Rogue in Porcelain by Anthea Fraser Page A

Would you believe, no women members of the family have ever had any part in the firm?’
    â€˜Perhaps they didn’t want to,’ Max suggested mildly, passing her a glass.
    â€˜That’s what they tried to tell me. Anyway, I went on a factory tour, which was interesting; it began with a twenty-minute film on the firm’s history, and should have ended with a visit to the museum, but I had to skip that because we were running late and I was meeting the directors for lunch. So I’ve earmarked it for my next visit.’
    She sipped her vodka. ‘They’re pretty freaked out about this new product they’re launching. It seems they’re beset on all sides by people trying to break in and discover what it is.’
    â€˜Par for the course, I’d say. If you announce you’ve got a secret, you’re inviting trouble. They should have kept quiet about it.’
    The telephone rang, and he reached behind to retrieve it. ‘Yes – hang on a minute. Who shall I say is speaking?’
    He raised his eyebrows and handed Rona the phone. ‘For you. Reigate police.’
    She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘ Who? ’ Then, as he merely shrugged, she said into the mouthpiece, ‘Hello?’
    â€˜Rona Parish?’ It was a woman’s voice.
    â€˜Yes, speaking.’
    â€˜It’s Reigate police station, ma’am, phoning to say we’ve found your handbag.’
    â€˜My handbag?’ Rona repeated blankly.
    â€˜It was handed in this afternoon. No money in it, I’m afraid, only—’
    â€˜But – I haven’t lost a handbag,’ Rona protested.
    There was an uncertain pause. ‘Perhaps I should have said shoulder-bag? Brown leather, with a broken strap? Of course, it mightn’t have been broken when—’
    â€˜I haven’t lost any kind of bag!’ Rona interrupted. ‘And Reigate, did you say? I’ve never been there in my life!’ She frowned. ‘How did you get my name?’
    â€˜It was inside the bag, on a slip of paper. Rona Parish, 19 Lightbourne Avenue, Marsborough , and the phone number I’ve just rung.’
    â€˜But that’s – weird,’ Rona said slowly. ‘Where was it found?’
    â€˜In some bushes by the side of the road. Thrown there, I should say, after everything of value had been taken. There’s no purse or wallet, not even a diary or keys; just toiletry things – lipstick, comb and so on.’
    â€˜And no one has reported losing it?’
    â€˜Not so far. You seemed our best lead.’
    â€˜Who handed it in?’ Rona asked after a moment.
    â€˜The wife of a local vicar.’ Another pause, then: ‘Have you any friends in the area, who might have jotted down your address?’
    â€˜No, I don’t even know anyone in Surrey. So what happens now?’
    â€˜We’ll keep the bag in Lost Property, and if no one claims it within a certain time, it’ll be disposed of. It’s not as though there’s anything of value.’
    The policewoman waited, and when Rona made no comment, continued, ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you, Ms Parish, but if you remember anything that might identify the owner, perhaps you’d let us know.’ She gave a phone number and reference, which Rona wrote down, and rang off.
    â€˜What the hell was that all about?’ Max demanded.
    â€˜You heard most of it. A handbag was found in Reigate with a piece of paper in it, giving my name, address and phone number.’
    â€˜It could have been supplied by Chiltern Life .’
    Rona shook her head emphatically. ‘They never give out private details. It’s weird, Max. We don’t know anyone living in or near Reigate, do we?’
    â€˜Not that I recall, no, but I suppose someone could have been passing through.’
    â€˜And why didn’t she – and it has to be a she – report losing the bag? It must have contained