Читать книгу The Lady and the Unicorn - Tracy Chevalier - Страница 8

Maman asked Papa about the tapestries after Mass on Easter Sunday, and that was when I heard the artist was coming back. We were all walking back to the rue du Four, and Jeanne and Petite Geneviève wanted me to run ahead with them and jump over puddles, but I stayed back to listen. I am good at listening when I’m not meant to.

Maman is always careful not to bother Papa, but he seemed to be in good spirits – probably glad like me to be out in the sun after such a long Mass! When she asked he said that he already had the drawings and that Nicolas des Innocents would be coming soon to discuss them. Until now he has said little about the tapestries. Even admitting that much seemed to irritate him. I think he regrets changing the battle into a unicorn – Papa loves his battles and his King. He left us abruptly then, saying he had to speak to the steward. I caught Béatrice’s eye and we both giggled, making Maman frown at us.

Thank Heaven for Béatrice! She has told me everything – the switch from battle to unicorn, her own clever pun on Viste, and best of all, Nicolas’ name. Maman would never tell me any of it, and the door of her room is too thick – I couldn’t hear a thing when he was in with her, except for Béatrice’s laugh. Luckily Béatrice tells me things – soon I will have her for my own lady-in-waiting. Maman can spare her, and she would much rather be with me – she will have much more fun.

Maman is so tedious these days – all she wants to do is to pray. She insists on going to Mass twice a day now. Sometimes I have dancing lessons during Terce or Sext, but she does take me to Vespers for the music, and I get so restless I want to scream. When I sit in Saint-Germain-des-Prés my foot starts to jiggle and the women on my pew can feel it but don’t know where it’s from – except for Béatrice, who places her hand on my leg to calm me. The first time she did that I jumped and shrieked, I was so surprised. Maman leaned over and glared at me, and the priest turned around too. I had to stuff my sleeve in my mouth to keep from laughing.

I seem to irritate Maman now, though I don’t know what bothers her so. She irritates me too – she’s always telling me I’m laughing too much or walking too fast, or that my dress is dusty or my head-dress is not straight. She treats me like a girl yet expects me to be a woman too. She won’t let me go out when I want – she says I’m too old to play at the Fair at Saint-Germain-des-Prés during the day and too young for it at night. I’m not too young – other girls of fourteen go to the fair to see the jongleurs at night. Many are already betrothed. When I ask, Maman tells me I’m disrespectful and must wait for Papa to decide when and what man I shall marry. I grow so frustrated. If I am to be a woman, where is my man?

Yesterday I tried to listen to Maman’s confession at Saint-Germain-des-Prés to find out if she felt bad about being so spiteful to me. I hid behind a pillar near the pew where she sat with the priest but her voice was so low that I had to creep quite close. All I heard was ‘Ça c’est mon seul désir’ before one of the priests saw me and chased me away. ‘Mon seul désir,’ I murmured to myself. My one desire. The phrase is so bewitching that I repeat it to myself all day long.

Once I was sure that Nicolas would be coming I knew I had to see him. C’est mon seul désir. Hah! There is my man. I’ve thought about him every hour of every day since I met him. Of course I’ve said nothing to anyone, except for Béatrice, who to my surprise was not very kind about him. That is her one fault. I was describing his eyes – how they are brown as chestnuts and pinched at the corners so that he looks a little sad even when he clearly is not. ‘He’s not worthy of you,’ Béatrice interrupted. ‘He’s just an artist, and not trustworthy at that. You should be thinking of lords instead.’

‘If he were untrustworthy, my father would never have hired him,’ I retorted. ‘Oncle Léon wouldn’t have allowed it.’ Léon is not really my uncle, but an old merchant who looks after my father’s business. He treats me like a niece – until recently he chucked me under the chin and brought me sweetmeats, but now he tells me to stand straight and comb my hair. ‘Tell me what sort of husband you’d like and I’ll see if there’s one ripe at market,’ he likes to say. Wouldn’t he be surprised if I described Nicolas! He doesn’t think much of the artist, I’m sure – I overheard him with Papa, trying to undo Nicolas’ unicorns, saying they wouldn’t be right for the Grande Salle. Papa’s door is not so thick, and if I put my ear right up to the keyhole I can hear him. Papa won’t change his mind again, though. I could have told Léon that. To change once was bad enough, but to switch back now would be unthinkable.

