by Clara Benson
‘You put his back up,’ said her mother. ‘You ought to have spoken to him personally, or asked me to do it. Now he’ll never listen to you.’
Angela had been following this exchange with great curiosity, but forbore to ask impertinent questions, although she was burning to know what it all meant.
Mrs. Quinn saw her interest and said, ‘Saph has the Gift much more than I do, don’t you Saph? It’s a fine, strong one she’s got, but she hasn’t learned how best to use it yet. One day she will, but in the meantime I take care of the social etiquette side of things.’
She laughed, and Angela glanced over at Miss Quinn to see how she took the dig, but the girl did not seem to be offended, or even appear to be listening with great attention. Instead, she was staring at Christopher Tate and Francis Butler, who were just then walking across the hall in the direction of the terrace. After a moment she glanced away and directed her eyes at the floor.
‘Mr. Sheridan told me you had saved him from making one or two bad financial decisions,’ said Angela.
Mrs. Quinn laughed again.
‘Oh, yes, I did that all right.’ She lowered her voice. ‘To be perfectly truthful, Mrs. Marchmont, it was nothing that anyone with good sense wouldn’t have been able to do, but people do like to attribute things like that to my Gift. Not that my Gift is nonsense, of course—no, I can tell you that’s real enough—but it would be useless without a healthy dose of common sense. That’s partly what people pay for, you see. They come to me with a problem and they think that if I summon their dead father or whoever you like then the problem will be magically resolved, but of course it’s not like that at all. Nine times out of ten the dead father would have had no idea how to solve the problem even if he were alive, and so I have to offer a little advice myself and push them gently in the right direction.’
Angela was disarmed by Mrs. Quinn’s forthrightness and apparent honesty.
‘Then if I consult you about my husband it won’t do me any good to speak to him in person—is that what you mean?’ she said with interest.
‘That all depends on your husband,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘We don’t have to speak to him, and sometimes it’s simpler not to if he was a ne’er-do-well in life—no reflection meant, my dear, but so many of them were. But I always tell clients that I can often get the same result by sitting quietly with my hands to my head as I can with a planchette, and so we don’t have to summon anyone if they don’t want to. Of course, they usually do want to.’
‘I should very much like to try it,’ said Angela. ‘As a matter of fact there is something—’ she tailed off delicately, as though embarrassed.
‘Oh, no need to tell me about it now,’ said Mrs. Quinn briskly. ‘We can discuss it better in private. We have a room at home that we use for sittings—it’s quite separate and very comfortable. Or perhaps in your room here at the hotel? I’m busy all day today but I might be able to come here tomorrow morning if Mrs. Hargreaves goes to Lugano tomorrow, and I’m pretty certain she will. I can send a note later to confirm it, if you’re in agreement.’
Angela assented, and Mrs. Quinn beamed.
‘Then that’s settled,’ she said. ‘Saph and I will see you here tomorrow at ten, Mrs. Hargreaves permitting.’
‘Might I bring a friend?’ said Angela, suddenly remembering Elsa, who would hate to be left out.
‘Why, certainly,’ said Mrs. Quinn as she prepared to move off. ‘The more the merrier. Bring anyone you like.’
Angela watched them depart, and thought back to their conversation. It had certainly been most interesting. Mrs. Quinn had been cheerful and charming, but it was the daughter, Asphodel Quinn, whom Angela found most intriguing. What exactly had she seen that had induced her to write to Mr. Sheridan? She thought back to their conversation the night before. Sheridan had admitted to receiving a warning from Miss Quinn, but had claimed that the girl could not say what the danger was. Had he been lying? And why did Asphodel say that he had been angry about it? When Angela had seen them together, Mr. Sheridan had been perfectly courteous and friendly to both the Quinns—and in fact had said nothing at all to suggest that he was angry with anyone. It was all most mysterious. At any rate, now that Angela had made the appointment, she could at least say that she was doing something useful in the way of investigation, and she looked forward with interest to the next day.
SEVEN
That afternoon, Angela went into Stresa in search of Mary Ainsley, as she wished to report on her progress. As she expected, she found her friend in the town’s tiny English church, which was tucked away in a gloomy side-street that got no sun before five o’clock. Mary was standing at a little table, polishing a small collection of sad-looking brass articles. There was no sign of Jonathan.
