The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6)

by Clara Benson

  He gave a short laugh and released his hold just a fraction.

  ‘If anyone ought to be angry, it is I,’ he said, ‘but I don’t hold grudges. Life’s too short for that sort of thing.’

  Angela said nothing. For some reason he seemed determined to provoke her, and she would not be provoked, although she was feeling prickly and hot and the music suddenly seemed discordant and too loud in her ears.

  ‘And now you won’t speak to me,’ he said. ‘Have I offended you that much?’

  She made an effort.

  ‘I don’t see that we have anything to say to one another,’ she said. ‘And quite frankly I have no idea why you sought me out this evening, since if you’d had any sense at all you’d have run a mile as soon as you saw me this afternoon. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately. I do read the newspapers, you know. The police have been searching high and low for you after your latest escapade. They didn’t mention your name but I knew immediately it was you.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that little adventure in Vienna,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t normally have given it a second thought, but the thing was so easy it would have been foolish of me not to.’

  ‘Well, naturally,’ said Angela.

  He laughed again.

  ‘You don’t approve of me, do you?’ he said.

  ‘Not much. Tell me, why do you do it?’ she could not resist asking curiously. ‘You’re an intelligent man; surely you don’t need the money.’

  ‘Of course I don’t do it for the money,’ he said. ‘I do it because I get the most tremendous kick out of it. And what about you? What do you do for fun, Angela?’

  ‘I teach at Sunday school and knit clothes for the poor,’ she said tartly.

  ‘That sounds delightful. Could you teach me to be a good man, do you think?’

  ‘Don’t ask me to do it,’ she said. ‘I won’t take the responsibility. Your immortal soul is your own affair.’

  ‘So it is, and I’m afraid I’ve neglected it shockingly over the years. I’ve lied and stolen and cheated, and worst of all I’m quite foul-tempered first thing in the morning before I’ve had my coffee. In fact, most people would say I’m a thoroughly bad lot. Do you like that, Angela?’

  Angela was by now becoming very irritated, which was most unlike her.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she said. ‘And you still haven’t told me what it is you want.’

  He did not reply directly but held her gaze for a moment with a glint of mischief in his eye, then turned his head until his mouth was close to her ear and murmured something. It was in French, but Angela understood it perfectly. She drew in her breath sharply and pulled away from him, her face reddening.

  ‘If your intention was to make me blush, then you’ve succeeded,’ she said angrily.

  ‘My word, I have, haven’t I?’ he said, entertained. ‘You ought to blush more often—it rather suits you.’

  But Angela was not in the least amused.

  ‘I think I should like to sit down now,’ she said, and would have broken away from him there and then, but he would have none of it and insisted on escorting her back to her seat.

  ‘Are you quite all right, Angela?’ said Elsa. ‘You look a little unwell.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I just got rather hot, that’s all, and wanted a rest.’

  She took out a cigarette and pointedly turned away her head so that Valencourt could not light it for her. He shrugged easily and took his leave of them all, then headed for the door, stopping to talk to someone at another table as he did so. Angela was unable to prevent herself from glancing after him, and as she did, she noticed a woman she had not seen before, who was standing alone and regarding Valencourt narrowly, although he did not seem to have noticed her. The woman was dark, and clearly a foreigner, although something about her suggested that she was not Italian. Her clothes were expensive but slightly gaudy, and she was decked out in festoons of gold jewellery. Valencourt left the room and shortly afterwards the woman did the same, leaving Angela with nothing to do but compose her ruffled feelings as best she could.

  FIVE

  While Angela was dancing with Edgar Valencourt, Mr. Sheridan had come to join their table and they were now introduced. His manner was friendly and pleasant, and in conversing with him Angela gradually recovered at least some semblance of her usual equanimity and cheerfulness. Raymond Sheridan was very neatly and tidily dressed for such a bear of a man, and clearly took some care with his appearance. He seemed to live only for his garden at the Villa Pozzi, and soon enough he was telling Angela all about it and enumerating with enthusiasm the rare plants he had collected therein over the years.