Once I knew that Nicolas would be coming to the rue du Four, I went straight to the steward to find out exactly when. As usual, the steward was in the stores, counting things. He is always worried we are being robbed. He looked even more horrified than Béatrice when I said Nicolas’ name. ‘You don’t want anything to do with that lot, Mademoiselle,’ he said.

‘I’m simply asking when he is coming.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘If you don’t tell me I shall just have to go to Papa and say that you have not been helpful to me.’

The steward grimaced. ‘Thursday at Sext,’ he muttered. ‘Him and Léon too.’

‘You see, that wasn’t so bad. You should always tell me what I want to know, and I’ll be happy.’

The steward bowed but kept looking at me as I turned to go. It seemed he was about to say something, but then he didn’t. That struck me as comical and I laughed as I ran away.

Thursday I was meant to go with Maman and my sisters to grandmother’s at Nanterre for the night, but I pretended to have a bellyache so that I could stay at home. When Jeanne heard I wasn’t going she wanted to pretend along with me, even though she didn’t know why I was really staying behind. I couldn’t tell her about Nicolas – she is too young to understand. She hung about until I had to say nasty things to her, which made her cry and run off. Afterwards I felt awful – I shouldn’t treat my sister so. She and I have been close all our lives. Until recently we shared the same bed, and Jeanne cried then too when I said I wanted to begin sleeping alone. But I am so restless at night now. I kick off the covers and roll about, and even the thought of having another body in the bed – apart from Nicolas’ – annoys me.

Now Jeanne has to be more with Petite Geneviève, who is sweet but only seven, and Jeanne has always preferred to be with older girls. Also Petite Geneviève is Maman’s favourite, and that is irritating to Jeanne. Of course she has Maman’s lovely name, while Jeanne and I have names that remind us we are not the boys Papa wanted.

Maman had Béatrice stay back to look after me, and she and my sisters finally left for Nanterre. I then sent Béatrice out to buy some honeyed orange peel I have a liking for, saying it would settle my stomach. I insisted that she go all the way to a stall near Notre Dame for it. She rolled her eyes at me but she went. When she was gone I let out a big sigh and ran to my room. My nipples were rubbing against my underdress and I lay on my bed and pushed a pillow between my legs, longing for an answer to my body’s question. I felt like a prayer sung at Mass that is interrupted and left unfinished.

Finally I got up, straightened my clothes and head-dress, and ran to my father’s private chamber. The door was open and I peeked in. Only Marie-Céleste was there, crouching at the hearth to light the fire. When I was younger and we were at the Château d’Arcy for the summer, Marie-Céleste used to take me and Jeanne and Petite Geneviève down to the river and sing us bawdy songs while she washed clothes. I wanted to tell her now about Nicolas des Innocents, about where I wanted his hands to go and what I would do with my tongue. After all, it had been her songs and stories that taught me about such things. But something stopped me. She had been my friend when I was a girl, but now I am growing up, soon to have a lady-in-waiting and prepare for a husband, and it was not right to speak of such things with her.

‘Why are you lighting the fire, Marie-Céleste?’ I asked instead, even though I knew already.

She looked up at me. There was a smudge of ash on her forehead, as if it were still Ash Wednesday. She always was a messy girl. ‘Visitors coming, Mademoiselle,’ she answered. ‘For your father.’

The wood was beginning to smoke, with flames licking here and there. Marie-Céleste grabbed onto a chair and hauled herself to her feet with a grunt. Her face looked fatter than before. In fact – I gazed at her body in growing horror. ‘Marie-Céleste, are you with child?’

The girl hung her head. It was strange – all those songs she had sung about maids getting caught, and she must never have thought it would happen to her. Of course every woman wants a child, but not like that, with no husband.

‘You silly thing!’ I scolded. ‘Who is he?’

Marie-Céleste waved her hand as if batting away the question.

‘Does he work here?’

She shook her head.

‘Alors, will he marry you?’

Marie-Céleste scowled. ‘No.’

‘But what will you do?’

‘Don’t know, Mademoiselle.’

‘Maman will be furious. Has she seen you?’

