The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) (3 page)

The next day was fine and sunny, and by ten o’clock Mrs. Marchmont and Mrs. Peters were down by the landing-stage where Elsa, whose Italian was better than Angela’s, was briskly negotiating terms with a boatman for a visit to the islands. As Angela stood by feeling rather useless, she heard a voice calling her name and turned to see the two young students they had met in Florence approaching.

‘I say, how splendid to see you here,’ said Christopher Tate. ‘I didn’t realize you were coming too.’

‘I wasn’t originally, but I changed my plans,’ said Angela. ‘I take it you’re going to paint, today,’ she went on, for the young men were again weighed down with various items of artistic paraphernalia.

‘Yes,’ said Christopher. ‘We’re just waiting for Lomax and then we’ll begin. I simply can’t tell you how pleased I am that we came here, Mrs. Marchmont. Why, under Lomax’s tutelage we’ve both come along more in two days than we should have in a month in Florence—I’m quite convinced of it. Don’t you agree, Francis?’

The more taciturn Francis Butler nodded, and Christopher went on:

‘You absolutely
must
meet him, Mrs. Marchmont. His brush-work is
quite
the best I’ve ever seen—and his sense of perspective and colour! Why, the man’s a genius. Those blues! I’ve never seen such blues!’

‘Well, I suppose if one’s fond of blue then a lake in sunny weather is an excellent place to indulge one’s taste,’ said Angela, amused at the young man’s raptures. Since his arrival in Stresa he seemed to have rapidly developed a severe case of hero-worship. Francis let out a short laugh; he had evidently noticed it too.

They were then joined by Elsa, who had concluded arrangements to her own satisfaction, and after a few more minutes spent exchanging pleasantries the two young men went off and the ladies allowed themselves to be handed into the boat. As it drew away from the quay, Angela saw a figure approaching the two students, who waved a greeting to him. She pointed the newcomer out to Elsa.

‘That must be Jack Lomax, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Have you met him?’

‘I believe so, briefly,’ said Elsa. ‘Rather a strong, silent type. He’s a great friend of Mr. Sheridan’s, I gather. I dare say he’ll turn up at the hotel sooner or later. Everybody does.’

They now turned their attention to the scenery, and Elsa pointed out the nearest of the islands, Isola Bella, which was to be their main port of call. The next few hours were spent very pleasantly indeed, exploring the delightful
palazzo
and its gardens. As she ascended slowly from terrace to terrace and admired the splendid cedars, magnolias and orange-trees, Angela conceded that her friend had not exaggerated in her description of the place, and was forced to admit that she was very glad she had come.

At about five o’clock they arrived back at the hotel where they parted, since Elsa wanted to go to the post-office. Angela pondered the possibility of a glass of iced lemonade on the terrace, but before she could act on her idea she was spotted and joined by Mr. Morandi, who wanted to hear all about her day and insisted on strolling through the garden with her until he was quite satisfied that she had enjoyed herself as much as was required. He then began to instruct her in the history of the islands, and was in the middle of a lengthy discourse on the various exploits of the noble Borromeo family when he happened to catch his son idling under a tree smoking, and stopped to upbraid him in vehement Italian. Angela walked on tactfully, but her attention was still on the little family scene behind her and she was not looking where she was going, so she did not see the man who just then emerged from another path at a brisk pace and they cannoned full into each other with some force. They both exclaimed in surprise and began to apologize, then stopped.

‘
Oh!
’ they said together.

Mr. Morandi came hurrying up.

‘
Accidenti!
’ he said gaily. ‘I hope nobody was hurt in the collision. Ah, I see it is you, Mr. Smart. So you are back again from your travels. This is Mrs. Marchmont, one of our English guests. Mrs. Marchmont, Mr. Smart.’

Angela had quickly recovered her self-possession, and held out a hand.

‘How do you do, Mr. Smart,’ she said. ‘I am Angela Marchmont.’

He took her hand and muttered something that might have meant anything, and then passed on hurriedly without another word.

‘Mr. Smart is one of our occasional English residents,’ said Mr. Morandi as they walked in the direction of the terrace. ‘I believe he has a house outside Stresa. He was not very friendly today, which is quite unusual—but perhaps he is tired from his journey.’