  ‘Of course, I don’t do it all myself,’ he said. ‘It’s far too big for that, but I oversee as much of the work as I can, and the men do quite a splendid job. I’m afraid my wife often complains that I am neglecting her.’

  Angela told him about her trip to the Isola Bella that day and how much she had liked the gardens there. He knew them well, and nodded.

  ‘Yes, they are magnificent, are they not? The gardens at the villa are not terraced, naturally, and they are a little less formal, but I flatter myself that they are a worthy rival to those on the island. I was thinking of organizing a little picnic at home in a day or two. I do it quite often at this time of year. You will come, won’t you? Mrs. Peters has already agreed, and I dare say there will be a few other people. Do you know the Ainsleys? They usually come along.’

  ‘Yes, I know them very well,’ said Angela.

  ‘Then you absolutely must come. My wife is away at present and I should be glad of the company.’

  Angela said she would be delighted. Their number had now swelled considerably, for they had been joined by Christopher Tate, Francis Butler and Jack Lomax, whom Angela now saw close to for the first time. As Elsa had said, he was a man of few words, although he did not seem unfriendly. He had the slightly untidy aspect frequently seen in artists, but it sat well on him, and Angela thought he was rather attractive. Christopher was hanging about him and agreeing with everything he said, and Angela wondered how Lomax could stand it. He did not seem to notice it, however, and on the contrary treated his two students with perfect courtesy.

  ‘He knows which side his bread is buttered on,’ said a voice in her ear. It was Elsa, who had noticed her friend studying the trio.

  ‘Do you mean Jack Lomax?’ said Angela.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Elsa. ‘He may be quite well known but I gather he’s penniless, and needs the business. That’s why he puts up with that sort of thing.’

  ‘Christopher is certainly enthusiastic,’ said Angela. ‘I wonder Francis can get a word in at all.’

  Mr. Sheridan was nearby and had raised his eyebrows in polite interest, and Elsa explained to him that they were talking about the two students.

  ‘Your friend Mr. Lomax seems to have found himself two very apt pupils,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Jack is a most able teacher, although I can’t help thinking that it’s rather a shame that he is not able to make his living just by his painting. He had an exhibition in London a few years ago, you know,’ he went on confidentially. ‘It was very well received and great things were expected of him, but as so often happens, it all ended in nothing. I told him he needed to do more to sell his work, but I’m afraid he is somewhat shy and modest and lacks the ability to talk about himself, and so things rather came to naught. Still, it must be a comfort to him to have such keen students.’

  ‘So it must,’ said Elsa. She glanced over at the little group musingly. ‘I was just thinking that Francis reminds me a little of my youngest son. They are not unlike physically.’

  ‘What does he do?’ said Angela.

  ‘He is going to be a doctor,’ said Elsa, ‘and he’ll be a jolly good one. He’s awfully clever, even if I do say so myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you are very proud of him,’ said Mr. Sheridan. ‘My wife and I have not been fortunate
enough to have children, which will always be a source of regret to me. What a blessing they must be!’

  ‘A mixed blessing, perhaps,’ said Elsa dryly, and they all laughed.

  Angela now remembered her purpose in being there, and so began:

  ‘I was wondering, Mr. Sheridan—I was introduced to Mrs. Quinn yesterday, and was thinking of consulting her. I gather you think very highly of her. Should you advise me to do it?’

  Mr. Sheridan beamed enthusiastically.

  ‘Indeed I should,’ he said. ‘I have known Mrs. Quinn for several months now and have found her powers to be quite remarkable. I must confess that I was unconvinced at first—I’d always been one of those people who looked down on spiritualism as the worst kind of nonsense, you know—but then something happened that caused me to change my views.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Angela.