‘I keep away from her, Mademoiselle.’

‘She’ll find out soon enough. You should wear a cloak at least to hide it.’

‘Maids don’t wear cloaks, Mademoiselle – can’t work in a cloak.’

‘You won’t be able to work soon anyway, by the look of you. You’ll have to go back to your family. Attends, you must tell Maman something. I know – tell her your mother’s ill and you must tend to her. Then you can come back after the baby’s born.’

‘Can’t go to the mistress looking like this, Mademoiselle – she’ll know straight away what’s wrong.’

‘I’ll tell her, then, when she comes back from Nanterre.’ I did feel sorry for Marie-Céleste and wanted to help her.

Marie-Céleste brightened. ‘Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle. That is good of you!’

‘You’d best be off as soon as you can.’

‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you. I’ll see you when I come back.’ She turned to go, then turned back again. ‘If it’s a girl I’ll name her after you.’

‘That would be nice. If it’s a boy will you name it after the father?’

Marie-Céleste narrowed her eyes. ‘Never,’ she sneered. ‘He don’t want nothing to do with it, so I don’t want nothing to do with him!’

After she left I had a look around Papa’s chamber. It is not a comfortable room. The oak chairs have no cushions on them, and they creak when you shift about. I think Papa has them made like that so no one will meet with him for long. I’ve noticed that Oncle Léon always stands when he comes to see Papa. The walls are lined with maps of his properties – the Château d’Arcy, our house on the rue du Four, the Le Viste family house in Lyons – as well as maps of disputes Papa is working on for the King. The books he owns are kept here in a locked case.

There are two tables in the room – one that Papa writes at, and a bigger one where he spreads maps and papers for meetings. Usually that table is bare, but today some large sheets of paper had been left there. I looked down at the top one and stepped back in surprise. It was a drawing, and it was of me. I was standing between a lion and a unicorn, holding a parakeet on my gloved finger. I was wearing a beautiful dress and necklace, with a simple headscarf that left my hair loose. I was glancing sideways at the unicorn and smiling as if I were thinking of a secret. The unicorn was handsome, plump and white and rearing up on his hind legs, with a long spiralling horn. He had turned his head from me, as if trying not to become spellbound by my beauty. He was wearing a little cloak with the Le Viste arms on it, and the wind seem to whip through the drawing, blowing out his cloak and the roaring lion’s as well, and my headscarf and the Le Viste standard held by the lion.

I gazed at the drawing for a long time. I couldn’t take my eyes from it or move it to see the drawings underneath. He had drawn me. He was thinking of me as I was of him. My breasts tingled. Mon seul désir.

Then I heard voices in the hall. The door swung open and all I could think to do was drop to the floor and scramble under the table. It was dark under there, and strange to be on the cold stone floor alone. Normally I would hide in such a place with my sisters, and we would giggle so much we would be found out immediately. I sat with my arms wrapped round my knees, praying that I couldn’t be seen.

Two men entered and came straight over to the table. One wore the long brown robes of a merchant, and must be Oncle Léon. The other wore a grey tunic to his knees and dark blue hose. His calves were shapely, and I knew even before he spoke that it was Nicolas. I had not just spent so many days thinking of him for naught. All of my thoughts had filled in the details of him – the width of his shoulders, the curls of his hair brushing his neck, his bottom like two cherries, and the taut line of his calves.

My thoughts would have to fill in more details now, for as the men began to speak I could see nothing of them but their legs. I could only imagine the looks on Nicolas’ face – his smooth brow crinkling, his pinched eyes staring at me in the drawing, his long fingers tracing the rough drawing paper. All this I filled in as I sat in near-darkness, listening to them.

‘Monseigneur will be along in a moment,’ Oncle Léon said. ‘Let us consider a few things while we wait.’ I could hear paper rustling.

‘Did he like the designs?’ Nicolas asked. ‘Was he full of praise?’ The sound of his confident voice went straight to my maidenhead, as if he had touched me there.

Léon didn’t answer, and Nicolas became insistent. ‘He must have said something. Surely you can see that these are superior drawings. He must be overjoyed with them.’

Léon chuckled. ‘It is not in his nature for Monseigneur Le Viste to be overjoyed by anything.’

‘But he must have approved of them.’

