This was a moment I always enjoyed - the moment someone tried one of my ices for the very first time. It was best if they had no idea what they were about to eat, of course, so that it came as a complete surprise, but I found that even when people thought they knew what to expect they could never quite imagine in advance what the sensation would be like. Sometimes, if the person was fooHsh, they would start, and drop the bowclass="underline" ladies, in particular, would cry out in alarm, raising the hand still holding
the spoon to their mouth, as if afraid they might hiccup or splutter or spit. Then, a moment later, the shock would turn to amazement, and amazement to delight. That was when the first spoonful had just melted in their mouths, and the sweet, intense taste - if I had done my work properly - immediately prompted them to take another, and then another, until the accumulation
4>
of so much cold suddenly numbed the palate, icy pains shooting around the inside of the head, and they gasped in a different way, gulping in warm air to take away the frost that now gripped their throat. But that, too, only lasted a few moments; then came the final tussle between caution and greed, as the desire to have another mouthful did batde with the wish to avoid another chill, until the whole bowl had been devoured, and every last sweet melting morsel licked off the spoon with which it had been served.
This girl did not shriek or splutter. But her eyes opened very wide, her expression for one brief moment startled, before she recovered herself
‘Well?’ the king demanded.
There was a smear of milky whiteness on her upper lip. After a moment her tongue flicked out and licked it away. She addressed the king but her eyes - even the one that was not slow - stayed on me a fraction longer than they might have done, ^ and just for a moment there was something in them - a flicker 'of something, instantly suppressed - that I recognised,
I had seen that look on a woman’s face twice before: once on Emilia’s, and once on Olympe’s.
‘I would say,’ she remarked, ‘that it is as cool and sweet as a lover’s kiss on a warm summer’s day - except, of course, that a girl like myself has no idea what such a thing might taste like.’
Some amongst them laughed at the impudence of her wit. The king clapped his hands. ‘Fdix, you have your answer - you are being overcautious, as usual. And la belle Bretonne has captured your share of the strawberry ice, so there will be none for you.’
‘I should not want any, sir,’ the doctor said sourly. ‘A poor physician I would be, if I at least did not follow my own advice.’
The ladies and gentlemen of the court were clustering around Audiger and me now, their eagerness only increased by the fact that there would not be enough for everybody. Within moments all the strawberry ice had gone. Laughter and gasps of astonishment filled the air. Women were standing stock-still in amazement, their cheeks bulging around that first startling mouthfuclass="underline" men were laughing at their ladies, and then making faces no less nonplussed themselves. Some were trying to pretend that this was nothing so very remarkable or new to them - they spooned the ice into their mouths nonchalantly, a cynical little smile playing on their lips: but these, of course, were precisely the ones whose throats became chilled most quickly, and who were thus caught out by the head pains. I saw one fine courtier recoil as if he had been shot in the back, his eyes boggling. The sophisticated smile on the face of another turned to a chuckle of childish joy, while a third was actually singing with amazement.
‘Well.> What do you think.>’ the king was asking them eagerly, and they were all pressing forward in their rush to tell him that it was the most remarkable thing they had ever tasted, that surely no other court was so blessed with wonders as the court of France. He nodded, pleased; then, indicating Audiger and myself, he cried, ‘The Great Demirco! Audiger! Master confectioners of France!’ The court applauded, clapping with gloved hands; the two of us acknowledging their acclaim with gracious bows to left and right.
Such was the nature of a picnic at the court of Louis XIV.
‘And milord Buckingham.^’ the king said, turning to the Englishman. ‘What do you think.>’
‘Most refreshing,’ the visitor replied, replacing the spoon in his empty bowl. ‘I am sure my own king would be obliged to know how it is done.’
‘Unfortunately, that is impossible. Demirco and his colleagues
are very careful to protect the secrets of their art. And there are some things even a monarch cannot command.’
‘I am sure' that Your Majesty can command anything he wishes,’ the Englishman said dryly.
‘Are we talking now about a strawberry ice - or the harbour at Dieppe.!*’ Laughter. I had the impression that even the bits of this exchange I thought I understood were actually part of some other conversation entirely, like a game of pmlle muille in which the important hoops were the ones set eight feet above the ground.
‘Besides, you English have a somewhat peculiar taste in desserts. You are overly fond of pancakes, I believe,’ the king was saying, to more laughter. I could follow this much, at least: pancakes were a Dutch dish, and it was against the Dutch that the French were now plotting, the second-greatest power in Europe moving against the greatest, intent on stealing the land that the Hollanders had stolen from the sea. Or something like that. I heard the political talk as it swirled around the labyrinth of kitchens and pantries underneath Versailles, but I paid it little heed.
‘What do you say then, Demirco?’ To my surprise, the king was looking directly at me. ‘Shall we make King Charles of England an ice, something so fine that it will turn him away from pancakes for ever? A dish perhaps, that reminds him of France, and of his many years in exile here enjoying our hospitaUty, so that he does not forget old friends in the excitement of feasting once again on English pies and pottage?’ He said ‘pies and pottage’ in a droll accent: once again his courtiers laughed and clapped their hands.
‘Of course, sir,’ I said, unsure whether Louis was joking now or not. ‘If it would please Your Majesty. But would it not melt long before he could eat it?’
‘Perhaps,’ the king said, shrugging, and I wondered if I had somehow said the wrong thing.
Suddenly, Audiger found his voice. ‘Sir, I would be honoured to make an ice worthy for Your Majesty to present to the English king.’
I looked at him, perplexed. What did he mean? Surely he did not think that he could create a better ice than I could? But evidently he did - he was glaring coldly at me: this, it seemed, was to be his revenge on me for monopolising the king’s attention.
‘Ah! Signor^Demirco, it seems you have been challenged,’ Louis said gleefully. ‘Will you accept?’
I bowed. ‘Of course.’
‘Good! And we will have Procopio as well, and - oh, what is that other confectioner’s name? Signor Morelli. You shall each do your best work, and milord Buckingham, perhaps you would do us the honour of judging of our little contest before you leave.’
‘Gladly. But what shall be the prize?’
Louis thought for a moment. ‘These people are always pressing me for a guild of their own. Let us say that the one who creates the best ice shall have the presidency of it.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Audiger stiffen. Were I not in the royal presence, I would certainly have sighed. Nothing good could possibly come of this.
‘So this is how you repay me,’ Audiger hissed as we walked back up the hill towards the palace.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your condescension to me in front of the king. And as for that Breton girl - the jade, she must have planned it all.’
‘The dark one? But surely she did us a service? If it hadn’t been for her, no one would have eaten the ice at all.’