The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) (2 page)

‘I cannot take the thing as lightly as you do, Angela,’ said Jonathan, ‘but if it were only that I should be less disturbed. However, I firmly believe that Mrs. Quinn is actively defrauding some of her more gullible clients out of their money.’

‘Oh?’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘I have heard indirectly of several instances recently in which people have handed over large amounts of money to the Quinns, or have promised to remember them in a will. I believe Miss Frome, for example, pays Mrs. Quinn regular sums in the form of a retainer for her services, which is simply absurd in my view—but then of course she is terribly rich and has always been rather eccentric in her views on established religion. Then there is Mrs. Rowe, who is quite bedridden. Mrs. Quinn visited her frequently all last winter and, I am sure, made every effort to insinuate herself into the old woman’s confidence. I know of this because Mrs. Rowe’s son came out to visit her a month or so ago, and was most dismayed to find out what had been happening. He came to see me about it and said that his mother was planning to leave Mrs. Quinn a significant amount of money in her will and was there anything he could do about it?’

‘If he had cared enough about her to visit her more often himself, then perhaps she wouldn’t have done it in the first place,’ said Mary reasonably.

‘True enough,’ said Jonathan, ‘but he is her only son, and surely deserves to have some say in the matter. And then of course there is Raymond Sheridan, who really ought to know better, given that he is not a weak-minded old woman but rather a perfectly sensible man in all other respects.’

‘Who is Raymond Sheridan?’ said Angela.

‘He lives here in Stresa with his wife,’ said Jonathan. ‘They are a very pleasant couple—he in particular is very friendly and a valuable part of the little English community we have here. They frequently hold large parties and gatherings at their home, and we have benefited from their hospitality many times.’

‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Mary.

‘Unfortunately,’ went on Jonathan, ‘he, too, appears to have fallen for the wiles of Mrs. Quinn recently. She has saved him from financial ruin more than once—or that is what he believes, at any rate. On two occasions he happened to mention in passing an investment he was considering, and she warned him against it. Apparently each time she was right, and the company in question went to the bad. He therefore considers himself in her debt.’

‘Now
that
is a useful talent to have, if she really does have it,’ said Angela, ‘although I shouldn’t say it necessarily required any clairvoyant ability. One can often predict these things merely by reading the newspapers with a close eye.’

‘A
man
might, but I doubt a woman could understand complicated financial matters of that sort,’ said Jonathan dismissively.

As it happened, Mrs. Marchmont lived a very comfortable life thanks to her understanding of complicated financial matters of that sort, but she merely raised her eyebrows a little and did not reply. Instead, she said:

‘Then you think all these people have been induced by dishonest means to give Mrs. Quinn money?’

‘I’ve no doubt of it,’ said Jonathan. ‘She is a cunning and insinuating woman who has succeeded in charming her way into the confidences of some of the weaker members of our community, and I want her stopped.’

Angela was becoming a little impatient at Jonathan’s intransigent attitude to what seemed to her a fairly harmless activity. She shook her head and was about to speak but before she could do so she was forestalled by Mary, who saw that her friend was not entirely sympathetic to Jonathan’s cause, and was determined to rescue the situation.

‘I know it sounds a little absurd,’ she said in her most persuasive voice, taking Angela’s hand, ‘but we’d—I’d be most grateful if you’d agree to help, Angela. You won’t have to do very much, you know—just make an appointment to sit for Mrs. Quinn and then tell us your impressions afterwards. I’d do it myself, but of course it’s impossible in my position, and you were always
so
clever at seeing through people. If she’s up to no good then I just
know
you’ll be able to tell straightaway.’

‘But what if there’s nothing to discover?’ said Angela. ‘I dare say she employs various tricks and artifices to create effects during her séances, but that’s hardly proof that she is committing the more serious crimes of which you suspect her, is it? To discover evidence of outright fraud would take more than a half-an-hour appointment, surely? Why, it would require a proper police investigation, and I can’t help you with that.’

‘If you don’t discover anything then we’ll consider the matter settled and say no more about it,’ said Mary.

It was an empty promise, as Angela knew full well, since Jonathan was not one to abandon a perfectly good
idée fixe
once it had taken hold. She was about to demur again but the sight of Mrs. Ainsley’s careworn face and hopeful expression caused her to hesitate. Mary’s life could not be an easy one, and they
had
been good friends at one time. And a day or two would not make much difference to her holiday, she supposed. Venice could wait. There was one thing on which she was determined to stand firm, however.