‘You are getting ahead of yourself, Nicolas. In this business you wait for the patron to give his opinion. Alors, you must prepare yourself to meet Monseigneur. The first thing you must understand is that he hasn’t looked at the drawings.’

‘But he’s had them for a week!’

‘Yes, and he will say he has studied them carefully, but he hasn’t looked at them.’

‘Why not, in the name of the Notre Dame?’

‘Monseigneur Le Viste is very busy now. He does not consider something until he needs to. Then he makes a quick decision and expects to be obeyed without question.’

Nicolas snorted. ‘This is how a nobleman like him does business for such an important commission? I wonder if a man of true noble blood would work this way.’

Oncle Léon lowered his voice. ‘Jean Le Viste is only too aware of such opinions of him.’ I could hear the frown in his voice. ‘He uses hard work and loyalty to his King to compensate for the lack of respect even artists like you who work for him have.’

‘My respect is not so slight that I am not willing to work for him,’ Nicolas said rather hastily.

‘Of course not. One must be practical. A sou is a sou, whether from a nobleman or a beggar.’

Both men laughed. I tossed my head, almost knocking it against the tabletop. I did not like their laughter. I’m not close to Papa – he is a cold man with me as with everyone – but I didn’t like his name and reputation thrown about like a stick for a dog to fetch. And Oncle Léon – I hadn’t thought he could be disloyal. I would be sure to tread on his foot next time I saw him. Or worse.

‘I won’t deny the designs are promising—’ he said now.

‘Promising! They’re more than promising!’

‘If you would keep quiet for a moment, I’ll help you to make these tapestries far better than they are – better than even you could imagine them to be. You’re too close to your own creation to see what will make it better. You need another eye to look and see the flaws.’

‘What flaws?’ Nicolas echoed what I thought. What could possibly make the drawing of me better than it was?

‘There are two things I have thought on looking at the designs, and doubtless Jean Le Viste will have other suggestions.’

‘What two things?’

‘There are to be six tapestries lining the walls of the Grande Salle, n’est-ce pas? Two large ones, four slightly smaller.’

‘Yes.’

‘And they’re following the Lady’s seduction of the unicorn, n’est-ce pas?’

‘As I agreed with Monseigneur.’

‘The seduction is clear enough, but I wondered if you have not concealed something else within the designs. Another way of looking at them.’

Nicolas’ feet shifted about. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There seem to me to be here suggestions of the five senses.’ Léon tapped on one of the drawings, the sound drumming close to my ear. ‘The Lady playing the organ for the unicorn, suggesting Sound, for instance. And holding the unicorn by the horn is surely Touch. Here—’ he tapped the table again ‘—the Lady weaves carnations into a crown for Smell, though that is perhaps not as obvious.’

‘Brides wear crowns of carnations,’ Nicolas explained. ‘The Lady is tempting the unicorn with the idea of marriage and the marriage bed. It’s not meant to mean Smell.’

‘Ah. Well, I suppose you’re not that clever. The senses are an accident, then.’

‘I—’

‘But do you see that you could easily weave in the senses? Have the unicorn sniff the carnation. Or another animal. And in the tapestry where the unicorn lies in the Lady’s lap, you could have her show him a mirror, for Sight.’

‘But that would make the unicorn seem vain, wouldn’t it?’

‘So? The unicorn does look a bit vain.’

Nicolas didn’t answer. Perhaps he heard me under the table, snorting with laughter at him and his unicorn.

‘Now, you have the Lady holding the unicorn’s horn, that is Touch. Playing the organ, that is Sound. The carnations, that is Smell. The mirror, that is Sight. What is left? Taste. We have two tapestries left – those of Claude and Dame Geneviève.’

Maman? What did Léon mean?

Nicolas made a funny sound, like a snort and a cry together. ‘What do you mean, Claude and Dame Geneviève?’

‘Come, you know exactly what I mean. That was my other suggestion. The likenesses are too apparent. Jean Le Viste won’t like that. I know you are used to painting portraits, but in the final paintings you must make them look more like the other ladies.’

‘Why?’

‘Jean Le Viste wanted battle tapestries. Instead you have given him his wife and daughter to look at. There is no comparison.’

‘He agreed to the unicorn tapestries.’

