`And some furniture, Pierre. Did your spy not find the furniture? Some of it’s rather valuable. A very fine Moorish couch inlaid with ivory, a japanned escritoire that you’d like, and a mirrored bed.’
`And doubtless the bed in which you persuaded General Verigny to guard your stolen property?’ General Verigny was the cavalry officer whose men had guarded the wagons on their journey from Salamanca.
`Stolen, Pierre? It all belongs to me and my dear husband. I merely thought that while Wellington threatens to defeat us I would remove our few household belongings into France. Just think of me as a simple refugee. Ah!’ She smiled at Ducos’ aide who had brought a tray on which stood an opened bottle of champagne, a single glass, and a dish of white grapes. `Put it on the parapet, Lieutenant.’
Scowling, Ducos waited till his aide had gone. `The property is loaded on French army wagons.’
`Condemned wagons, Pierre.’
`Condemned by General Verigny’s Quartermaster.’
`True.’ She smiled. `A dear man.’ `And I will countermand his condemnation.’ She stared at him. She feared Pierre Ducos, though she would not give him the satisfaction of showing her fear. She recognised the threat that he offered her. She was running from Spain, running from the victory that Wellington threatened, and she was taking the wealth with her that would make her independent of whatever tragedies befell France. Now Ducos menaced that independence. She plucked a grape from the bunch. `Tell me, Pierre, do you order your breakfast with a threat? If you want something of me, why don’t you just ask? Or is it that you want to. share my plunder?’
He scowled at that. No one could accuse Pierre Ducos of greed. He changed the subject. `I wanted to know how you felt about your husband returning from America.’
She laughed. `You want me to go back to his bed, Pierre? Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough for France?’
`Does he still love you?’
`Love? What an odd word from you, Pierre.’ She stared up at the tricolour. `He still wants me.’
`He knows you’re a spy?’
`I’m sure someone’s told him, aren’t you? But Luis doesn’t take women seriously, Pierre. He’d think I was a spy because I was unhappy without him. He thinks that once he’s back and I’m neatly tucked up beneath his glass dome then everything will be all right again. He can grunt all over me and then weep to his confessor. Men are so stupid.’
`Or do you choose stupid men?’
`What a boudoir conversation we are having.’ She smiled brilliantly at him. `So what do you want, Pierre?’
`Why has your husband come home?’
`He doesn’t like the climate in South America, Pierre. It gives him wind, he says. He suffers from wind. He once had a servant whipped who laughed when he broke it.’
`He’s gone to Wellington.’
`Of course he has! Luis is Spain’s new hero!’ She laughed. Her husband had led a Spanish army against rebels in the Banda Oriental, the area of land north of the River Plate. The rebels, seeing Spain humiliated by France, were trying to wrest their independence from the Spanish. To the Marquesa’s surprise, indeed, to the surprise of many people, the Marques had defeated them. She flicked a grape pip over the parapet. `He must have outnumbered them by a hundred to one! Or perhaps he broke wind in their faces? Do you think that’s the answer, Pierre? A grape?’ She smiled at his silence and poured herself champagne. `Tell me why you summoned me here with your usual charm and consideration.’
`Your husband wants you back?’
`You know he does. I’m sure you intercept all his letters. His lust exceeds his patriotism.’
`Then I want you to write a letter to him.’
She smiled. `Is that all? One letter? Do I get to keep my wagons then?’ She asked the question in a small girl’s voice.
He nodded.
She watched him, suspecting a bargain so easily made. Her voice was suddenly hard. `You’ll let me move my property to France for one letter?’
`One letter.’
She shrugged. `You’ll give me papers?’
`Of course.’
She sipped the champagne. `What do I write?’