‘I had better not stay here with you,’ she said, ‘or everyone will surely suspect what I am about. Is there a decent hotel in Stresa?’

Mary saw that the game was won.

‘I was just thinking the very same thing,’ she replied. ‘Of course you must go to the Hotel del Lago. It’s quite the best one in the place, and all the English people go there, including the Quinns. Mr. Morandi is the owner and he’s the most incorrigible gossip. You’ll easily be able to learn all kinds of things you couldn’t possibly find out if you stayed with us. It’s still early in the season so there are bound to be rooms available.’

‘I had better go there, then,’ said Angela. ‘It sounds the very place.’

‘Then you’ll do it,’ said Mary, clapping her hands together with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Angela, I’m so glad. You can go to the hotel tomorrow, but you must stay with us tonight. It’s the least we can do after spoiling your holiday.’

‘You haven’t spoilt it at all,’ said Angela, and it was not entirely a lie, for although she did not see eye to eye with Jonathan in the case, she had never sat for a medium before, and was in truth rather intrigued by the idea. Besides, she liked the look of Stresa and was keen to see more of it. A day or two of fresh air would be delightful; a much-needed pause for rest and refreshment before she ventured into the close and heady atmosphere of the city once again.

And so Angela resigned herself to her fate.

As its name suggested, the Hotel del Lago was situated down by the water, and commanded spectacular views of Lake Maggiore itself, as well as of the mountains and villages on the opposite shore at the point where the lake forked, its right-hand branch stretching miles into the distance up to and beyond the Swiss border. The hotel itself was a stately edifice, although not more than about fifty years old, and flaunted its gay grandeur shamelessly, its white-painted façade and flower-bedecked balconies seeming to betoken a state of permanent spring-time. It was pleasant to sit on the hotel terrace in the shade of a striped canopy, idly watching the little boats and the steamers cross to and fro as they ferried their passengers to their various destinations. Thus was Angela occupied, in company with her friend Elsa Peters, the very afternoon after her arrival in Stresa. She had left the Ainsleys’ cramped apartment without much regret that morning, and had secured herself a large, well-appointed room at the hotel. It had a four-posted bed, a lake view and a balcony, all of which pleased her very much, and caused her to reflect that in such comfortable surroundings perhaps a little light detective-work would not be so unpleasant after all. Moreover, she had soon discovered that Mrs. Peters was staying at the same hotel, and the two ladies were now sipping cool drinks and making plans to visit various places in the vicinity, while Angela studiously forgot the fact that she was only meant to be staying for a day or two.

‘You can’t go without first seeing the Borromean Islands,’ Elsa was saying. ‘The Isola Bella has the most magnificent terraced gardens. I never come to Stresa without taking a trip out on the lake. Let’s go together, shall we? What about tomorrow? I always love to see people’s faces when they see it for the first time.’

Angela laughed at Elsa’s enthusiasm and agreed to the proposal.

‘Ah, Mrs. Peters, I see you are instructing your friend in the beauties of our
lago
,’ said a voice just then, and the ladies looked up to see a jovial-looking man of middle age and luxuriant moustache standing by their table. He beamed at Elsa and gave a little bow to Angela. ‘
Buongiorno signora
, I am Morandi, the owner of this hotel, and you are Mrs. Marchmont, yes?’ Angela assented, and he went on, ‘You see, it is my business to know the names of all of my guests—especially the beautiful ladies. The English women are all
elegantissime
.’

He said it so sentimentally and was so patently sincere that Angela had to suppress a smile.

‘Mr. Morandi knows absolutely everything, and is extremely helpful to us poor, ignorant English tourists,’ said Elsa. ‘He has been most kind to me, too—especially when I came here shortly after my husband died a few years ago. I believe you gave me the best room, although I hadn’t paid for it, didn’t you? Come now, admit it.’

Mr. Morandi looked about him in exaggerated fashion and put his finger over his lips.

‘Quiet!’ he said, ‘Or everyone will think I am not a hard business-man and you will ruin me.’ He beamed again and invited himself to sit down. He and Elsa were evidently old friends, and Angela listened in silence as they gossiped about mutual acquaintances and exchanged news of their families. Mr. Morandi was a widower too, with a son who worked in the hotel restaurant and gave him nothing but worry, being a lazy
fannullone
. The ladies duly expressed their sympathy and their hopes that young Vittorio would shortly come to his senses and become a useful member of society. Mr. Morandi shrugged expressively and glanced up at the heavens as though to say that the matter was out of his hands.

