Valentina (4 page)

‘I'm home,' she said, and he opened his eyes. The coach pulled up outside a large house in the Kutchinsky Avenue; the footman opened the door and let down the little carriage steps. De Chavel climbed out and helped Valentina down. For a moment they stood close, he holding her arms above the elbow, her face turned up to his. He did something he had never believed he could do, in the circumstances. He tried to warn her.

‘Thank you for this evening,' he said. ‘And take my advice. Have nothing to do with Murat. Good night, Madame.'

He didn't kiss her hand or wait to see her go inside. He turned away from her abruptly and jumped back into the coach.

‘Take me to the Malinovsky Square. Then return here!' She waited by the front door, the sleepy porter yawning and scratching his head. The coach bowled along the cobbled street and turned out of sight. Slowly Valentina went up the marble staircase; she felt tired and yet oddly elated. As she came level with the Count's apartments she paused, remembering what he had said before they left that night. But his lights were out. He had gone to sleep instead. She thanked God, and went on to her own rooms further down the corridor. She couldn't have borne him to touch her, more so tonight than ever before. Jana was dozing on a stool by the dead fire when she went in; she got up and apologised and hurried to help her mistress undress.

‘The Count came once tonight, Madame,' she said. ‘I told him you weren't back. He went away again.'

‘Was he angry?'

‘No, Madame. He didn't seem so. It's past three. Did you see the Emperor himself, Madame?'

‘I did Jana,' Valentina said. ‘I saw the Countess Walewska too.'

‘Ah,' Jana's plump face glowed. Even to the peasants, Marie Walewska was a sacred patriot. ‘God Bless her, Madame. She'll save us from the Russians, won't she? Has the Emperor married her yet? Will she be crowned Empress soon?'

‘I don't know,' Valentina said gently, remembering the sad, devoted mistress with her bastard son and irregular position before the world. Only in legend and the simple minds of humble people did Emperors marry their mistresses and offer them a crown.

‘After this great campaign perhaps. We'll see.'

She climbed into bed, and Jana drew the covers up and tucked them in. She blew out the chamberstick and drew the heavy curtains round the bed, closing out draughts, and left Valentina alone. She was very tired; sleep should have come at once, but it withdrew immediately and her thoughts flew back to the evening and returned again and again to the man with the scar and the grey eyes. Colonel De Chavel of the Imperial Guard, Chevalier of the Legion d'Honneur. She knew nothing about him, not even his first name. She didn't even know if he were married, and immediately rejected the possibility. He had what she could only describe as an unattached air about him, though he must have been in his late thirties. He didn't belong at any woman's fireside; she was sure of that. He didn't belong to any woman either. Yet he knew how to deal with them; he held them with confidence whether it was in the waltz or at the foot of a carriage while he gave a curt warning which was impossible to understand. She sensed all this about him with an instinct suddenly razor sharp; and she admitted something else. She wouldn't know a moment's peace until she saw him again. At eight the next morning Jana woke her with her morning chocolate; she drew back the bed curtains and placed the tray with its porcelain cup and silver pot upon her mistress's lap. A bowl of pure white roses was arranged on the tray. Jana looked down and smiled. ‘These came early this morning, Madame. This note was with them.'

It was a white card, with the Imperial Crown and arms of Naples thickly engraved in gold. Valentina was so disappointed that she hardly troubled to read the single line.
From an admirer, desolate at having to leave so early
. It was from Murat, King of Naples, and she didn't care. For one marvellous, mad moment she had thought they came from the man she had been thinking about until she fell asleep, only to find him in her dreams.

‘Who is it? May I ask, Madame?'

‘Someone I met last night. But no one of importance. Put them over there, Jana. And burn that card.'

The maid did as she was told. She had a shrewd instinct, and an incurably romantic streak which longed for something nice to happen to her mistress, for some fine young man to steal her away from the detested Count. Jana believed that the good Lord was very understanding; he wouldn't begrudge a sweet lady her happiness because of a few vows made in church. It was such a shame that she had never had a lover. But someone had sent her white roses, the very flowers of extra-marital intrigue, and she was sure of two things: the Countess had been very disappointed that the flowers had come from whoever had a crown upon his head. That meant she was expecting them from someone else. Someone, unlike this unknown with his gold armorials, who was very important to her indeed.

