Free The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) by Joanna Challis

hadn’t seen him for a long time, her strong brow and square jawline softening as she laughed. I liked the sound of her laugh; it was mischievous and engaging and from her short stub nose and probing blue eyes under a thick wedge of ebony hair, she looked and acted like a European aristocrat. It was a classically handsome face more than beautiful.
    She smiled when this observation of her looks tumbled out of my mouth.
    “And you must be Daphne.” She kissed me on both cheeks. “Welcome, Daphne, to my little house by the sea. You are quite clever. Dare you hazard a guess at which country I come from?”
    “Italy?”
    “Germany.” Her smile faded. “Of course, Germans are not very popular in England and if it weren’t for my good husband Wilhelm, we might not have survived the war.”
    Not caring to elaborate upon this fact, she invited us into her little house by the sea. The darkened corridor lined with a vine wallpaper led us to the heart of the house, a large rectangular room overlooking the ocean. One shuttered window banged open and the sea air drifted up my nose, fresh and exhilarating.
    The major went to close the window while I followed his graceful godmother into the tiny kitchen on the right.
    “It is small,” she said, “but it suits me. Ah, you see I have a passion for copper. Copper everything and books. That is my life. When Wilhelm was alive, we restored books together. He received his first English commission five years before the Great War. We were in London when war broke out and for our safety we came here.”
    “When did Wilhelm die?” I asked, keeping my voice soft and low. Something about this place inspired quiet and solitude. It was a house of peace and reflection.
    “He died in the spring.”
    Her mouth shut on the subject and I didn’t press her. Had he suffered under English oppression, I wondered, recalling how many of my countrymen harbored animosity against anything German.
    “Does coffee suit you, Daphne?”
    “She likes it strong.” The major came into the kitchen, plucking three green clay mugs off copper hooks on the wall. “Susanna makes the best coffee.”
    “With my tiny little Italian pot.” She beamed. “It is good, if I say so myself. And I have meat pasties and almond seed cake for luncheon.”
    “Susanna le chef, ” joked the major affectionately.
    “I bake and cook a little. My neighbor dines with me. He is a widower also.”
    “Ah, a light o’ love?”
    Susanna shook her head. “Tommy, you are always thinking along those lines and you have never brought your light o’ loves to me before so this girl must be special.”
    She said it so matter-of-factly it brought fresh color to my face. I busied myself carting out the coffee tray to the main room and offering to pour the coffee. To lessen the secretive smile forming on Susanna’s lips, I asked where she kept her books.
    “In the reading room,” she replied. “I will take you after, but first I want to know all about you and your family, how you met my Tommy, though he has told me some of it.”
    My face turning red, I concentrated on sipping my coffee. He was right. The coffee was excellent. And I liked his strange worldly wise godmother very much. She didn’t miss a thing, taking careful note of all I had to say about myself.
    “You have a taste for adventure, no?” she said at the finish. “Ah, you remind me of me when I was young. I used to go riding in the woods for hours and hours. My parents did not approve. But then, they did not approve of much.”
    “Susanna’s family disowned her when she married Wilhelm,” the major put in. “She came to England as a bride.”
    “My family did not want me marrying a book restorer,” Susanna explained. “Even though he’d received great commissions from the universities to preserve manuscripts and rare books, he was still poor when I married him.”
    “Naughty Susanna,” the major clicked his tongue, “you ought to have wed the fat