Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
It seemed a pointless remark. Simon had expected her to join in the baiting. The boy looked as if he didn’t know what to say. Eventually he said, “It came. I have to go and look at it today. Thank you.”
“And,” said Katelina, “I hear you are married now? That is your wife?”
He didn’t turn round. He said, “Yes. You are with …”
“I am with my lord and husband, of course,” said Katelina. “My lord Simon. Tell me, is your wife bearing yet? But no. I suppose those days are behind her. Indeed, you will be marrying off your stepdaughters soon. Tell me if I may help find them husbands.”
Simon stared at Katelina. He said, “What have you to do with scullion marriages? Are you playing some game?”
“I suppose I am,” said Katelina. “And I’m tired of it. Shall we go home? You know how you like me to rest.” She looked at the fellow Claes. She said, “My husband, you see, cannot care enough for my health.”
Simon hadn’t finished with the boy. He had planned to say a lot more, in spite of Gruuthuse. But when Katelina leaned her weight like that on his arm, he always grew a little alarmed, just in case. Just in case, after all these years, he might be robbed of his heir.
So he smiled at the imbecile Claes instead, conscious of the picture he and Katelina must make standing close, romantic as lovers in some superb Book of Hours. Then, taking time, Simon let his eyes travel to the dumpy figure of the boy’s wife, still standing behind, anxiety plain in her eyes. Simon laughed. Then, bowing with mockery, he led his lady away. As she moved, Katelina threw down the heavy folds of her train. It fell behind her as she walked, dragging against her swollen stomach. The stomach of a woman some five months gone with child.
It destroyed the graceful illusion he had created. At first Simon felt annoyed at her carelessness. Then he realised that it was not carelessness. It was contempt. It was there, on her face as she walked. And the boy, standing behind with his wife, looked as if she had stunned him.
Simon turned to his Katelina and, lifting a beautiful hand, traced her size caressingly with his palm. Then he looked over his shoulder. He conveyed disdain, he hoped, and certainly triumph. And the look on the fool’s face behind him was better than anything else that had happened that day.
Usually, he didn’t much enjoy leaving company because Katelina felt unwell. But this time, what with the conspicuous frowns of Gruuthuse and a few other people, he knew he had better depart, and work out in a day or two how he should apologise. He had a short temper, and he didn’t suffer fools gladly, especially when he’d had a little to drink. People were always claiming to be upset, or insulted, but his steward usually made it all right, or he could arrange an invitation for someone and flatter them, or if it were someone like Gruuthuse, he would send round a charming gift with a grovelling note. Keeping one’s temper was for women.
Usually the fresh air cured Katelina’s upsets, but this time they got back to the house of Veere and she was still trembling. He was going to get her maid when she stopped his leaving the bedchamber. She said, “What did you mean about the Charetty business? Another fire?”
Simon thought back, and smiled. He hadn’t known she was listening. He said, “Did you see his face? I thought that would frighten him.”
She was sitting where he had placed her, not yet in bed, but in the tall wooden chair, with cushions behind her. She said, “You didn’t mean it, then?”
He couldn’t understand what she was talking about. He got a flask of wine out, and gave himself some. He said, “Well, I’m not likely to put any bargains their way, am I? It depends. It depends how he behaves. Why? What does it matter?”
Katelina said, “It doesn’t, of course. But she’s a good little woman, Marian de Charetty. It isn’t her fault.”
“Of course it is,” said Simon. “She shouldn’t have married him. Do you know what I heard? He’s not such a fool as you’d think.” His glass was empty. He filled it.