Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [275]
That morning, Diniz had come to Nicholas and asked his permission to marry. It had not been a surprise, and he had given it. Lucia, absent in Scotland, had no power to prevent the betrothal. Jordan’s only power was the denial of money, and Diniz had plenty of that. There would be no public recriminations either; not here and now, in the palace of Louis de Gruuthuse, with the boy’s uncle, the Duchess’s secretary, present.
Senhor Joao, having overheard, was already hurrying over. Tilde grasped her gown, her eyes brilliant, and, running to Nicholas, kissed him. Guests began to gather around them. Nicholas said, ‘Diniz, I’m sorry. But it seemed an appropriate place.’ Diniz laughed at him, and took Tilde by the hand. They disappeared into the circle.
‘Charming,’ said Jordan de Ribérac. ‘Nicholas, I do congratulate you, provident child. I thought she had fixed on that tiresome fool Julius. That would never have done. And now, with the groom in your pocket, you acquire the Charetty business as simply as if your step-daughter had died. I am right? The girl has agreed to a merger?’
‘If my shareholders approve,’ Nicholas said. ‘I could offer you special family rates? And you could give them the Ghost as a wedding present.’
The sharp eyes, looking up, searched his face. The man’s complexion had hardly altered; the plump hands on the head of his cane were restfully folded. Jordan said, ‘You have been learning. How?’
‘By example,’ Nicholas said, and bowed, and turned his attention elsewhere. Gelis had joined the circle about Diniz and Tilde. She was smiling at them, which surprised him. Soon after, they were all called to table, and he saw that Jordan had gone.
He supposed afterwards that it was all by design: that Gelis had wished to watch from a distance, and had known her place would be far from his at the board, or perhaps even arranged for it to be so. The world knew that she, a lone woman, had stayed behind in Guinea when Diniz left, even if the priest had been left behind also. The world knew that Nicholas had returned, but not to Bruges. The present distance between them preserved the illusion, perhaps the reality, that there was nothing between them. She had been right to arrange their first encounter in public. Perhaps there would be no other.
On the other hand, the dreaded meeting with Jordan was over. Nothing had happened. He had been surveyed, and had been able to hit back, for once. And Jordan, he learned, was on his way out of the city. There were speeches at the meal, and a great deal of wine drunk, and healths of Diniz and Tilde much invoked. It pleased him to share the day with them. Someone ought to enjoy it.
It was usual, at the end, for the host and hostess to escort the principal guest to their doors, and for the company to disperse. The cavalcade assembled; the grooms held the flambeaux aloft; the fine blue flag with its cross-hilted sword flew above Nicholas as he mounted. The pristine veil at his stirrup belonged to his hostess.
Marguerite van Borselen said, ‘I hope you are not really tired. Monseigneur was attempting to attract your attention. When the others have gone, we should be charmed if you would remain and take wine with us. Gelis will show you where to come.’
He felt the blood leave his heart. ‘Of course,’ Nicholas said.
He might have expected that, steel-willed as she was, she would have obtained the complicity of her family for this first meeting. That she would be present, modestly reticent, at the drowsy gathering before the great fire, after which Nicholas rose to leave. That, offering to escort him below, she should suggest that they pause in the library.
Eight years ago, the mansion Gruuthuse had consisted of one single wing. Since then, it had grown and was growing still. Scaffolding rose against the night sky, stark as ape-watchers’ ladders, and from the windows could be seen puddled mud where the bricklayers had worked. Hods lay idle about it, but no sleeping lizards, their jaws ready to snap. And the