‘There you are,’ said Mary brightly. ‘I was just wondering whether to come and look for you at the hotel. How are you getting on? I hope you like your room.’
Angela assured her that she did, and explained somewhat sheepishly that she had not got very far yet as she had unaccountably been side-tracked into taking a trip out on the lake the day before. However, she had now made the acquaintance of the Quinns and expected to have her first sitting the next day.
‘Oh, good,’ said Mary. ‘What do you think of them so far?’
‘I should say that Mrs. Quinn is very charming and undoubtedly knows what she is about,’ said Angela. ‘She is disarmingly honest, it seems to me.’
‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ agreed Mary. ‘I rather like her myself.’
‘As to whether she is defrauding anyone,’ went on Angela, ‘of course I can’t say, but I did put the question as tactfully as possible to Mr. Sheridan last night and he rejected the notion completely—at least as regards himself. I don’t suppose he can speak for other people.’
‘No,’ said Mary.
‘I’ll do what I can, of course,’ said Angela, ‘but I’m afraid Jonathan is almost certainly going to be disappointed.’
‘I think you’re probably right,’ said Mary. ‘I didn’t really expect much to come of it, you know, but at least Jonathan can’t accuse me of not trying to help if I’ve had you investigate it and give your honest opinion.’
It was on the tip of Angela’s tongue to say that Mary might as well have saved her efforts and let Angela go to Venice in peace for all the effect the investigation was likely to have on Jonathan’s unshakeable conviction, but she kept quiet.
‘Good luck with the sitting, anyway,’ went on Mary, ‘and do let me know straightaway what you thought. You can send a note if you like.’
‘Won’t I see you at the Villa Pozzi tomorrow?’ said Angela. ‘Mr. Sheridan said you were coming to the picnic. We can speak then.’
‘What’s tomorrow? Oh, Wednesday, of course. So we can,’ said Mary. ‘I must say, you seem to be filling in your time here quite nicely. I should have thought you would have wanted to get straight off to Venice tomorrow afternoon, once you’ve seen Mrs. Quinn.’
‘Perhaps I’ll go on Thursday instead,’ said Angela, forgetting for the moment that she had half-agreed to go to Milan with Elsa on Thursday.
‘Careful, Angela,’ said Mary with a smile, ‘or you’ll turn into one of those people who comes to Stresa and never leaves.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said Angela.
She took leave of her friend and went out. The shops were just now beginning to open after their long lunch-time pausa, and since Angela had one or two things she wanted to buy she remained in town and entertained herself by looking at the various gaudy souvenirs on display and buying several postcards, which she sat down to write on a bench under a shady tree. After making her purchases and visiting the post-office she was about to turn her steps back to the hotel when to her surprise and discomfiture she saw a familiar figure coming towards her up the street. It was Edgar Valencourt, whom she had imagined as being miles away by now. She was still furious with him, and was preparing to cut him magnificently and pass on when he stopped in front of
her and said formally:
‘Mrs. Marchmont, I should like to apologize for my appalling behaviour last night. It was quite inexcusable.’
Angela glared at him.
‘It most certainly was,’ she said severely. ‘What on earth did you mean by it?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I have no idea what got into me—the devil, I suppose. I had the most awful shock when I saw you in the garden yesterday afternoon, and I’d had rather more to drink than was good for me last night, but to insult you like that was completely uncalled for. I’m terribly ashamed of myself and I apologize unreservedly.’
‘Do you behave like that to everyone you bump into unexpectedly?’ said Angela.
‘No,’ he said, looking uncomfortable. ‘Just you, it seems. I’m sorry, Angela, truly I am. If it makes you feel any better I was awake half the night kicking myself for being such an unmitigated ass. Please say you’ll forgive me. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Just say the word. What shall I do first? Shoot myself?’ he said with a half-smile, in something more like his old manner.
‘Oh, no need for that when I can do it for you and save you the trouble,’ said Angela sweetly.
‘Shouldn’t you like to call me some names before you do it?’ he said. ‘I can think of a few choice words you might want to apply to me.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve thought of plenty of my own,’ she said. ‘Luckily for you, however, I was very nicely brought up and should never dream of saying them out loud.’
‘Well, at least you’re speaking to me,’ he said. ‘That’s something, at any rate.’
