Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [115]
Thibault de Fleury. Seeing, communicating with the living man whom they had expected to find a senile invalid; witnessing the stubborn remnants of a fine physique and uncommon gifts, Tobie had been moved as he knew Gelis had been affected by the death-bed of their priest and friend Godscalc. On that day five years ago, Godscalc had exacted a promise which Nicholas had surprisingly honoured, and which had kept him from Scotland for two years. Until the catastrophe at Trèves, no one had understood why. Now Tobie saw that already, Godscalc had read the other man’s mind and, dying, agonised, had tried to protect Nicholas from himself, and Scotland from his machinations.
All that had to be remembered. Today, he and Gelis had experienced pity, but had learned nothing that should alter their opinion of what Nicholas had done, or become. Tobie had once had the confidence of the old maidservant called Tasse. He knew what had occurred in that sombre house in Geneva, whose owners did not survive. Equally, the viciousness of that gross bully Jordan de Ribérac had always explained, if not excused, some of Nicholas’s behaviour, and the news of Jordan’s earlier perfidy changed nothing now. De Ribérac was in exile in Madeira with his exquisite son Simon, and Henry, his brat of a grandson. Again, Nicholas had devastated all those who crossed him. And yet …
And yet, seated alone with Gelis at supper that night, Tobie saw that she had been weeping, and understood why. Like her, he did not want to forgive Nicholas yet again. Nicholas did not deserve it. At last he spoke.
‘It distressed you. I’m sorry.’
She said, ‘They have the same eyes. If the old man had been as fit as de Ribérac …’
‘It might not have made very much difference. De Ribérac is a man of action, and Thibault is and was a dreamer, I think.’
Silence fell. Gelis said, ‘I didn’t know that Nicholas grew up in the midst of that sort of hatred. He was so brash, so clever, so —’ She broke off.
‘He received quite a lot of affection, too, and learned to inspire it. That has been the secret, if you like, of his survival, as well as the worst aspect of his plots. He cannot help making friends, whatever act of destruction he may be planning.’
‘Friends of a sort,’ Gelis said. ‘He makes and loses them with equal indifference, it seems. It is reassuring, I suppose, how he has contrived that nothing affects him.’
Tobie was silent. However adroit he might be at dissembling, Nicholas had not been impervious to the loss of his early friends — Godscalc, Umar. Gelis knew that. And my God, he had not shown indifference on learning, as he believed, of the death of Gelis herself. Even now, remembering that night, Tobie shivered. You could condemn Nicholas with every justification but you could never claim, as Gelis was trying to do, that he was immune to hurt. Kathi and young Robin knew as much: it was that knowledge which had sent them to Poland. But, found, Nicholas had shown — or allowed to appear — no remorse, no compunction. He had left for the Black Sea with Anna, after an incident which brought Julius close to death. He might be protecting her. He might be advising the Bank — how extraordinary! — from a stricken conscience. He might be misleading them or — in remorseless pattern — himself. But Gelis had obtained and was keeping his notes.
Tobie said, ‘Send him his grandfather’s letter. It may cut the knot, free him from the past, let him devise a new life, wherever he is.’
‘Perhaps Anna will convert him,’ she said.
Later, when she had retired,