Death of an Englishman by Magdalen Nabb Page B

mystery to me how the Italians get through a morning with just a coffee and a bun. Of course, they eat much later than we do in the evening—we hear knives and forks going well after ten o'clock in some of the flats across the courtyard—so perhaps they're not so hungry in the mornings … but I must say, some of these people work very late … Felicity and I usually eat about seven, I hope that's all right with you?'
    'Oh yes, I should think so.' The Chief Inspector leaned back in his chair, feeling replete after bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade and three cups of tea from a heavy silver pot. The mahogany sideboard was decked with holly and Christmas cards from England, the sort with robins, skating scenes and simple, one-colour lino cuts supposed to suggest the Nativity.
    'Well, I think I've just time for a pipe before I go over to the Consulate, then I must leave you boys to it.' The vicar's hair and beard were white, his face generally rather pink. He wore a hand-knitted grey sweater over his dog collar, and he sucked questioningly on his pipe as though it might tell him something. Felicity, oblivious of the two policemen, was deep in a newspaper crossword puzzle. They caught the occasional glimpse of her wispy grey hair.
    'Funny sort of chappie …' As he struck a match and sucked a little harder, the vicar's thoughts rambled naturally to A. Langley-Smythe. 'Came to church once or twice when he first moved up here, about five years ago, I suppose, but then he stopped coming … didn't mix much, really.'
    'Is there much social life—among the English community, that is?'
    'Oh yes, yes, I think so. We do quite a lot here, you know. Felicity's awfully good—' Felicity showed no sign of life behind her newspaper— 'glass of wine after the last service on Sundays, of course, and then once a month we have a little get-together —a meal, and so on—everyone makes a little something, sausage rolls, sandwiches, cakes, that sort of thing. Then at Christmas and Easter we do a hot meal and everyone contributes something to the festive board. Quite a lot of social life, really … The trouble is, of course, that it's the same people who give every time and others just come along … I'm afraid Mr Langley-Smythe … well, he was a bachelor … couldn't expect him to bake cakes … but I'm afraid he didn't mix much on the few occasions when he turned up.'
    'Did he have any friends, that you know of.'
    'Not that I know of, do you, Felicity? No, I don't think so. Used to see him in the street every so often, but never with anyone that I can think of. He used to … well, he never seemed …'
    'Never seemed what?'
    'Well … looked after … bit messy, you know … Of course, he was a bachelor, so I suppose …'
    'No gossip?'
    'Gossip?'
    'Well …' The Chief Inspector was embarrassed. 'Anything odd in his private life that might have made him rather … reserved?'
    'He wasn't a homosexual, if that's what you mean—at least, I wouldn't have said so, would you, Felicity? Felicity's better at this sort of thing than I am, but I really don't think so. Florence is very much a village, you know, everyone knows everyone else's business and anything of that sort would be known—plenty of it going on, of course …'
    'So you think he was just a reserved person, no dark secret?'
    'Well, if he had a dark secret he must have gone to very great trouble to conceal it because being reserved wouldn't do it, not in Florence. You might try the English Library, you know. English books cost a fortune here so if he was a reader he would go there—for the newspapers, too, dreadfully expensive to buy. Poor Felicity has to make do with one a week—she likes to do the crosswords, you see, but we couldn't possibly afford it, not every day. Well, look, I must be getting over to the Consulate, put up the banns for a wedding. See you about seven this evening, if you're not back before—we've got a carol service tonight at nine, but you'll be a bit tired,