‘But you don’t have to give him an ode to his wife and daughter. Now, I do have sympathy for Dame Geneviève. Jean Le Viste is not an easy man. But you know that she and Claude are thorns in his side. He wouldn’t want them depicted in something as valuable as the tapestries.’

‘Oh!’ I cried, and this time I did knock my head against the tabletop. It hurt.

There were surprised grunts, then two faces appeared beneath the table. Léon was glaring, but Nicolas smiled when he saw it was me. He held out his hand and helped me up.

‘Thank you,’ I said when I was standing. Nicolas bowed over my hand, but I pulled my hand away before he could kiss it, and made a show of straightening my dress. I wasn’t quite ready to forgive him the rude things he had said about my father.

‘What were you doing there, you naughty girl?’ Oncle Léon said. For a moment I thought he was going to swat me as if I were the same age as Petite Geneviève, but he seemed to remember himself and didn’t. ‘Your father would be very angry if he knew you had been spying on us.’

‘My father would be very angry if he knew what you said about him, Oncle Léon. And you, Monsieur,’ I added, glancing at Nicolas.

There was a silence. I could see both men thinking back to their earlier words, trying to remember what would be offensive to Papa. They looked so worried that I couldn’t help laughing.

Oncle Léon frowned at me. ‘Claude, you really are a very naughty girl.’ He sounded less stern this time – more as if he were trying to placate a little lapdog.

‘Oh, I know. And what about you, Monsieur – do you think I’m a very naughty girl?’ I said to Nicolas. It was wonderful to be able to see his handsome face.

I didn’t know how he would answer, but he delighted me by saying, ‘You are certainly the naughtiest girl I know, Mademoiselle.’ For a second time his voice touched my maidenhead, and I felt wet there.

Oncle Léon snorted. ‘That’s enough. Claude, you must go now. Your father will be here soon.’

‘No, I want to see the picture of my mother. Where is it?’ I turned to the drawings and pushed them about the table. They were a jumble of ladies and Le Viste banners and lions and unicorns.

‘Claude, please.’

I ignored Oncle Léon and turned to Nicolas. ‘Which one is it, Monsieur? I would like to see.’

Without a word he pulled a drawing from across the table to me.

I was relieved to see that Maman was not so pretty as me in the drawing. Nor was her dress so fine as mine, but much plainer. And the wind wasn’t blowing through the drawing – the banner wasn’t rippling, and the lion and unicorn sat tamely rather than standing rampant as they did in mine. In fact, everything in it was very still, except that Maman was pulling a necklace from a casket held by one of her ladies-in-waiting. I didn’t mind now that Maman was in the tapestries as well – the comparison favoured me.

But if Oncle Léon had his way neither of our faces would remain. I would have to do something. What, though? Although I had threatened Léon with repeating his words to my father, in truth I knew that Papa wouldn’t listen to me. It was terrible to hear Maman and me referred to as thorns, but Léon was right – Maman had not produced an heir, for my sisters and I were not boys. Every time Papa looked at us he was reminded that all of his wealth would one day go to my husband and son, who would not carry the Le Viste name or coat of arms. Knowing this had made him even colder with us. I knew too from Béatrice that Papa did not share Maman’s bed.

Nicolas tried to save Maman and me. ‘I will only change their faces if Monseigneur asks me to,’ he declared. ‘Not if you do. I make changes for the patron, not the patron’s merchant.’

Oncle Léon glared at him, but before he could respond we heard footsteps in the hallway. ‘Go!’ Léon hissed, but it was too late for me to escape. Nicolas put his hand on my head and gently pushed me down so that I was kneeling. For a moment my face was close to his bulging groin. I looked up and saw him smiling. Then he shoved me under the table.

It felt even colder and harder and darker under the table this time, but I wouldn’t have to endure it for long. Papa’s feet came straight to the table, where he stood next to Léon, with Nicolas to one side. I sat looking at Nicolas’ legs. He seemed to be standing differently now that he knew I was there, though I could not say what exactly was different. It was as if his legs had eyes and were watching me.

Papa’s legs were like himself – straight and indifferent as a chair’s. ‘Now, the designs,’ he said.

