Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [218]
He remained standing as the door opened and Felix, too, got to his feet. Jaak de Fleury smiled down at his wife. “Esota, my dear,” he said. “You remember Claes, who is now Felix’s stepfather? For the sake of Felix, I want you to receive him in your parlour. He will not presume. I’m sure of it.”
The tall man in the doorway moved inside and it was, Felix saw, Nicholas and not Claes. Nicholas with the brown of the open air on his skin and not the pale sweat of the dyeshops. Nicholas dressed not in Charetty blue but stout brown and green, with a sleeveless jacket over his doublet and serviceable riding boots and a leather cross-belt with a sword in a plain scabbard. Nicholas, with a brimmed beretta pulled over the damply crimped edges of his dust-coloured hair, and whose open eyes scanned the room, observed the woman and stopped at Felix. In them, Felix read a number of expressions. The last one, plain to see, was concern.
Felix said, “You’re not surprised?”
Nicholas said, “Not if you came straight here from Genappe. Your mother is still in Bruges.”
“So I hear,” Felix said. “The house burned down. So what are you doing here?”
“Collecting debts. And selling cloth,” Nicholas said. He didn’t imitate anyone, or pull a face, or make a joke or even grin. He spoke, now, the way he’d spoken ever since his mother had started taking him into the business. He spoke like all the dreary merchants he and Felix and Julius (sometimes) used to poke fun at.
“Collecting debts? Who from?” Felix said. He had forgotten Jaak de Fleury and his wife, one standing, one seated behind him.
“From Thibault and Jaak de Fleury, I hope,” Nicholas said.
Behind, Jaak de Fleury spoke. “My dear Claes! I can see the necessity. But I fear we owe your mistress nothing.”
Nicholas looked past Felix. He said, “I had a word with your steward, M. de Fleury, on my way in. He is asking your clerk to prepare a list of what is owing. For what you cannot settle immediately, I shall require a notarised document establishing the debt. I have also brought, monsieur, the cloth you ordered. Payment for this, too, would be appreciated by the demoiselle. You will, I am sure, be anxious to help her in everyway.”
Jaak de Fleury smiled. The bosses of his cheekbones shone: towards his wife, his wine-pouring servant, and to the two young men before him. “Come,” he said. “Let us be seated. These are not matters to be dealt with hastily. For one thing, money is tight in Geneva just now. Indeed, I am surprised that you brought your cloth so far south. I should have thought the Bruges Fair would have brought you a better price. It depends, of course, what use you have for the money. Or indeed, the promissory notes.”
Nicholas said, “I should have thought that was obvious. The business has to be rebuilt.”
Jaak de Fleury said, “Of course. So you are returning to Bruges with whatever money you have collected – from me and, no doubt, the Medici. And the debts still outstanding? Do you return for these too?”
Nicholas said, “Monsieur, you will be told where and how to fulfil your obligations.”
“I hear,” said Jaak de Fleury, “that you favour Venice. Is that where the cloth money will go?”
Felix said, “It will go to Bruges. If there is money owing us now, I will take it.”
“Without a guard?” said Jaak de Fleury. “Your skilful Nicholas and his men at arms won’t be with you. You talked of returning to Bruges, but he has said nothing of it. I am told by the Medici that, on the contrary, he is on his way south to Milan. After that, who is to say where he, and the money, will find themselves?”
Nicholas stirred, but made no effort to sit. He suddenly did pull a face, of the kind Felix remembered when he was making up his mind, against his will, about something. Nicholas said, “Did he tell you I started that fire?”
“Did you?” said Felix. It seemed likely that the merchant was right. Nicholas had married his mother, cashed what he could of their assets and lodged it somewhere, and then destroyed both the