The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) by Clara Benson Page A

was just as hot in here as it was outside, and there seemed no escape from the oppressive heat. They all exchanged greetings.
    ‘Where is Mr. Sheridan?’ said Mr. Morandi.
    ‘We don’t know,’ said Mary. ‘Nobody has seen him today, although the women were given instructions yesterday to prepare the picnic, so we’ve got that at least.’ She indicated two baskets that stood at her feet. ‘We were just waiting for you and wondering what to do.’
    ‘Perhaps he got called away on business,’ said Elsa. ‘Do you think we ought to wait? Or shall we start before the rain does?’
    ‘I vote for the latter,’ said Jonathan Ainsley. ‘I oughtn’t really to be deserting my duties, and the sooner we start the better, I think, so I can get back.’
    ‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Mary. ‘You work hard enough. Even the bishop isn’t going to begrudge you a little fun now and again.’
    ‘Then that is settled,’ said Mr. Morandi. ‘Let us start immediately. Mr. Sheridan can join us when he will.’
    They carried the baskets out through the loggia and down the steps. After a minute or two it was decided between them that they would lay out the picnic under the branches of a nearby chestnut tree which had particularly thick and luxuriant foliage, in case it began to rain while they were eating. The blanket was spread out and the food unwrapped and they set to as well as they could in the sweltering heat. Mr. Morandi, indeed, seemed to have suffered no diminution in appetite at all—but as he said, he had been born and brought up in the area and was perfectly accustomed to this type of weather, which did not bother him in the least. Angela ate very little and Elsa barely anything at all, much to her regret.
    ‘It all looks so delicious that I feel terribly guilty,’ she said, ‘but this heat is so overwhelming that I fear I shall explode if I allow one of those enormous rolls to pass my lips.’
    ‘I know what you mean,’ said Mary. As everybody seemed to have finished she began wrapping the leftover food up and putting it back into the baskets. ‘Perhaps Raymond can have what we’ve left for supper, since it doesn’t look as though he’s going to turn up today.’
    ‘I wonder where he’s got to,’ said Jonathan. ‘It’s not like him to miss a picnic.’
    ‘It’s not, is it?’ said Mary. ‘Still, at least he was thoughtful enough to leave some food for us. It’s just a shame we couldn’t finish it.’
    ‘At any rate, I’m glad they put in sandwiches instead of risotto and cold vegetables,’ said her husband. ‘The Italians may pride themselves on their food but they have no idea how to do a picnic, generally speaking.’
    Mr. Morandi and Elsa were talking together, so Mary took the opportunity to say to Angela in an undertone, ‘How did you get on with Mrs. Quinn this morning?’
    Angela hesitated. Jonathan was listening, and she had no desire to upset him, so she merely said cautiously, ‘It was very interesting.’
    ‘But what did you think of her? Did you find anything out?’
    Angela was about to reply when Elsa said, ‘If we stay sitting here much longer in the heat I shall go mad. I must walk, and find a breath of air somewhere .’
    Angela shook her head at Mary and indicated that she would speak to her later, and the party began to disperse. Jonathan was anxious to get back to his duties, and so he and Mary agreed that they would return the picnic-baskets to the house and see if Mr. Sheridan had come back. If he had not, then they would return to town. Meanwhile, the others would take a little walk in the gardens which, after all, were what they had come to see.
    Accordingly, Angela, Elsa and Mr. Morandi set off at a leisurely pace in the opposite direction from the villa, for Mr. Morandi assured them that there was a fine view of the house to be had from the top of a little rise a short distance away, where there were no trees to block the view.
    ‘How steep is this rise, exactly?’ said