I went to the chair and sat down, a little awkwardly. The screen, I now realised, had been positioned so that from where I was sitting it obscured a little - a very little - of the bath; although not, it transpired, the glimpse of Olympe’s naked back as she disrobed and settled into the water with a sigh.
‘What is your name?’ she asked in Italian.
‘Demirco, madame.’
‘I know that. I meant your other name.’
‘Carlo.’
There was a long pause, during which I heard a series of quiet splashes as Olympe spooned the water over herself with her hands. The aroma of lime, green tea and jasmine wafted over me. For my own part, I stayed very still.
Eventually she said, ‘I find I do not want to talk after all. Carlo. Today it seems I am as tongue-tied as you are. You may come and join me.’
‘Madame?’
‘Join me,’ she repeated. ‘In the bath.’
Later she said, ‘So. Was that as pleasant as you hoped?’
‘Indeed. But you need more lime.’
‘I need more lovemaking.’ Like a cat she stretched voluptuously, as easy under my gaze as if we were both still fully clothed. We were on the chaise longue now: I had soon realised that, like the bath and the screen, it had not been placed there by accident.
I reached for her.
‘Wait,’ she said, putting a hand on my chest. ‘That was quite good, for a first attempt. But the next time, you need to go more slowly. And to be a little more inventive.’
‘Inventive!’ I repeated, stung.
She laughed. ‘Don’t be offended. I’ve done this rather more than you, that’s all, and like any other skill it is something you have to practise. Besides, there are fashions in lovemaking just as in anything else, and national specialities as well. The French are rather good at this; almost as good as they are at making pastries and desserts.’
‘What can a Frenchman know that an Itahan doesn’t?’ I said curtly.
She gmiled. ‘That’s what I’m about to show you.’
When she had done showing me, and I was finally taking my leave, she added, ‘Next time, when you come, you must bring some ices, and I will show you a use for those as well that perhaps has not occurred to you.’
Audiger was furious. ‘You were seen leaving her apartment. Do you want to get us both banished from the court?’
‘They’re all doing it,’ I said. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’
Audiger threw up his hands. ‘Because their positions are secure, and ours is not.’
‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to stop visiting her just in case somebody objects. I can’t live like that.’
‘Then you’re a fool,’ Audiger said shortly. ‘A court is no place to fall in love.’
‘Who said anything about love?’ I said it without thought, as any young man might, but I also knew that it was true: the sliver of ice was too deeply embedded in me for that.
‘Very well,’ Audiger said reluctantly. ‘But be careful not to lose your heart. Or you might end up losing another part of you as well - your head, which unlike that other organ cannot be mended.’
I nodded. I had known that Audiger would pot be able to forbid me this. The balance between us had changed during these years at court. I had everything I wantyd now - wealth, position, my bodily appetites sated by one of the greatest lovers of the age, the patronage of the most powerful king in Europe.
The next time I visited Olympe I strode confidently to her door, bearing a tray on which were arranged four glass goblets containing sorbets. Each was a different colour, and a different flavour: persimmon, pistachio, white peach, and golden honey. There were no spoons.
I raised my hand to knock, but as I did so a footman appeared
as if from nowhere and inserted himself between me and the wood.
‘Madame la Comptesse is not to be disturbed.’
I indicated the ices. ‘I have brought her these.’
‘And I will see that she gets them,’ he said, deftly removing the tray. I did not protest. I recognised the man now: he was one of the king’s personal servants. As I walked away I heard the door open as he slipped inside with the ices.
I waited nearby. Sure enough, after half an hour or so I saw the king walking away from Olympe’s rooms, down the vast staircase that led to his own apartments. He was tugging at a shirt cuff, as if the garment had only recently been put on.
I went to retrieve the tray. Olympe was in her bath, but her maid said she would talk to me.
‘The king was impressed with your ices today,’ Olympe said without preamble when she saw me. ‘Indeed, they were just the refreshment he required. It’s rare these days he manages a second bout of lovemaking: he’s pleased with himself, and that means he’s pleased with me. Thank you.’
I stared at her, taken aback by her matter-of-fact tone. ‘You are his lover still? But I thought—’
‘That he lay in the arms of Madame de la Valliere? He does mostly. But there are times when she is indisposed, or when he is disposed to variety. Or sometimes he flirts with a new lady-inwaiting and finds himself rebuffed: then he brings his wounded vanity to me to be restored. There are many reasons why a man may choose to lie with a woman, and not all of them are straightforward. At the moment the king finds that he has a certain nostalgia for my company.’
‘Then - you will not want me to come back?’ I said, my own vanity a little pricked.
Olympe laughed. ‘Not at all. With you. Carlo, the arrangement is completely straightforward, and therein lies its charm. I am tired today, and I hope that the king may return to me tomorrow, but
come back in a few days’ time and we will see how things stand she cast a mischievous look at my breeches - ‘as it were. But in any case, it isn’t fair that I keep you all to myself’
‘What do you mean.>’
‘Simply that you lack experience. No, don’t look crestfallen we were all in the same boat once, and besides, for someone like you the problem is easily addressed. The palace is full of women who would be happy to be your tutors in this.’
‘It is!*’ I said, astounded.
‘Of course. Why do you think Madame de Corneil sends for your cordials every evening? Why do you think Madame Rossoulet is always inviting you to cards? And why do you think I made it my business to seduce you before any of them?’
‘You mean . . . you were proving a point?’
Olympe smiled. ‘Amongst other things.’ She spooned water over herself.
‘And you would not be jealous if I slept with other women?’
‘Jealousy is for the common people,’ she said matter-of-facdy. ‘The people whose crumbs of pleasure are so few and so infrequent that they must squabble over them like beggars fighting over a crust of bread. Here at the court, where we are surfeited with the possibility of pleasant sensations, we can afford to be rather more discerning.’ She glanced at me, amused. ‘But if you are sensible, you will allow me to guide you in this. Just as your choice of a cologne or your appreciation of a sambunde speaks volumes about whether you are a true connoisseur, so your choice of lovers will indicate to those around you whether you are a person of refined tastes or an imposter.’
‘An imposter?’ I said uneasily. I was, I suppose, still a little fearful that I might betray my origins by a false step.
She nodded. ‘No one but a brute, for example, would ever seduce a servant. To lie with someone coarse, however willing they are, is to risk coarsening yourself And whatever happens, you must never allow yourself to get carried away. Ix)ve is all very well.
but just as hunger does not excuse bad manners at table, so passion does not excuse behaving like an oaf in bed. An excess of emotion in a love affair is just as ugly as an excess of rosemary in a dish, or an excess of violence in a piece of music. It is possible indeed, it is necessary - to display elegance in one’s amours^ just as in the rest of one’s affairs.’