  ‘Yes,’ he went on. ‘Of course, in the beginning I should never have dreamed of paying for a sitting, but as it happened I didn’t need to, since it was she who came to me. I was sitting in a café in the piazza reading my newspaper and looking at the stocks, since I’d been turned on to what was supposed to be rather a good thing by a friend of mine, and I was just making some notes about it when Mrs. Quinn happened to walk past my table. She stopped and said—quite politely—that she hoped I’d excuse her interference, but she could not help noticing that I was taking an interest in B— stock. She knew it was none of her business but she felt she ought to warn me against it, since she was getting vibrations which told her that no good could come of it. Naturally, I thought she was talking nonsense but I thanked her politely and prepared to ignore her advice and go ahead with the investment, since my friend was absolutely certain that the price was about to go up sharply and I did not want to be too late. As luck would have it, however, I wrote out a cheque for quite a large sum of money but forgot to post it for nearly a month, and by the time I remembered it the stock had plummeted to less than a fifth of its value. Had I posted the cheque I should have ended up in no little financial difficulty.’

  ‘Goodness me!’ said Angela, who privately thought that anyone who had even considered investing in B— stock must have been quite mad, and applauded Mrs. Quinn if not for her vibrations, then at least for her good sense.

  ‘The same thing happened again a little time later,’ continued Mr. Sheridan. ‘The second time I was talking to Mrs. Quinn and just mentioned in passing that she had been right in what she had said about B—, and what did she think about F— Holdings? I was joking of course, but she immediately shook her head and said she thought the company was very unstable. This time I did not write a cheque but merely watched to see what would happen, and sure enough, a week later the scandal blew up, which you may remember. After that I was convinced, and I have consulted her regularly on a professional footing ever since. I am happy to say that she has never disappointed me.’

  ‘Then you will vouch for her as being genuine?’ said Angela.

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’

  ‘I had heard that some people suspect her of trying to defraud her clients of large sums of money,’ went on Angela cautiously.

  ‘Why, that’s simply nonsense,’ said Mr. Sheridan. ‘I suppose Jonathan Ainsley has been getting agitated again. He’s a good fellow but I’m afraid he is quite blind where Mrs. Quinn is concerned, and is convinced she is some kind of criminal just because one or two of her clients have taken it upon themselves to acknowledge their gratitude for her services in the form of hard cash. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if he suspects her of dabbling in witchcraft and human sacrifice to boot.’

  Angela thought he was probably right, and resolved never to mention the word ‘witchcraft’ to Jonathan in connection with the Quinns, for fear of giving him ideas.

  ‘Is it just Mrs. Quinn who does the sittings?’ she said. ‘Or does her daughter take part too?’

  Mr. Sheridan hesitated.

  ‘Miss Quinn’s gifts are a little different from her mother’s,’ he said. ‘Mrs. Quinn is well-versed in all the standard spiritualist methods—table-turning, séances and all the rest—but her daughter’s methods are less formal.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She has the gift of the second sight,’ he said, ‘but has not yet learned to harness it usefully. She has visions, but is unable to summon them at will or control their frequency or timing, and can only act on them when they come to her.’

  ‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘And are her visions accurate?’

  He shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, she has told me several times recently that I am in danger of something, although she can’t say what it is exactly.’

  ‘That’s not very helpful, is it?’ said Elsa in some amusement. ‘How are you supposed to protect yourself from the danger if you don’t know what it is?’

  He seemed about to say something but then changed his mind. Instead he gave a smile.

  ‘I dare say she thinks I ought to wear a hat in the midday sun, or something of that sort,’ he said.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Angela, ‘from what you have told me I think I certainly ought to make an appointment with Mrs. Quinn. It all sounds most interesting.’

  ‘Do,’ he said. ‘I assure you you won’t be disappointed.’

