to be recounted in gruesome detail, no one's likely to bat an eyelid over George's past shenanigans. If you weren't a young lady, I'd say publish and be damned.' He paused. ‘And there's another matter you must have been wondering about.'

Rona raised her eyebrows enquiringly, glad they'd moved away from the subject of Julia.

‘This new line we're bringing out; Genesis, as we refer to it.' He moved to the mantelpiece and took down a small figurine Rona had noticed earlier. It was an exquisite model of a young girl leaning dreamily against a tree. She was holding a spray of blossom, each petal painstakingly detailed, and above her, individual leaves hung realistically from the fragile branches.

‘This is Genesis,' Charles said. ‘Here, take it.'

‘I'm not insured!' Rona protested laughingly. ‘It must be worth a bomb.'

‘At the moment, it's priceless. That's the only piece outside the factory.' He handed it to her, and she turned it carefully over in her hands. It was a work of art, and she would have loved to possess it, but she was unsure in what way it differed from other pieces of Curzon.

Charles, seeming to sense her puzzlement, smiled. ‘Come with me,' he said, and, to her surprise, led her into the kitchen.

‘Now,' he said, ‘drop it.'

Rona stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘
What
?'

‘I think you heard. Drop it. Or, if you prefer, fling it against a wall.' He waited a moment longer, and when she made no move to obey him, took it out of her hand and himself hurled it on to the tiled floor.

Instinctively, Rona closed her eyes, bracing herself for the sound of smashing china. There was none. When she dared open them, the ornament was lying, totally undamaged, on the floor. She turned to see Charles's smiling face.

‘I don't understand.'

‘What we've invented, my dear, is nothing more nor less than unbreakable china. Drop it on the floor, and it bounces. You could drive a steamroller over it, and it would do no damage. Try it for yourself.'

He bent to retrieve it, and again handed it to her. Still reluctant, she examined it carefully, but could see no evidence of its rough treatment. Each blossom and leaf remained intact. Holding her breath, Rona dropped the figure on to the tiles and, incredulously, watched it bounce.

‘It's – unbelievable,' she said.

‘It's taken years of research to develop,' Charles told her, ‘and although the public in general will be overjoyed, not to mention collectors of fine bone china, fellow manufacturers mightn't be so happy. In the short term, their trade will slump as everyone rushes to buy Genesis. And, of course, if china is unbreakable, it will not need replacing; one dinner service given as a wedding present will last for life. No chips, no breakages. Oven, freezer and dishwasher proof.'

‘Why are you showing it to me?' Rona asked.

‘So that it, too, can be mentioned in your article. To balance, perhaps, what's gone before. However, I must impress on you the total secrecy surrounding Genesis. No one – positively
no one
– is to hear about it prior to its announcement. Your magazine, due out, I've established, a day or two later, will be highly topical but will not pre-empt it. And the same strictures apply to you, my dear,' he added to Sybil, who had followed them through, and whose exclamation of shock Rona had dimly been aware of when the priceless piece was dropped.

‘None of the other wives know, nor does the general workforce. Only the directors, senior managers, and those involved in production, and they're all sworn to secrecy.'

He fixed Rona with a severe look. ‘I'm putting you on your honour to adhere to this.'

‘Of course I will,' she answered quietly.

Sybil said worriedly, ‘It will cause a lot of ill-feeling, surely, among your competitors.'

‘Only, as I said, in the short term. They'll immediately be hell-bent on producing their own versions. By means of osmosis, once something new is invented, in no time it's being manufactured worldwide. We're the first, that's all.'

They returned to the sitting room and Sybil refilled their coffee cups.

‘I hear you've nobly offered to sort through the family archives,' Charles remarked. ‘I hope you've reached a satisfactory financial arrangement.'

‘Finlay did mention it, but—'

But they'd been interrupted by Ginnie's call, and it wasn't her place to mention it.

‘I'll see to it. Only right you should be recompensed for your time. I've flicked through the boxes myself, but it's mostly ephemeral correspondence, from what I could see. Not really worth keeping, but my father was an inveterate hoarder. If you can sort it into reasonable shape, we'd all be grateful and you might possibly find a few nuggets of interest.'

It had been an eventful morning, Rona reflected as she drove home, but its two most outstanding occurrences had both, for different reasons, to be kept to herself.

‘Max? What the devil has that wife of yours got herself into now?'

Max smiled to himself. ‘Hello, Father. How are you?'

‘Never mind me, it's Rona we're all concerned about.'

‘No need to be, I assure you. If you're referring to the body that was found, she was merely an innocent bystander.'

‘But they're saying she knew the girl in question?'

‘Who's saying?'

‘
I
don't know,' Roland Allerdyce returned testily. ‘The amorphous and ubiquitous “they”. Cynthia heard it somewhere. Did she or didn't she know her?'

‘Yes, briefly. But that doesn't put her in any danger.'

‘How do you know that?' his father barked. ‘Has a motive for the death been established?'

‘No, but—'

‘Well, then. This girl might have seen something she shouldn't have while she was actually
with
Rona.'

‘Hey!' Max protested. ‘What are you trying to do? Put the fear of God into me?'

‘I'm trying to ensure you look after her. You seem to be taking this very lightly, if I may say so.'

‘Father, it's her work, and it would take a better man than I to keep her from doing it.'

‘Don't say I didn't warn you.' A pause. ‘Why don't the pair of you take a break? Come up here for a week or so, till the thing blows over?'

‘We can't get away at the moment, but we'll certainly bear it in mind.'

‘It's the moment I'm concerned about,' his father said darkly.