‘Isn’t that Mr. Sheridan?’ said Elsa, who had just spotted someone. Angela looked and saw a well-built, smartly-dressed man of forty-five or so emerging from the hotel onto the terrace. He sat down at a table in the corner and summoned a waiter, then caught sight of Mr. Morandi and held up his hand in salutation.

‘I think I’ve heard his name,’ said Angela. ‘Doesn’t he live here?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Morandi, acknowledging the gesture. ‘He and his wife live at the Villa Pozzi, not far from here. Perhaps you have seen it? It is the yellow house with the very beautiful gardens, set a little back from the lake.’

‘No, I haven’t seen it,’ said Angela.

‘I dare say you will,’ said Elsa. ‘Mr. Sheridan is very sociable and likes nothing better than to invite everyone he meets to come and see his exotic plants. I met him and his wife when I came here last year and we had a very pleasant picnic at the villa one afternoon.’

‘I am afraid you will not see Mrs. Sheridan this time,’ said Mr. Morandi. ‘She is in England, visiting her family.’ He glanced up and started, for another man had just then appeared silently at his shoulder. ‘Ah! It is D’Onofrio. I did not see you there. Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Marchmont, this is Mr. D’Onofrio, our
capo di polizia
. It is his job to protect us all from thieves and assassins.’

‘Goodness,’ said Elsa. ‘Do you have a lot of that sort of thing here?’

‘Very little,’ said Mr. Morandi slyly, ‘thanks to D’Onofrio.’

Mr. D’Onofrio nodded impassively. He had the wary, observant expression of many policemen and an air about him which suggested that nothing could ever surprise him. He was duly invited to sit down and did so.

‘Morandi is right,’ he said. ‘It is very quiet here. There is not the violence and the criminality of Milano, for example.’ An expression of disgust passed briefly across his face at the mention of the undisciplined city. ‘In Stresa there are one or two people who like to steal things from the foreigners, but we know who they are and we catch them quickly. And sometimes a man shoots his wife when she looks at another man,’ he went on almost as an afterthought. ‘But that is a problem only for her. The tourists know nothing of it.’

He fell silent as two men in military uniform passed by and nodded politely at him. He returned the nod and watched them with narrowed eyes as they continued on their way. Once they were out of earshot Mr. Morandi said something in a low voice in Italian and D’Onofrio replied shortly in the same language. The ladies knew better than to ask questions, and in any case Angela had just spotted something else that interested her, for two women had come out onto the terrace and were making their way to Mr. Sheridan’s table. The older woman was short, middle-aged and plump, with a cheerful expression and an evident addiction to quantities of rouge, while the younger one, a girl of eighteen or so, was taller and strongly-built, with a dark and unsmiling aspect. Both of them were dressed in far too many layers of clothing for the warm weather. Angela watched as the older one approached Mr. Sheridan and engaged him in conversation, while the girl hung back. They were too far away to be audible, but Sheridan appeared delighted to see them both and indicated the empty chairs next to him. The older woman shook her head and by her gestures seemed to say that they were in a hurry. Mr. Sheridan said something to the young girl and she replied but did not smile, although the other woman gave a cheery laugh. After a minute or two they saluted each other and the women moved away. They were about to descend the terrace steps into the garden when the older one spotted the little group at Angela and Elsa’s table, and made towards it, the girl tagging behind.

‘Hallo, hallo!’ the woman said brightly. ‘Isn’t it a fine day?’

‘Indeed it is, Mrs. Quinn,’ said Mr. Morandi. ‘And good afternoon to you, Miss Quinn. I hope you are both well.’

‘Oh, pretty fair, thank you,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘Just a touch of the arthritis in my left knee as usual, but the weather’s warming up now and that usually helps. I always say there’s nothing better than the Italian climate to do wonders for one’s health.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Elsa Peters with a smile. ‘Hallo, Mrs. Quinn. We met yesterday, didn’t we?’

‘Indeed we did. Hallo, Mrs. Peters,’ said Mrs. Quinn. She glanced at Angela and held out her hand. ‘Adela Quinn,’ she said.

‘Angela Marchmont,’ said Angela, shaking the proffered hand.

‘Mrs. Quinn is a medium and clairvoyant,’ said Elsa. ‘I understand she is recommended by many people here.’