‘Never mind, Madame,' she said softly. ‘Don't be disappointed. More flowers may come.'

‘I'm not expecting any,' Valentina said. She shook her head at Jana. ‘It was foolishness. I thought someone else had sent them, but why should they—I don't suppose they'll ever think of me again.'

Jana paused as she went through the dresses in the clothes closet, choosing a morning wrapper and petticoats for Valentina to wear.

‘If they don't, Madame,' she said, ‘and they're a man—I'll be surprised!'

It was late afternoon and Valentina was getting ready to go for a drive when the Count was announced. There had been no word from him throughout the day; he had not joined her for lunch or sent any message, and she had ceased to expect him.

Her head was aching, and she had ordered the light phaeton to take her for a drive through the countryside.

The Count came in immediately after the footman who announced him; he still wore his cloak and gloves, and he threw both at the servant before he spoke to his wife. ‘You were going out, I see,' he said. ‘May I ask where?'

‘Just for a drive,' Valentina explained. ‘I was tired and I have a headache.'

‘That's understandable. You were very late last night.' He sat down on the sofa and stretched out, his legs crossed in front of him. ‘Send the carriage away. I want to talk to you.'

She pulled the bell-cord and gave the footman the message.

‘Sit down; you irritate me, walking about like that.'

He was very angry about something; his face was pale and the tight mouth was like a slit. Valentina sat down opposite to him; her hands were clasped together to hide their trembling.

‘What progress did you make with Marshal Murat last night?'

‘I had supper with him. He was very pleasant to me. Then he left with the Emperor, that's all. Why are you so angry, Theo? What's the matter?'

‘After the Marshal left, how were you occupied until three in the morning?' He wasn't looking directly at her; he was looking at a point somewhere above her head, spitting the questions at her.

‘I was with a Colonel De Chavel of the Imperial Guard He brought me home. Theo, I understood that I was to make myself agreeable to French officers and report anything interesting they said. Isn't that what Count Potocki wanted? Why are you questioning me like this?'

He sat forward and at last his eyes met hers; she was shocked by the dislike in them.

‘I've never thought you particularly intelligent, my dear, but I did credit you with a little natural cunning; most women have plenty of it; I can't believe you're an exception. Is your idea of carrying out the mission I entrusted you by exchanging a Marshal of France who is Napoleon's brother-in-law for a mere Colonel of the Guards? Which of the two would you think the most important to cultivate? Or should I say, which appealed to you the most? Obviously the Colonel! Do you know that I waited up for you until past midnight?'

‘Jana told me,' Valentina said. ‘She said you weren't angry.'

‘Nor was I.' His tone had become mocking now, and she dreaded his sarcasm more than his insults. ‘I imagined you were making use of your time. I imagined that Murat was with you.'

‘I told you, he left.'

‘Very unlike him; I presume you didn't show enough enthusiasm. However, you'll have a chance to make amends tomorrow night. He is coming to dinner. And you'll pay attention to him, my dear. You'll be your most charming to the great man, and I'll see there are no handsome Colonels to distract you. I know all about last night. I could even tell you the number of times you danced with the fellow. I hope you enjoyed yourself. Incidentally you are never to see or speak to him again, whatever the circumstances. Is that clear?'

‘Yes,' she said slowly. ‘It's clear. But it's quite unnecessary. You left me alone at the reception; Colonel De Chavel brought me here in my own coach, that's all. If you have any regard for my reputation you ought to object to somebody like Murat!'

‘Really,' he laughed unpleasantly. ‘I don't think you understand, my dear. Your reputation as such is not in question. As for objecting to Murat, have you any idea of the trouble we took to introduce you to him? The plan was laid weeks ago. All you had to do was keep him interested, instead of following your own inclinations with an unimportant soldier whose reputation, incidentally, is even worse than Murat's! Potocki is furious. I had a most unpleasant interview with him this morning. I told him you'd retrieve your mistake; I gave him my word on it!' Again the cold, angry eyes blazed into hers, and she found her courage in spite of him.