Fifteen

D
I Charlie Harris raised his tankard. ‘Confusion to our enemies,' he toasted.

Barrett followed suit. ‘I'll drink to that.'

‘So how's it going?'

‘Frankly, it's not. We're no further forward than when we last spoke. Everything we've managed to get so far is negative.'

‘Such as?'

‘Oh, the usual. Checking hospitals to see if anyone's been in with a suspicious cut – the killer might have been wounded if Julia put up a struggle. Laundries and dry-cleaners asked about blood-stained clothing. You know the kind of thing. We drew a blank all round.'

He sighed disconsolately and drank some beer. ‘Then both de Salis and his missus were likely suspects, but—'

‘His missus?' Harris interrupted.

Barrett nodded. ‘Her more than him, actually. She's pretty screwed up, and if she learned her old man was still seeing Julia, I can see her putting the knife in. Literally. Had to scrap that idea, though; both were safely and irrefutably ensconced in their shop till five thirty, and went straight from there to a parents' evening at their daughter's school. Cast-iron alibis, damn them.

‘Then we had hopes of one of the guys Julia met after work, but he turned out to be in the clear.'

‘Which presumably leaves you with the ex-husband?'

‘Exactly; always the most likely bet. As luck would have it, he wasn't at the factory that afternoon; he'd driven to Aylesbury for a three thirty appointment, but the bloke had got his dates mixed and was in London. That checks out, by the way.'

‘So what did he do instead?'

‘Took the opportunity to buy himself some underwear, and was able to supply receipts. Then went for a cuppa before driving home.'

‘Back to the pottery?'

‘No; he reckoned it wasn't worth going into the office. The clothes receipt confirms the time he was in the store, but no one remembers him in the café, which according to him filled in half an hour or so. That thirty minutes could be crucial in fixing the time he arrived back in Nettleton, where he lives. For that matter, since no one saw him at his flat, there's no proof he didn't make a detour to Chilswood.'

‘What motive would he have?'

Barrett shrugged. ‘She could have asked him to meet her, tried to make a comeback, and he lost it. Word is it was an acrimonious divorce. Or, contrariwise, he might have
thought
she wanted him back, been amenable, then discovered she didn't, and regarded it as a second betrayal.'

‘But in either case, would he have gone to meet her armed with a knife? Seems unlikely.'

‘Granted it would be more plausible if a penknife had done the damage. Unless, of course –' Barrett brightened momentarily – ‘
she
was the one who'd brought it, thinking for some reason she might need to defend herself. Surprising how often the victim's killed with his or her own weapon.'

He finished his beer. ‘But as it stands at the moment, we've only Curzon's word for what he did between three thirty and six, when his brother phoned to give him the news.'

Harris shook his head sympathetically. ‘Ever wish mobiles hadn't been invented?'

‘Do I ever? Time was when you knew where someone was when he answered his phone.'

‘So what's your next step?'

‘Another round of questioning and continuing enquiries, both here and in Reigate. In the meantime, the press are on us like a pack of wolves, thanks to the victim being a Curzon.'

‘Perhaps,' Harris suggested wickedly, ‘you should enlist the services of your journalist friend.'

‘Don't even joke about it. I'm expecting her to turn up any minute with the culprit's head on a platter.'

‘Figuratively speaking, I trust.'

‘Either way would suit me,' said Ed Barrett.

Lindsey arrived back from lunch to find Hugh waiting on the street outside the office. Her mind had been so totally centred on the evening ahead that for a moment she stared at him blankly.

‘Don't you recognize me?' he asked shortly. ‘I shouldn't be surprised, it's so long since I saw you.'

‘Hugh! What are you doing here?'

‘It seemed to be the only way to get hold of you. You've not returned any of my emails or phone calls.'

‘I'm – sorry,' she said. ‘I've been busy.'

She moved aside to let Jonathan enter the building, ignoring his conspiratorial wink, though she saw Hugh flush, and guessed he'd seen it.

He said with heavy irony, ‘If you have your diary or Filofax to hand, perhaps I can make an appointment.'

‘Hugh, I haven't time for this. My lunch hour's over and I must get back to work.'

‘It will take two minutes.'

With bad grace, she fumbled in her shoulder bag for her diary. If this evening went well, Dominic might suggest a further date, and she didn't, she thought uncharitably, want to be bogged down with Hugh.

She flipped open her diary and turned back a couple of pages. ‘We had dinner two weeks ago today,' she told him. ‘Hardly a lifetime ago.'

‘It is, when I want to make love to you.'

‘Sh!' She glanced about her anxiously, seeing a passer-by's mouth twitch. ‘A lot has happened in the interim.'

‘Ah yes. I saw Rona'd got herself in the news again.'

‘I went to stay with Mum for a few days,' Lindsey said coldly. ‘Not that I have to account to you for my movements.'

He sighed. ‘Why do we always get off on the wrong foot?'

‘Because you have two left ones. I can meet you for lunch tomorrow,' she added quickly, to cut off further conversation. ‘Will that do?'

‘
Faute de mieux
.'

‘Well, it's all I can offer at the moment. One o'clock at the Bacchus?'

He held her eyes for a long minute. Then he said levelly, ‘I'll be there,' turned on his heel, and walked away.

The doorbell rang at three thirty, and Avril, who'd been on edge since lunchtime, hurried to answer it. To her surprise, Sarah was not alone on the doorstep. Beside her stood a tall, balding man in casual clothes, who was regarding her with interest.

‘Hello, Mrs Parish,' Sarah said. ‘Meet my dad. He insisted on giving you the once-over.'