smiled at him. ‘Don’t escape, Richard.’
He smiled. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Poor, foolish Richard.’ She touched his cheek and followed the two officers to the stairs.
Sharpe sat. He listened to the General’s feet drag on the stairs, listened to the door open and close, heard the carriage creak, then clatter away. He stared at the parole, at the odd French words, and felt the temptation to share Helene’s coach.
The door opened.
She smiled. ‘I’ve told them to come back for me in three hours.’ She knocked on the door and Sharpe heard the bolt slide across outside.
She stared at him, her head on one side, then she walked to the bed, sat, and lifted one foot to untie the half boots she wore under her dress. ‘Come to bed, Richard, for Christ’s sake come to bed.’
He took a champagne bottle with him and she laughed. ‘You see how good it is to be a prisoner of France?’
He smiled and lifted his bandaged right hand. ‘You’ll have to undress me.’
‘I intend to, Richard. Come here.’
He went. He saw the white lace go, the dress fall, and she was naked in the red sunlight. Her hands reached for his jacket, then pulled him down to the bed and to her arms.
She smoked a cigar. She lay on her back and blew smoke rings at the ceiling. ‘I practised those for months.’
‘You’re very good.’
‘At blowing smoke rings too.’ She giggled. ‘You’re not very drunk.’
‘Nor are you.’ He was dribbling champagne into her navel and sipping it. ‘Can you feel the bubbles?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
She said nothing for a few seconds, then, in a suddenly changed voice that made him stop his game to look at her, she told him that Major Ducos had made her sign the letter that had provoked the duel.
Sharpe stared into the grey eyes. ‘I know.’
‘Come here.’ She gestured at the pillow beside her, and when he was there she pulled the sheet over them both and hooked a leg over his. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘No.’
‘Then listen.’
She talked. She spoke of a treaty that was being made between the imprisoned Spanish king and the Emperor Napoleon. She spoke of Pierre Ducos’s part in the making of the treaty, and she described the terms of the treaty and how, if it was signed, it would force the British from Spain. ‘You understand?’
‘Yes. But what…’
‘…Has it got to do with that letter?’ She finished his question for him, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ She threw her cigar onto the floor and put her hand on his waist. ‘I just don’t know, except that I think the Inquisitor must be helping Ducos, and I’m guessing that my money is the price of that help.’
He stared into her lustrous, beautiful face and he tried to sense whether this was the truth. He could not tell. It made more sense than her last story, but he knew this clever woman was a liar of practised fluency. ‘Why are you telling me?’
She did not answer the question, instead she asked if he had liked Major Montbrun. Sharpe shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
She propped herself on one elbow, the sheet falling to her waist. It was almost dark, and Sharpe lit the candle beside the bed. She leaned over him to light a fresh cigar from its flame and he reached up with his tongue to touch her breast. ‘Richard! Will you be serious?’
‘I am.’
‘Why do you think Montbrun was here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Christ! Think, you stupid bugger!’ She was half leaning over him. ‘Montbrun is one of Joseph’s men, and Joseph is King of Spain! He rather likes it, he likes being called “Your Majesty”! He doesn’t want to give up Spain. Even if we can keep a bit of Spain he’s got a kingdom, but now his brother’s planning to pull the throne out from underneath him and give it all back to Ferdinand. You understand?’
‘I understand. But why tell me?’
‘Because you’re going to stop it.’ She took a shred of tobacco from her lip and wiped it onto his chest.
‘You’re going to sign that parole and come with me. Then you’re going to escape. Montbrun will help, he knows about it. All that talk of crossing France was for Raoul’s benefit. Instead we want you to escape.’ Her fingers were stroking his chest. ‘You go to Wellington. I’ll give you a letter and Montbrun will sign it.’ She was staring at his wide eyes. ‘You escape with our help, you go to Wellington, because if he makes a public announcement now then he can stop the treaty. No one will dare support it yet. Only Ferdinand can make the stupid bastards accept it, but if Arthur gets the Spanish to make an announcement now that it wouldn’t be accepted, then it will never get signed. So you stop it, do you understand?’
He frowned. ‘Why doesn’t Joseph stop the treaty?’
‘Because his brother will crucify him! They’re all scared of Napoleon. But if you tell Wellington, then no one can blame Joseph.’
‘Why don’t you just exchange me?’
She seemed exasperated by his questions. ‘We can’t. Ducos won’t allow it. He wants to parade you in Paris as proof of Britain’s bad faith. Besides, do you think we’d ever exchange someone like you?’
‘But you’ll let me escape.’
‘Because then Ducos loses. Because Joseph keeps a bit of Spain and gives me my wagons back!’ Her eyes flicked between his, judging him. ‘Montbrun will pay you, too.’
‘But didn’t you say the treaty would save France?’
‘Christ on the true cross! And I’ll be poor, and half of Joseph’s men will be ruined! We need this summer, Richard, that’s all! Besides, it was that bastard Ducos who arranged this, who had me arrested, who almost had you hanged! I want Ducos to be stood against the wall, I want that so badly, Richard, I can feel it in my guts. Next year they can make their goddamned treaty, but not now, not till Pierre Ducos is dead.’
‘And you want your money.’
‘I want that house.’
‘Lark pâté and honey?’
‘And you can visit me from England. We’ll pay you, Richard. Two thousand guineas, in gold, or paper, or whatever. Just sign the parole and we do the rest.’ She watched him as he stood, as he walked naked to sit in the window. ‘Well?’
‘If I break my parole I have no honour.’
‘God spits on honour. Three thousand!’
He