Someone was scrabbling among the drawings, moving them around the table. ‘Here they are, Monseigneur,’ Nicolas said. ‘As you see, you can look at them in this order. First the Lady dons her necklace for the seduction of the unicorn. In the next she plays the organ to get the unicorn’s attention. And here she is – feeding a parakeet – and the unicorn has moved closer, though he is rampant and his head is still turned away. He is almost seduced, but needs more temptation.’

I noted the pause before Nicolas said ‘feeding’. So, I have become Taste, I thought. Then taste me.

‘Then the Lady weaves a crown of carnations in preparation for a wedding. Her own wedding. As you can see, the unicorn is now sitting calmly. At last—’ Nicolas tapped the table ‘—the unicorn lies in her lap and they look at each other. And in the final tapestry she has tamed him – she holds him by the horn. You can see that the animals in the background are now in chains – they have become the slaves of love.’

When Nicolas finished there was a silence, as if he expected my father to speak. But Papa said nothing. He often does that, keeping quiet to make people unsure of themselves. It worked this time too, for after a moment Nicolas began to speak again, sounding nervous.

‘You can see, Monseigneur, that throughout the unicorn is accompanied by the lion, who represents nobility, strength and courage as a complement to the unicorn’s purity and wildness. The lion is an example of noble savagery tamed.’

‘Of course the background will be filled with millefleurs, Monseigneur,’ Léon added. ‘The Brussels weavers will design that themselves – that is their speciality. Nicolas has only hinted at it here.’

There was another pause. I found I was holding my breath, waiting to see if Papa would remark on the drawings of Maman and me. ‘There are not enough coats of arms,’ he said at last.

‘The unicorn and lion hold Le Viste banners and standards throughout,’ Nicolas said. He sounded annoyed. I reached over and nudged his leg to remind him not to use such a tone with my father. Nicolas shuffled his feet.

‘In two of the drawings there is only a banner,’ Papa said.

‘I could add shields for the lion and unicorn to carry, Monseigneur.’ Nicolas must have taken my hint, for he sounded calmer. I began to stroke his calf.

‘The standard and banner poles should be spiked,’ Papa declared. ‘Not the round ends you have drawn.’

‘But – spikes are for battles, Monseigneur.’ Nicolas spoke as if someone were strangling him. I giggled and moved my hand up to his thigh.

‘I want spikes on the poles,’ Papa repeated. ‘There are too many women and flowers in these tapestries. There should be battle poles, and something else to remind us of war. What happens to the unicorn when the Lady has caught him?’

Luckily Nicolas didn’t have to answer, as he couldn’t have spoken. I had placed my hand on his bulge, which was as hard as a tree branch. I had never touched one before. ‘Doesn’t the Lady lead him to the hunter who kills him?’ Papa continued. He likes to answer his own questions. ‘You should add another tapestry to complete the story.’

‘I believe there is no room in the Grande Salle for another tapestry,’ Oncle Léon said.

‘Then replace one of these women. The one with the carnations, or the one feeding the bird.’

I dropped my hand.

‘That is a very good idea, Monseigneur,’ Oncle Léon said. I gasped. Luckily Nicolas made a noise too, so I don’t think Papa heard me.

Then Oncle Léon showed just why he is so good at business. ‘It is a fine idea,’ he repeated. ‘Of course the boldness of the kill will contrast well with the more subtle hints of the battle poles. One would not want to be too cunning at the end, would one?’

‘What do you mean, too cunning?’

‘Well, for instance, one might simply imply the hunt – or the battle, if you like – with the spiked poles (a fine touch, Monseigneur, I must say), the battle shields Nicolas has suggested adding, and perhaps something else. Let me think. What about a tent – the kind set up in battles for the King? That would also remind one of the King as well as the battle. But then again, perhaps that would be too subtle. Perhaps a hunter killing the unicorn would be better.’

‘No, I want the King’s tent.’

I sat back on my heels in wonder at Oncle Léon. He had hooked Papa like a fish, without Papa even noticing, and brought him to land just where he pleased.

‘The tent would be quite large and so should go on one of the larger tapestries,’ Léon said briskly, to keep Papa from changing his mind. ‘The Lady with the jewels or the Lady with the parakeet. Which would you prefer, Monseigneur?’

