anointed representative on earth - I could certainly have a second, official . . . consort^ if I chose.’ He regards me, pleased with himself.
‘Really? How interesting.’ After a moment I add, almost as an afterthought, ‘L> am surprised the priests would sanction it - I know how difficult they can be about these things. But naturally I trust to your expertise in such matters.’
‘Priests!’ he says, his eyes widening. Clearly, he had not bargained on my requiring priests.
‘A ceremony of that nature would require a priest, would it not?’ I say vaguely. ‘For it to be official, and recognised in the eyes of God? Of course, I am not au fait with, all the customs of your English church.’
A slight pause, and then he sees the opening I am creating for him. It is obvious when you think about it: they already have a made-up religion, with made-up ceremonies, their psalter and liturgy and rituals in a constant state of flux. What difference will one more make?
‘As it happens, I am not aware of the precise ceremony for such an . . . unusual occasion,’ he says slowly.
‘But then, you are not a bishop.’
‘No.’ Another pause. ‘It is an interesting theological question. I will put it to a bishop of my acquaintance. Do you know, I would not be surprised to find that such a ceremony exists after all.’
‘Nor would I,’ I say. ‘Not surprised in the least.’
And so, by hints and innuendoes, a deal is brokered.
Not a marriage, but a union. Not a queen, but a consort. There will be a wedding, after a fashion. Vows will be made, prayers said, a blessing given. There will be madrigals, a specially composed epithalamium in our honour, a masque. And then we will be put to bed, and the stocking thrown, just like any other bride and groom.
And Louis will have his war.
As for the venue, Arlington suggests his country palace, Euston Hall, near Newmarket. There is a chapel - of ambiguous style, neither plain Protestant nor extravagant Catholic - within the house. Of course I know why he is suggesting it; he wants this done out of London. That way, if it ever becomes known, he can dismiss it all as a frolic, a rustic masquerade held to entertain his guests. But equally, he wants it done under his auspices. He intends to get rich on the back of this. The chancellorship, at least, the gift of a grateful king.
A bishop is produced who swears that this is all quite proper. That is to say, no more improper than the alternative. That is to say, if something improper is to take place, it is better done in God’s plain sight than not. That way the king is almost asking His forgiveness and understanding. Which forgiveness is, in one sense, a kind of blessing in this world of sin.
I believe the bishop wants to be an archbishop, and soon. His arguments are nonsense - a child could blow them down. But nobody chooses to disagree. Especially not Charles. He does not care what rules are bent so long as he gets what he wants.
The ambassador, Colbert, is even more impatient than the king. ‘We need war now. Why this delay;
‘There are thirty-two warships being hammered together at Chatham docks as we speak. The delay is for your benefit, not mine.’
‘But why cannot the yielding happen first, and the ships follow after?’
I turn my mild gaze on him. ‘You may know a lot about diplomacy, Your Excellency, but you do not seem to know very much about men and women. Who do you think those ships are being built so urgently for - Louis, or Louise?’
He sees the sense in this, and bows.
‘Let us hope, then,’ he says quietly, ‘that King Charles never
sees fit to regret the high price he has paid for your companionship. Madame.’
I note that ‘Madame’. And for that slight, Your Excellency, I think, and the small frisson of distaste with which you condescend to look at me, I-will make sure that once I am his mistress, you are recalled to France.
t
Carlo
However sharp your rhubarb, the juice of a lemon will strengthen its flavour.
The Book of Ices
In the very midst of winter, the English grow a strange crop: half vegetable, half fruit. It looks a little like celery, but the stalks are bright pink, a curiosity made all the stranger by the fact that they have to force it, as they say, growing it in upturned buckets and dark sheds. It seems to thrive in the dark and cold; indeed, it is necessary, if the rhubarb is to develop the sharp, almost strawberry-like flavour that they prize.
I made her an ice of winter’s fruit, the first forced rhubarb of the year, its bitter shoots a reminder of all the harvests yet to come.
Once the decision was taken, she did not waste time regretting it. It was too late to change her mind, and besides, any sign of indecision would only have weakened her position. !
Only once did I see her worry about how it might be seen.
‘Can you make sure this reaches Brittany.^’
I looked at the envelope she had given me. It was addressed to the Compte and Comptesse de Keroualle at Brest.
‘You know it will be read anyway? If not by the English spies, then by,the French?’
‘I know it. I have tried to be circumspect. No doubt they will hear the story from others soon enough, but I wanted them to know that, despite everything, I am still their daughter.’
Other than that, she was all business. Until one day she said, ‘Carlo?’
I waited.
‘How does a lady who . . She hesitated. ‘How does a lady who is in love behave.^’
Her voice was as practical as ever. But her pale skin had a little more colour in it than was usual.
‘To the man she is in love with, you mean?’
She nodded.
‘In his bed?’
She nodded again.
‘Do your novels and books of letters not tell you?’
‘Oh - those.’ She made a dismissive gesture. ‘Apparently I must sigh and swoon. Or I must protest shrilly every minute he is not with me. Or act the jealous shrew. None of which, I suspect, would endear me to Charles.’
‘Nor would they seem much like Louise de Keroualle,’ I agreed. ‘But do I take it from your question you are worried that, because you do not love him, he will know it?’
‘He has so much more experience than I.’
‘Well, I am not the best person to ask, since I am not sure that I have ever been loved by a woman in the way you describe. Nor should you be too quick to disparage your own innocence, since for many men that is itself a kind of aphrodisiac. But I can tell you what little I do know.’
‘Then please do so.’ She was quite pink now.
I thought back. Olympe had not loved me, but she had had an ease with herself, a confidence, that had made lying with her a kind of feast. She had made me feel like a person of the world, a sophisticate, for whom sex was just another of the sensual pleasures a cultivated person should enjoy.
With Emilia there had been no coupling, yet when I recalled the eager delight of her kisses, the excitement we had both felt, the joy of discovering that the loved one felt the same way about you as you did about her, there had been something even sweeter than Olympe’s perfumed skin.
I thought how it might have been with Louise, if fate and fortune had been different.
I said, ‘You must make him feel that you are both new continents, waiting to be explored. That every time he touches you, it is like some new discovery - that like Hooke’s microscope, or Newton’s telescopes, some new wonder is being revealed which was previously hidden. You must be eager, but your eagerness must seem to astonish even you. Your kisses must be as exciting to him as the first pineapple his gardeners ever grew, and when he kisses you, you must think of the most surprising, most delightful, the most extraordinary thing you ever saw or did.’
‘Then I will think of the first time I tasted ice cream.’
‘But do not gulp, or shriek, or clasp your throat and say it has gone numb, as people who try my ices often do.’