Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [285]
It was the key to which all the rest of the long day was tuned: that of tranquil hospitality, filled with small pleasures, carefully designed to his taste, first by one of his hosts and then by the other. All their attention was concentrated on himself and he was enclosed by it, as in a satin box. To his efforts to let in the outside world their response was totally negative and differed only in quality. He mentioned as soon as he could the break-down of the Cardinal’s peace negotiations over the twin stumbling-blocks of the future of Savoy and Calais, but before he could speculate about their resumption, or about the honesty of their purpose, he had been led by Lymond’s skill into another channel and with equal adroitness denied any chance of returning. Philippa, he found, took no part in such diversions, but would allow an outside topic to die for lack of contribution.
Nor was he more successful on the few brief occasions on which she was absent. At one such time he mentioned Thionville: ‘The German levies and the money have come, and we are mustering, all of us at Chalons. De Nemours, of course, and de Nevers and d’Estrée and de La Rochefoucauld and de Thermes and the Vidame and de la Brosse … d’Elboeuf … Robertet. It’s a damned shame, of course: de Guise and Strozzi are going to sweep in and take all de Vieilleville’s credit. You can imagine the comments. With the architect of the Calais victory out of the way, the Duke de Guise wants to make sure of his pedestal. Strozzi——’
‘Adam: there must be something which interests you in what we are doing here?’ Lymond said. ‘We have already, I promise you, had our fill of Piero’s views.’
‘Piero Strozzi’s views, I find, are generally expressed in the form which will best benefit Piero Strozzi,’ Adam said. ‘I imagine he didn’t tell you that——’
‘Enough, Adam,’ said Lymond. The tone was one which any man serving under him would have recognized: he had not used it before, and he did not use it again. A moment later, the door opened, and Philippa came in, obviously unaware of what they had been saying. He had not heard her approach.
Even then, he did not give up, although hour by hour he was beginning to realize the truth in all Strozzi’s bizarre statements. Although he knew they did not want him, they continued, one would say, to outdo one another in courtesy towards him.
It was not strictly true to say that they never spoke to one another. Philippa had been reading the Dialogues, and at dinner they fell into a discussion about them which ceased, prematurely, when Lymond discovered that Adam had dropped out. About books and ideas they communicated aloud, and at a level which silenced Adam. On trivial matters it was as Strozzi had said: there seemed no need for speech. They appeared to know intuitively the pattern of each other’s thoughts and actions. Communication there was effortless as breathing and achieved, in passing, with the eyes. The refreshment they offered himself was part of a climate of carefulness which was continuous, and most of all noticeable in the ease of mind they created for one another.
And so it was true, too, that everything about their relationship in public was cerebral. As Strozzi had said, they never even touched fingertips. And when Adam, taking a risk, mentioned that Madame Marguerite was missing her favourite lutanist, and was that a new spinet? no one pursued the subject. In Sevigny, there was something so deep and so dangerous that it could barely be felt. But there was no music. And there was no laughter.
Once, he managed a moment alone with Philippa, as the afternoon drew on and he had only the evening to make his mind felt, before he must sleep and then ride off at daybreak. Waiting, on their tour of