Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [293]
And someone else. Anselm Adorne, with his elegant clothes and his fair, ascetic face, stood as he had stood all those years before and said quietly, ‘Nicholas? May I guess why you have been avoiding me?’
Nicholas had called on him once, it was true, but not again. Nicholas said, ‘I thought it might be embarrassing.’
‘Because of the Fortado?’ Adorne said. ‘I have many ventures, Nicholas. If the men who ran it were knaves, then they should be exposed. I deserve any loss I may suffer. Don’t let it come between us. Not now.’
‘Very well,’ Nicholas said, with a smile. With both dimples deployed, rather absently. Nine years ago, he had ended floundering there in the water, and had been beaten for it. If he had been standing on dry land, like this: if he had worn a fine, shady hat, and an embroidered shirt, and a gold-trimmed pourpoint and doublet; if his hose had been long and embroidered and silken, his boots of kid, his sword buckled with jewels; would Katelina have married him? And then, would he have met Gelis?
The barge was coming. They could never sail a ship up to Damme. The luggage was transferred to lighters, and the prestigious passengers came like this, on a grand barge. Not quite as grand, he thought, vaguely, as the one Julius had bought him in Venice. He scanned the people it carried.
Jannekin Bonkle, of the button eyes and large, florid face, to whom he had confided certain business. Jannekin Bonkle, signalling success, and clutching his hat, which the signal knocked off.
Lucia de St Pol, with the towering headdress over hair of remorseless bright yellow, who sat extruding her chin as if she would scour him with it. Lucia, displeased.
David de Salmeton. Oh, yes. David of the soft, dark coiffure and charming face and long-lashed, perfect eyes; holding the silken swathes of his hat with one white, fine-fingered hand and smiling at him. Nicholas bowed.
Bel. Why had he not expected that? Bel of Cuthilgurdy, Lucia’s companion. Godscalc’s companion. The dear, gallant person who had come so far, and had brought Diniz back, and had cared for … had been good to a child no one wanted. She was gazing at Godscalc. Then she turned and flapped her hand at Nicholas, and he opened his arms over his head in rejoicing.
Bel, Bel. And accompanying her, the man who had caused all the wretchedness he had now overcome, and could put behind him. Beside Bel, Simon, his father. Simon who, of course, was not (he said) his father and should never be called so; who despised him, and had tried to destroy him, and who was now projecting upon him from his fair, wonderful, golden-haired, untouched person a smile of supreme mocking triumph. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know – could he? – whom Nicholas had been hoping to meet, or measure his disappointment. Or perhaps, somehow, he’d guessed. It didn’t matter. Nicholas returned the look without fear, or yearning or envy. It had all disappeared, now.
And that was all.
Except for one person.
She was here. She was sitting so quietly, so low, that Nicholas did not at first see her; only he felt he should not look away; he should look past Lucia’s anger, David’s amusement, Simon’s contempt. He felt drawn to look, because the warmth of Bel was not the only warmth in the company. Gelis was there.
Julius said, ‘She’s come back! The van Borselen girl! Why’s she come back?’
Nicholas hardly heard him. He felt someone grasp his arm tightly – Diniz, he afterwards thought – and then release it. He walked forward to the edge of the quay.
Simon said, ‘Claes, as I live. Carefully dressed, so I see, by your servants. And Diniz, poor boy. It has all happened, hasn’t it, as I suspected? Nicholas followed you. And now you are tied to a dyer’s daughter, and he has the Charetty company.’
No one answered. David de Salmeton disembarked, bowing with a slight smile as he passed him. Jannekin bounced ashore, began to talk, and then was dragged off by Gregorio.
Lucia said, ‘I am sensible of how much we owe you. However, I must tell you, I cannot forgive you for this.