Read Online The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) by Clara Benson - Free Book Online
Authors: Clara Benson
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‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘How clever you are, Mr. Lomax! I shouldn’t have thought it possible to capture someone as well as that in only a minute or two, but you’ve done it.’
She handed it to Christopher and Francis, who bent their heads to look at it and comment. The café owner was now showing signs of agitation at the number of non-paying visitors taking up the seats in his establishment, so Angela and Valencourt took their leave and walked on towards the Hotel del Lago. As they entered they came upon the Quinns, who were on their way out.
‘Oh, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said Mrs. Quinn, ‘I’ve just left a note for you. Mrs. Hargreaves is certainly going to Lugano, so we can do tomorrow as we planned. Ten o’clock, wasn’t it? We’ll see if we can’t get that husband of yours to speak to us.’
With the utmost effort Angela managed not to blush, although she determinedly kept her face turned away from Valencourt, who was staring at her in astonishment.
‘Thank you, that will be perfect,’ she said.
The Quinns moved on. There was a short silence.
‘You’re not really going to see the Quinns, are you?’ said Valencourt at last. ‘Why, Angela, I shouldn’t have thought you were the type to fall for that kind of nonsense.’
‘Why not?’ said Angela, who had no intention of telling him why she was really doing it. ‘I’m not presumptuous enough to suppose that we know everything there is to know about the world. Perhaps there are forces at work of which we are totally unaware.’
He was not fooled for an instant.
‘You’re up to something, I can tell,’ he said. ‘Speak to that husband of yours, indeed. Is he really dead?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Angela frostily.
Her manner prevented him from inquiring further, but he was about to pursue the subject of the spiritualists when his attention was suddenly caught by someone who was just then passing through the hall. It was the woman Angela had seen last night following him out of the room. It seemed that Valencourt was seeing her for the first time, for a look of surprise passed briefly across his face.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Smart ,’ said the woman in meaningful tones, then glanced at Angela and walked on before he could reply.
‘Who is that?’ said Angela. ‘She was here last night. She followed you when you went out.’ She immediately bit her tongue, for now he would know she had been watching him, but he was distracted and did not seem to have noticed.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I—er—must have met her somewhere. Her face seems familiar.’
He then took leave and departed, somewhat to Angela’s relief. She was standing deep in thought when Mr. Morandi came in through the front doors and greeted her with pleasure. She returned his salutation, and then said, ‘Who was that woman who went out just now? The dark one wearing all the gold.’
‘Ah, yes, I know her,’ he said. ‘She is La Duchessa di Alassio—or at least, that is what she calls herself.’
‘Do you mean that’s not her real name?’
Mr. Morandi shrugged.
‘I do not know,’ he said, ‘but let us say I suspect it. The title is not familiar to me. She is not Italian, at any rate.’
‘Where is she from, do you suppose?’ said Angela.
‘That I cannot tell you. I love all my guests, of course, but not all of them are as friendly as you and Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Marchmont. If they choose not to talk to me then that is their right.’
From the coolness of his tone, Angela surmised that Morandi’s friendly approaches to La Duchessa had been rebuffed.
‘Ah, eccola ! Here is Mrs. Peters,’ said Mr. Morandi in a more cheerful voice, as Elsa just then came in from the garden. ‘Now signore , I insist you both come and have a drink with me. Have you tried Campari? It is a little drink we make here in Italy and I assure you it is quite delicious on a hot evening such as this.’
They went out onto the terrace. Dense,
‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘How clever you are, Mr. Lomax! I shouldn’t have thought it possible to capture someone as well as that in only a minute or two, but you’ve done it.’
She handed it to Christopher and Francis, who bent their heads to look at it and comment. The café owner was now showing signs of agitation at the number of non-paying visitors taking up the seats in his establishment, so Angela and Valencourt took their leave and walked on towards the Hotel del Lago. As they entered they came upon the Quinns, who were on their way out.
‘Oh, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said Mrs. Quinn, ‘I’ve just left a note for you. Mrs. Hargreaves is certainly going to Lugano, so we can do tomorrow as we planned. Ten o’clock, wasn’t it? We’ll see if we can’t get that husband of yours to speak to us.’
With the utmost effort Angela managed not to blush, although she determinedly kept her face turned away from Valencourt, who was staring at her in astonishment.
‘Thank you, that will be perfect,’ she said.
The Quinns moved on. There was a short silence.
‘You’re not really going to see the Quinns, are you?’ said Valencourt at last. ‘Why, Angela, I shouldn’t have thought you were the type to fall for that kind of nonsense.’
‘Why not?’ said Angela, who had no intention of telling him why she was really doing it. ‘I’m not presumptuous enough to suppose that we know everything there is to know about the world. Perhaps there are forces at work of which we are totally unaware.’
He was not fooled for an instant.
‘You’re up to something, I can tell,’ he said. ‘Speak to that husband of yours, indeed. Is he really dead?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Angela frostily.
Her manner prevented him from inquiring further, but he was about to pursue the subject of the spiritualists when his attention was suddenly caught by someone who was just then passing through the hall. It was the woman Angela had seen last night following him out of the room. It seemed that Valencourt was seeing her for the first time, for a look of surprise passed briefly across his face.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Smart ,’ said the woman in meaningful tones, then glanced at Angela and walked on before he could reply.
‘Who is that?’ said Angela. ‘She was here last night. She followed you when you went out.’ She immediately bit her tongue, for now he would know she had been watching him, but he was distracted and did not seem to have noticed.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I—er—must have met her somewhere. Her face seems familiar.’
He then took leave and departed, somewhat to Angela’s relief. She was standing deep in thought when Mr. Morandi came in through the front doors and greeted her with pleasure. She returned his salutation, and then said, ‘Who was that woman who went out just now? The dark one wearing all the gold.’
‘Ah, yes, I know her,’ he said. ‘She is La Duchessa di Alassio—or at least, that is what she calls herself.’
‘Do you mean that’s not her real name?’
Mr. Morandi shrugged.
‘I do not know,’ he said, ‘but let us say I suspect it. The title is not familiar to me. She is not Italian, at any rate.’
‘Where is she from, do you suppose?’ said Angela.
‘That I cannot tell you. I love all my guests, of course, but not all of them are as friendly as you and Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Marchmont. If they choose not to talk to me then that is their right.’
From the coolness of his tone, Angela surmised that Morandi’s friendly approaches to La Duchessa had been rebuffed.
‘Ah, eccola ! Here is Mrs. Peters,’ said Mr. Morandi in a more cheerful voice, as Elsa just then came in from the garden. ‘Now signore , I insist you both come and have a drink with me. Have you tried Campari? It is a little drink we make here in Italy and I assure you it is quite delicious on a hot evening such as this.’
They went out onto the terrace. Dense,
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