Nicolas began to speak but Papa interrupted. ‘The jewels – she is more regal than the other.’

Before I could cry out again, Nicolas reached under the table with his foot and pressed my own foot. I kept quiet and he left his foot there, tapping mine.

‘All right, Nicolas, add a tent to this one,’ Oncle Léon said.

‘Of course, Monseigneur. Would Monseigneur like a special design on the tent?’

‘A coat of arms.’

‘That goes without saying, Monseigneur. But I was thinking more of a motto for a battle. Something to indicate that it is a battle for love.’

‘I know nothing of love,’ Papa growled. ‘What would you have? I suspect you are familiar with it.’

I had an idea, and tapped Nicolas’ leg. After a moment one of the drawings floated to the floor. ‘Oh! Pardon, Monseigneur. I am so clumsy.’ Nicolas crouched down to retrieve the drawing. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, ‘C’est mon seul désir.’ Then I bit him.

Nicolas stood up.

‘Is your ear bleeding?’ Papa said.

‘Pardon, Monseigneur. I knocked it against the table leg. But I have had a thought. What about “À mon seul désir”? It means—’

‘That will do,’ Papa cut him off. I knew that tone – it meant that the meeting had gone on for too long. ‘Show your changes to Léon and bring the finished paintings here a fortnight after May Day. No later, as we leave for Château d’Arcy by Ascension Day.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

Papa’s legs moved away from the table. ‘Léon, come with me – I have things to discuss with you. You can accompany me as far as the Conciergerie.’

Léon’s robes swayed as he began to move, then stopped. ‘Perhaps we should remain here, Monseigneur. It’s more comfortable for discussing business. And Nicolas is just going, aren’t you, Nicolas?’

‘Yes, certainly, as soon as I collect the drawings, Monseigneur.’

‘No, I’m in a hurry. Come along.’ And Papa was gone.

Oncle Léon still hesitated. He didn’t want to leave me alone with Nicolas.

‘Go,’ I hissed.

He went.

I did not come out from under the table, but remained there on my knees. After a moment Nicolas climbed in to me. We gazed at each other. ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle,’ he said.

I smiled. He was nothing like the kind of man my parents intended for me. I was glad. ‘Are you going to kiss me, then?’

He had me on my back and was on top of me before I could think. Then his tongue was deep in my mouth and his hands were squeezing my breasts. It was a strange thing. I had been dreaming of this moment ever since meeting him, but now that there was a body on top of me, a bulge grinding hard into my belly, a wet tongue in my ear, I was surprised by how different it felt from what I had dreamed.

Part of me liked it – wanted the bulge to push even harder, and not through so many layers of clothes. My hands wanted to touch every part of him – squeeze his cherry bum and measure his broad back. My mouth met his as if it were biting into a fig.

But it was a shock to have someone’s wet, thrusting tongue in my mouth, to have so much weight squeezing the breath from me, to have his hands touch parts of me no man had ever touched. And I had not expected to think so much when a man was with me. With Nicolas I found words accompanying everything we did – ‘Why is he doing that? His tongue is so wet in my ear,’ and ‘His belt is jabbing into my side,’ and ‘Does that feel good?’

I was thinking too of my father – of being under the table in his chamber, and of the value he placed on my maidenhead. Could I really throw it away in a moment, as someone like Marie-Céleste had? Perhaps that more than anything stopped me from truly enjoying myself. ‘Should we be doing this?’ I whispered when Nicolas had begun biting my breasts through the cloth of my dress.

‘I know, we’re mad. But we may never have another chance.’ Nicolas began pulling at my skirt. ‘They never leave you alone – not the daughter of Jean Le Viste with a mere painter.’ He lifted up my skirt and underdress and ran his hand up my thigh. ‘Now this, beauty, this is mon seul désir.’ With that he touched my maidenhead, and the surge of pleasure I felt was so strong that I was ready to give it up to him.

‘Claude!’

I looked behind me and saw Béatrice’s face upside down, glaring at us.

Nicolas pulled his hand from under my skirt, but he did not immediately jump off me. That pleased me. He looked at Béatrice, and then he kissed me deeply before slowly sitting back on his knees.

‘For this,’ Béatrice said, ‘I really will marry you, Nicolas des Innocents. I swear I will!’