I had a sudden image of this proud young woman dancing in the snow, spinning with glee, her dark hair glistening with fat wet flakes which turned to sequins as they melted. <
‘In Florence, it rarely snowed,’ I said. ‘Once or twice a year.
perhaps.’ The ice was ready to use. I hesitated. T must ask you to turn your back now. This part of the process is secret.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You think I might steal your methods? And set up as a confectioner on my own account?’
‘Of course not. But unfortunately there can be no exceptions. The king himself insists on it.’
She shrugged and turned her back. I added a scoop of saltpetre to the ice, then took a long-necked flagon, a cantimplom, into which I poured the cordial water. Pushing the vessel deep into the ice mixture, I rotated it, cooling the contents to just this side of freezing.
‘I suppose the mystery is all part of the performance,’ she commented to the wall. ‘Like a conjuror, you have to make it seem more difficult than it really is.’
For a moment I allowed my eyes to rest unobserved on her back - the curve of her spine, the set of her hips, the way she stood; a little awkward, a colt rather than a horse. ‘On the contrary. We protect only what we must.’
I spooned the remainder of the ice into a goblet and poured the chilled cordial over it. It was a fine colour, I thought, holding it up to the light to admire it: pale brown, almost golden, the ice glinting in its depths. ‘You can turn round now.’
She did so. ‘Is there any more?’ she asked.
‘Is this not enough?’
‘She will want to know that I have tasted it.’
‘Why?’
‘She worries about poison.’
‘Poison!’
Once more her gaze lingered on my face, as if wondering how much to tell me. She said seriously, ‘You would not laugh if you knew the risks she takes. Her own husband . . .’ She shuddered. ‘Well, never mind. But she will certainly ask if I have tasted this.’
There was a little cordial left in the flagon, so I poured it into another glass. I said, handing it to her. A thought sud
denly occurred to me. ‘Was that why you ate her strawberry ice?
It wasn’t to please me, or to confound that idiot doctor, after all. You were making sure it wasn’t poisoned.’
She swallowed the cordial off in one draught, her eyes on mine, the slow one following the other. ‘Very good,’ she said, handing back the empty glass, and I could not be sure now if she was referring to the cordial or my reasoning. She picked up the other glass and placed it on a tray.
‘And when you said it was as delicious as a lover’s kiss on a warm summer’s day . . .’
She smiled. ‘That is the sort of nonsense the court likes to hear, don’t you find?’
I grunted.
‘Oh, don’t be offended,’ she said. ‘The ice was perfectly pleasant, as it happens. We both have our secrets, signor. It’s just that mine are a little more serious.’
‘How can a woman’s secrets be serious! The secrets of which dressmaker to use, or who has bested who at cards!’
‘I’m sure you are right.’ She carried the tray two-handed to the door, and stopped. ‘And now I find I am such a feeble example of my sex that I can’t even open this heavy door without the use of my hands.’
Sighing, I went and pulled the door open for her.
‘I am much obliged,’ she said with mock courdiness. ‘By the way, signor, it was a pleasure talking to you. And you should know that, unlike you, I am not so easily pleased.’ >
I could not talk to Audiger. So I went to see Olympe.
‘I know you told me not to come back until I was done with her,’ I said, striding into her apartment. ‘But I need your advice.’
As I told her what had happened I realised how ridiculous it sounded - a few glances, some spiky remarks, a conversation about a snow fight with her brothers. But Olympe heard me out, nodding from time to time.
‘Well, that «interesting,’ she said when I had finished.
‘You think she likes me, then?’ I said eagerly.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean your grand passion, amusing though that is. No, I meant Madame Henrietta d’Angleterre’s flirtation with grand politics. Which is, as Louise rightly observed, a very serious matter indeed.’
‘What are you talking about?’
She sighed. ‘The problem with you. Carlo, is that you think this entire court exists only to eat your ices. Actually, it is a war machine, the greatest in Europe, and a dropped handkerchief here can lead to the burning of whole cities in Spain or Flanders.’
‘But what does that have to do with Louise de Keroualle?’
‘The king wants the EngUsh to be his allies in a war against the Dutch,’ Olympe said, as if to an idiot. ‘The English themselves are of no great account, of course, but they have a great deal of coastline, and it must be denied to our enemies.’
‘I know all this. That’s why the English visitor is here. To draw up a treaty.’
Olympe shook her head. ‘The real treaty was signed in secret three weeks ago.’
‘I don’t understand. How?’
‘When Madame Henrietta went to visit Charles at Dover to celebrate his birthday, she took with her a treaty drawn up by her and signed by Louis - who also happens to be her lover,’ she explained. ‘Did he seduce her simply to enlist her help?’ Olympe’s shrug suggested that she thought it quite possible. ‘Anyway, the treaty says that Charles will commit England to war with the Dutch, in exchange for a pension from Louis - a pension so generous that Charles will no longer have to bow his knee to the English Parliament that restored him.’
‘That is hardly unreasonable, surely? A parliament should have no right to meddle in a king’s affairs.’
‘Of course. But I hear that the treaty also commits Charles to becoming a Catholic. And if the English king is Catholic, his country must be too. Effectively it is a treaty which, if it were
known about, commits Charles to a conflict with his own people. Hence the need to draw up another version, one more fit for public consumption, with no mention of pensions or religion.’
‘So the English duke—’
‘Is, much to Louis’s amusement, here to negotiate terms which have, in fact, already been settled. But of course, he must have no inkling of it - he must believe that he has, by dint of his own charm and hard bargaining, managed to secure exactly what he was ordered to hold out for. He will take the tmite simuU back to England; their Parliament will ratify it, and no one will be any the wiser. That is what Louise meant when she let slip that remark about throwing dust in the eyes of the English.’
I nodded, although it seemed extraordinary to me, the complex lies within lies that made up French diplomacy.
‘This plan, it is well known, has been Madame Henrietta’s great preoccupation ever since her brother regained his throne,’ Olympe went on. ‘But there have been numerous obstacles - not least from those here at court who oppose an alliance with Protestants and regicides. Madame has suffered unexplained fits before, and the doctors believe it was poison.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Of course you didn’t. These are subtie, secret matters.’ Olympe leaned forward, her eyes shining. ‘But if little Louise de KerouaUe, at her tender age, has become Madame’s confidential agent, she must be rather more than the simple child I took her for.’
I thought back to that sardonic voice; the clever, lazy gaze. ‘She is certainly no simpleton.’
Olympe nodded. ‘Which, in turn, may a problem for me'
‘For you! Why.^’
‘Because I hope that the king will one day return to my own bed on a more permanent basis, of course,’ she said simply. ‘He took his present mistress from among Madame’s ladies-in-waiting; I must take care that he does not do it again. Perhaps it is time for pretty, clever Mademoiselle de Keroualle to go back to Brittany.’