‘You haven't been honest with me, have you, Theo? What is this plan you laid with Murat? What part am I really expected to play?'

‘The part played by better women than you'll ever be,' he said. ‘We need information at the highest level. That damned fool Walewska is no use any more. The next best thing is a woman close to someone like Murat; he talks and boasts, especially when he's drunk. You, my dear Valentina, will gain his confidence. You will be seduced if necessary. You will tell me everything you see and hear during your association. Is that honest enough for you?'

She stood up; her face was as white as the lace at her throat. ‘God forgive you,' she said. ‘If my father were alive, and he knew this, he'd kill you!'

‘Your father sold you to me, for a political appointment,' the Count said. ‘Don't think he wouldn't sell you to Murat too, if the price was right.'

‘I won't do it.' She thought she said it very calmly, but her voice was trembling and she was very near to tears. ‘I won't prostitute myself with anyone, whatever you say, or Potocki either. He should be ashamed!'

‘You have an exaggerated opinion of yourself,' the drawling voice said. ‘A woman only has two purposes in life: to please a man and bear him children. What makes this barren body of yours so precious? Listen to me, Valentina. You are going to do what you are told. You are going to charm this uncouth gentleman and go to his bed and squeeze every scrap of information out of him in the process. This is what you are going to do. Oh, you can cry, yes, and talk about honour, if you like. But you are going to do it.'

‘I'm not.' She said it flatly. ‘Nothing on earth will make me.'

‘You are,' he said. He got up and they faced each other. ‘You have a Russian half-sister, my dear. Potocki mentioned her this morning. If you refuse us, she will be arrested and charged as a spy for the Czar. I will personally see that she is hanged and that you stand at the foot of the gallows. I'm not making an idle threat. I anticipated this stupid refusal of yours and Potocki told me to tell you that your sister Alexandra's life won't be worth a kopek unless you do what we want.'

‘I'll see you damned!' Valentina spat it at him; horror and disgust overcame her fear of him. Five years of repression, bullying and misery welled up in her at the threat to her sister. Hang Alexandra. He had said it and he would do it too. She raised her hand instinctively to strike him, and then paused, sickened by the whole situation.

‘That's wise,' the Count said. ‘If you had given way to that particular impulse I would have thrashed you to an inch of your life. Now you're going to your room to calm yourself.'

‘No!' Valentina backed away from him. ‘Don't touch me!'

He came to her and caught her arms; she began to struggle fiercely, and he swore. He seized her wrists and twisted them behind her, turning her towards the bedroom door. He was very strong, and his grip was like iron; the pain in her arms made her cry out, and she fought desperately against the force propelling her to the half-open door of her room, but she was unable to resist him. He thrust her inside, and pushed her so violently that she fell. He was white with anger and for a moment he stood there, looking down at Valentina as she half knelt on the ground, gasping for breath, her dress torn in the struggle. He turned and closed the door and locked it. His voice was flat and cold when he spoke.

‘You remind me of a mare I once had. She went well enough, but every so often she needed a lesson, just to remind her who was master. By God, I'm going to teach you once and for all time!'

An hour later the Count came out of his wife's apartments. The key of her room was in his pocket. He rang for his steward of the household and gave instructions that no one was to go near the Countess or to answer her bell until he gave permission. Any servant who disobeyed this order would be given thirty lashes.

‘Aha, my dear De Chavel.' Murat half rose from his desk and gave the Colonel his hand. He was in very good spirits; a fresh consignment of horses for his cavalry had arrived from Germany that morning and he had the report on them in front of him. They were fine quality mounts and they numbered fifteen thousand. Nothing appealed more to Murat than a good horse except a pretty woman, and he was looking forward to driving down to see some of the new consignment the next day. ‘Sit down, my friend,' he said. ‘Look at this—fifteen thousand mounts, first quality, average sixteen five hands, five-to seven-year-olds, every one. We'll chase the Russians into the Black Sea with these! What can I do for you?'