Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [171]
She said, “But we have just agreed, I can’t hold things together alone for six months. And even after that, perfect teams break up and require new appointments. I can’t face that, either. And even if the most perfect team in the world were present immediately, it couldn’t handle a scheme like the one you’re launching over alum.”
He was still considering. “No. I’d do that,” he said. “Travelling would be no disadvantage. But it would need a well-run company here in Bruges behind it: you’re right.”
She wondered if she was meant to make the suggestion. She said, “When you were being irresponsible, the City Fathers wanted rid of you. Having seen your work of the past seven weeks they would have no objection now, I think, if you wanted to stay.”
“No,” said Claes. “I seem to have managed to keep out of the Steen. But that’s not really the obstacle.”
She interrupted. “Your contracts? We could find another master courier, surely?”
He smiled, still without looking at her. “Not one who can deal with ciphers. I know too much already. The Medici won’t accept a change. Or the Dauphin. In any case, what I learn is an advantage to the company, not an obstacle. It’s even possible that I could arrange a long enough time between journeys to keep things straight here in Bruges until your perfect team can manage most things.” He made a movement of economical demonstration. “The real obstacle is that not even the lowest workers you employ would take orders from me, never mind Henninc and Meester Gregorio. Or even worse, Felix and Astorre and Tobie and Julius. You need someone like Gregorio, or the way Gregorio will be. Someone clever, with authority. I can’t aspire to manage a company. I can’t force myself on burghers and noblemen. I’m nineteen; I’m a base-born, chance-lettered workman. And people would talk.”
He looked up then, and smiled. She said next what she thought she would never say to him. It came quite simply, because it was quiet, and there was no strain in sitting speaking like this, before the fire. She said, “You can become a burgess by marriage.”
She knew him as well as anyone did. She knew that a natural comedian is a natural actor. She would never know, because he wouldn’t allow her to see, whether he had thought of that possibility, or had expected her to suggest it, or feared that she would suggest it. She didn’t flatter herself that he had ever wanted her to suggest it. So his eyes on her face told her only one thing: that he was searching to understand, in his turn, what she really wanted. She said, “Don’t be afraid. Real marriage would be something like incest, wouldn’t it? I’m speaking only of formalities.”
He drew a quick breath then, as if she had accused him of being incivil, and said, “I’m sorry. A matter like that … one doesn’t take lightly.”
She wondered what his eyes saw in hers. She kept her face, as far as she could, impersonal and friendly. She said, “I’ve only invited you to think about something. Perhaps you should come slightly nearer. It isn’t a subject for eavesdroppers.”
He smiled, understanding, she knew. She wanted to see him more clearly. She wanted to show her confidence in his interpretation of her. He knew she meant him to bring his stool and seat himself just so near, and no nearer. He did so, and settled himself, crossing his arms on his knees. In the firelight, the scar on his face wavered like the lash of a whip. He said, “I can give you an impersonal view of it, so far as I’m able. It would appal everyone who works for you. The best of your free employees would be inclined to leave. The worst would stay on, hoping to take advantage of