Angela was only half-listening, for her mind was busy. As they ascended the steps she glanced back and saw that Mr. Smart had stopped and was gazing intently after her, eyes narrowed. When she looked again he was gone.

‘Will you take a drink?’ said Mr. Morandi.

Angela brought her thoughts back to the present with some difficulty.

‘As a matter of fact, I think I should like to lie down for a little while,’ she said. ‘The fresh air has quite tired me out, I believe.’

‘A very good idea,’ said Morandi. ‘Tonight we have a most excellent orchestra, and you must be refreshed for that.’

He beamed a goodbye then went off to the kitchen to make sure his son had returned to his duties, and Angela went up to her room to reflect on the events of the day.

As Mr. Morandi had promised, there was music after dinner, and the hotel bustled with more than the usual activity that evening. Angela and Elsa sat together and were soon joined by Mr. Morandi and Mr. D’Onofrio, who felt it incumbent upon himself to join in the revels for the sake of the protection of the public, as he assured them. After one or two drinks he unbent slightly and decided that it was time to teach Angela some Italian. They were laughing together at her attempts to pronounce
quarantaquattro
when Angela suddenly had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced up and around and saw the man called Smart leaning against the hotel bar, smoking. He was not looking in her direction but she had no doubt that his were the eyes she had felt upon her. She in turn watched surreptitiously from under her lashes as he stubbed out his cigarette and came over to her table, where he entered into conversation with Mr. Morandi, although the music was very loud and she could not hear what they were saying.

The number came to an end and the introduction to a gentler one was struck up, and as soon as he could make himself heard Mr. Smart asked Angela to dance. She was momentarily surprised but agreed, and joined him on the floor in a state of some apprehension. Once the music had fairly begun he glanced to his left and right as though to be sure they could not be overheard, then said:

‘Hallo, Angela.’

‘Hallo, Mr. Valencourt,’ she returned with the utmost politeness.

‘Rather a surprise to see you here,’ he said.

‘I might say the same,’ she replied, and indeed the sudden appearance on the scene of a notorious jewel-thief and former adversary was a factor with which she had not reckoned. She went on, ‘I suppose you’ve come to Italy to enjoy the health-giving benefits of the fresh mountain air.’

His mouth curled up in amusement.

‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘I sit in my easy chair all day long with the windows open and a blanket tucked about my knees, sipping weak tea. I find it does me no end of good. You look quite stunning, by the way.’

‘Thank you,’ she said warily.

‘Why
are
you here, as a matter of interest?’

‘For a holiday, of course,’ she said. ‘In actual fact, I was supposed to go to Venice, but I changed my plans at the last minute.’

‘And I can tell you’re regretting it now,’ he said. She did not reply, and he laughed. ‘You ought to be more careful of that face of yours, Angela,’ he said. ‘It gives away more than you know—to me, at any rate. I can read it as easily as a book.’

‘Can you, indeed?’ she said coolly. ‘How very dull for you.’

‘On the contrary, I find it fascinating,’ he said.

‘Very well, then, Mr. Valencourt,’ said Angela with a sigh. ‘Let us agree that my face is the equivalent of the Bible and the entire
oeuvre
of Dickens combined and have done with it. But that’s quite beside the point. What exactly do you want?’

‘Well, to start with I’d like you to stop calling me Mr. Valencourt. Can’t you call me Edgar? Everyone else does.’

‘Oh, I see. You’re afraid I’ll give away your real name in front of everyone,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry—I won’t.’

He was about to speak but then stopped and looked at her searchingly.

‘You’re still angry with me about what happened in Cornwall, aren’t you?’ he said in surprise.

‘Not in the least,’ said Angela.

‘Oh, but you are, I can tell. Look how rigidly you’re holding yourself, and the distance you’re keeping. Why, there must be six inches between us, at least. We must do something about that.’

Before she could reply he whirled her round suddenly and at the same time pulled her tightly against him. Angela’s eyes flashed.

‘I should rather like to breathe, if it’s all the same to you,’ she said.

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.