‘It doesn’t mean we’re friends, though,’ said Angela.
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Naturally I shouldn’t dream of aspiring to that until I’ve served at least ten years’ penance. For the moment I shall be quite content to get through this afternoon without being beaten soundly about the head with a parasol. By next year perhaps you’ll even smile at me again.’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Angela, who could see that he had no intention of leaving her alone until he had won her round. ‘Let’s forget it, shall we? It’s too hot to argue and I don’t like being cross.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I always suspected you of having a generous heart and now you’ve proved me right. Come and have tea with me and I’ll show you that most of the time at least I’m perfectly capable of behaving myself in the company of women.’
But Angela was having none of it.
‘No, Mr. Valencourt, I’d much rather not,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact, I think you ought to go away now.’
‘Go away?’ he said. ‘Ah, yes, I thought it might come to that.’
‘Of course it’s come to that. By staying here you put me in a very difficult position. I promised once not to give you away to the police, but it’s not fair of you to expect me to hold to that promise forever.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ he said.
‘By rights I ought to have reported you to Mr. D’Onofrio as soon as I saw you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t, of course, but my conscience is uneasy and it’s telling me that it’s my duty to do it. I don’t like being in this position. It makes me very uncomfortable and if you were any sort of gentleman you’d disappear now and let me continue my holiday in peace. Can’t you see I’m a danger to you?’
‘You’re perfectly right,’ he said, ‘although if you want to save yourself some trouble I’d advise you not to bother talking to D’Onofrio about me. He and I have a little—arrangement, let us say.’
‘Oh?’ said Angela. ‘I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem like the type to give himself unnecessary work, but I should have thought he’d want to stamp out your sort of—er—activity. Besides, there must be some credit to be had for arresting you.’
‘I’d be most offended if there weren’t,’ he said. ‘Listen, D’Onofrio is a good fellow, but he’s mostly concerned with catching cheating hoteliers and petty thieves, and making sure the foreigners keep on coming back every year. I take good care not to cause any trouble while I’m here and in return he leaves me well alone. However, you’re right—if you wanted to turn me in you’d find a way to do it. Very well, I promise I’ll leave as soon as I can.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And now I must go as I’m in rather a hurry, I’m afraid. Goodbye.’
She was not in a hurry at all, but she wanted to get away from him, and so she smiled politely and walked off as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, in her haste she did not notice that she had dropped one of her parcels. He picked it up and ran after her.
‘If you’re in a hurry then at least let me help you carry your things back,’ he said. She hesitated but did not object as he took her parcels and walked alongside her. They had now reached the lake-front and the first thing Angela saw there was Jack Lomax and his two pupils sitting under an awning with all their art equipment piled about them, while the owner of the café looked daggers at them for blocking the way to several of his tables. A strong smell of turpentine hung about the party.
‘We’re practising painting light today,’ said Christopher, once the greetings had been got over with. ‘Look, this is my attempt at capturing the lake at midday.’ He picked up his portable easel and showed Angela what he had been doing. ‘In a little while we’re going to have a go at the sunset.’
Angela duly admired his work, which as far as she could tell showed some signs of competence. Christopher’s painting style was careless and exuberant, and he favoured the use of dramatic splashes of colour, which gave his work a certain appeal. Francis’s work was much more precise and calming in tone.
‘I see Mr. Lomax has been working wonders with you both,’ said Angela. Lomax disclaimed the compliment but did not seem displeased.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Christopher. ‘I think my art tutor at home will be very happy with how I’ve come on. Francis, too. We’re both learning how to put more of ourselves into our paintings.’
‘Do you paint, Mrs. Marchmont?’ said Francis Butler.
Angela laughed.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I fear the artistic muse was looking the other way on the day I was born. I distinctly remember as a child sketching what to my mind was a beautiful portrait of my mother, but when I showed it to her she kissed me and said, “Why, you’ve drawn a pig, darling, how delightful.” I rather gave it up after that, but I do admire those who can do it.’
While they had been talking Jack Lomax had been busy with his pencil, drawing something on a scrap of paper. Valencourt craned his neck to see what it was. Lomax signed it with a flourish then handed the paper to him. Valencourt looked at it then passed it to Angela with a smile. She glanced at it in turn and then exclaimed in surprise, for it was a sketch of her, quite neatly done in only a few lines.
‘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.