  It was getting late, and shortly afterwards the party broke up and Angela thankfully headed to bed. Her mind was still in turmoil following her bad-tempered encounter with Edgar Valencourt and she felt the need for a few minutes’ quiet reflection. When they had collided in the garden he had evidently been as astounded to see her as she was to see him, but why had he insisted on returning to the hotel that evening, instead of disappearing as quickly as he could? After all, he was a wanted man and he knew full well that she could identify him to the police. It was foolhardy of him in the extreme to remain in Stresa while she was here. And why had he taunted her so? As she gazed at herself in the little glass over the wash-basin she flushed again as she remembered his insolence, and bent to splash some cool water onto her hot cheeks. At any rate, she thought as she slid into bed, she should not have to suffer anything of the sort again. Presumably he had got his fit of pique—or whatever it was—out of his system and would now slip away quietly, leaving only a bad memory behind him. It was small comfort, though, and she lay awake far into the night, staring into the darkness.

  SIX

  Angela awoke late the next day with a nagging headache, and so decided to indulge in the luxury of breakfast in bed. By mid-morning she was feeling much better, and she emerged from her room with the intention of speaking to Mrs. Quinn and arranging a sitting with her. Her task proved to be an easy one, for as she emerged from the lift she saw the medium and her daughter standing in the hall talking to a small group of hotel guests. Angela made for the little rack of brochures offering day-trips which stood outside the Cook’s office, intending to leaf through them as she waited for the Quinns to finish speaking, but she had reckoned without Mrs. Quinn’s sharp eye for a new client.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Marchmont,’ she said as soon as the other people had moved away. She and her daughter came and joined Angela by the stand. ‘Thinking of booking a trip to Milan?’ she said, looking at the pamphlet in Angela’s hand. ‘It’s not far by train, although I’ve never been myself.’

  ‘Yes, I was considering it,’ replied Angela. ‘The cathedral is meant to be rather magnificent, I understand. I’m only in Stresa for a few days, unfortunately, and there is so much to do that I’m finding it difficult to fit everything in.’

  Mrs. Quinn laughed.

  ‘That’s not the first time I’ve heard that from a visitor,’ she said. ‘In fact, I can name two or three people who’ve said that to me and next thing I know they’re moving here for good!’

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ll go that far, tempting though it is,’ said Angela with a smile. ‘But I must confess that I’ve been surprised to discover just how many English people do
live here. I wonder whether the Italians feel as though they are being pushed out.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘The English bring too much money with them. I know what you mean, though. A good half of my clients live here permanently.’

  Angela saw an opening.

  ‘Such as Mr. Sheridan, for example?’ she said. ‘I was speaking to him last night and he was singing your praises most highly.’

  ‘Oh, Mr. Sheridan. We know Mr. Sheridan very well indeed, don’t we, Saph?’ said Mrs. Quinn to her daughter. ‘He’s a very pleasant gentleman and one of our best clients.’

  Miss Quinn nodded in agreement.

  ‘Mr. Sheridan has been very kind to us,’ she said, in an unexpectedly deep voice.

  As always, she was standing a little back, and Angela now got her first good look at the girl. Asphodel Quinn was no beauty, it was true, but she had an arresting presence and an air of immense and barely-suppressed energy. Angela wondered whether she had been instructed by her mother to keep her distance in order to prevent people from being frightened away by the expression of intensity in her large, dark eyes.

  ‘Indeed?’ said Angela. ‘And does Mrs. Sheridan sit for you too?’

  ‘She came once,’ said Asphodel darkly, ‘but I foresaw trouble for her and she never came back again. I foresaw trouble for both of them, as a matter of fact—him too—but he took it badly when I warned him about it.’

  ‘You oughtn’t to send letters about personal matters to people you hardly know, then,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘I’ve told you before you’ll never do well in this business unless you learn how best to approach people. Part of the job is knowing how to get them on their right side, and sending threatening letters to people who’ve never asked your advice is the worst way to do it.’

  ‘It wasn’t a threatening letter,’ said Miss Quinn. ‘I meant to be kind and save them both from a dreadful mistake. There was no need for him to send me that rude note.’