‘That’s kind of you to say so,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘One doesn’t like to boast, but I will say that my clients do tend to return more than once.’

‘Indeed?’ said Angela. ‘I’ve never consulted a spiritualist before. It sounds most interesting. What services do you offer?’

‘Oh, the usual,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘Table-turning, automatic writing, full séances, card-reading—anything you like. I’d love to tell you all about it now, but I’m afraid I’m already rather late for an appointment. However, I do have something—’

She patted her many pockets and eventually unearthed a slightly battered card, which she handed to Angela.

‘We’re here most days, so I dare say I’ll see you again,’ she said. ‘I do a special rate for new clients, in case that sways it for you.’

‘I shall give it some thought,’ promised Angela.

Mrs. Quinn smiled pleasantly, satisfied at the thought of a new customer, then she and her companion went off.

‘Is Miss Quinn her daughter?’ said Angela, when they had gone.

‘Yes,’ replied Elsa. ‘Her name is Asphodel, I believe. Rather a mouthful, don’t you think?’

‘It is certainly unusual,’ said Angela. ‘They don’t look a bit alike, do they?’

Mr. Morandi was shaking his head.

‘Don’t you like spiritualists?’ said Angela with a smile. ‘They are not to everybody’s taste, I understand.’

Mr. Morandi was too polite to give his true feelings on the matter, but his expression said much.

‘What about you, Mr. D’Onofrio?’ said Elsa. ‘I don’t suppose they’re doing anything illegal, are they?’

The policeman shrugged.

‘As long as they do not cause trouble then there is no problem,’ he said.

He stood up and took his leave. Angela watched him go and wondered whether Jonathan Ainsley had ever tried to report the Quinns to the police. D’Onofrio was clearly not a man who liked to make work for himself, and was perhaps unlikely to be receptive to a complaint unaccompanied by supporting evidence. On first acquaintance, Mrs. Quinn seemed genuine enough—as far as that went, of course. Angela did not believe herself, but she supposed that spiritualism must bring comfort to some people. At any rate, her task was proving very easy so far, since she had already met Mrs. Quinn. The next thing would be to make an appointment to sit for her.

Mr. Morandi excused himself a few minutes later, and Elsa said:

‘I didn’t think you were the type to fall for all that spiritualist nonsense, Angela.’

‘I’m not,’ said Angela, and debated whether to tell her friend her real purpose in coming to Stresa. Elsa might be persuaded to sit for Mrs. Quinn too. Mrs. Peters was a sensible woman and unlikely to be fooled by an act, and her opinion would be valuable. Angela reached a decision.

‘How would you like to help me in a little detective-work?’ she said.

Elsa was surprised, but all ears, and Angela explained the situation.

‘Well!’ exclaimed Elsa. ‘That certainly sounds intriguing, and I should love to help if I can. What do we do? Make an appointment to see her, I suppose?’

‘That will be the first thing, certainly,’ agreed Angela. ‘After that, I’m not quite sure. I don’t see how we can discover whether or not she is defrauding people of their money without speaking to the people in question, and they’re not likely to admit anything.’

‘You mentioned Mr. Sheridan as being one of her regular clients. We can certainly speak to him about it, at any rate. A séance, though: now, that is exciting. I’ve never done anything of the kind before.’

‘Nor have I,’ said Angela. ‘I think I shall have to invent a dead husband or two.’

‘You can have mine if you like,’ said Elsa. ‘If he turns up then I’ll
know
it’s all rot, as Tom had no patience at all with that kind of thing and would never have dreamed of returning to haunt his poor family.’

‘He died a few years ago, I think you said,’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Elsa. ‘The silly ass crashed his aeroplane when he was messing about and showing off. He always was a reckless idiot, and he paid for it in the end.’ Despite the epithet, she spoke fondly. ‘And now the children are all grown up and I can please myself, so I spend my time travelling the world and meeting new people.’

‘That sounds delightful,’ said Angela.

‘It is,’ said Elsa, ‘although I do miss him terribly. We were both very sociable types, you know, and it’s difficult when there’s just the one of you. I confess I do get lonely at times. Still,’ she said, brightening up, ‘we have the trip on the lake to look forward to tomorrow.’

‘So we do,’ said Angela. ‘And after that you can help me find out about this Mrs. Quinn.’

‘I shall look forward to it,’ said Elsa.