The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [108]
It served its purpose, the light. It outlined her body, confirming what the gown had already announced: that she was not thickened with child. It showed next her firm, fair-skinned face and set mouth and pale eyes hardly defined except by their lashes and brows, unexpectedly brown. She plucked her brows, unlike her late sister, and her hairline was fashionably high, the hair light as chaff, and bound and netted as befitted a matron.
She looked like a figure of spiritual authority, rendered upon painted glass. She was five years younger than he was: twenty-four at the most. He could not read her face any longer. He doubted if she could read his.
He had left his cloak below, and his sword, although he had kept his dagger for various reasons. He laid aside his hat and gloves and sat down, as one could say was his right. In a leisurely way, he glanced about him. Then he returned his gaze to where she stood. There was no point in greetings or courtesies: it was a matter of business. He said, ‘Is there news, or should I come another day? I put off several meetings.’
He had set the level: she maintained it. ‘You need not have come at all,’ Gelis said. ‘You walked out of our last conversation. I was disappointed.’
‘You want to resume it?’ Nicholas asked, gently surprised.
She lifted her hand to her cheek. She said, ‘I am only a woman. Perhaps you would strike me again.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Since it suited your purpose so well the last time. What were you saying when I left? Whatever you want, I shall do it? I came to give you my answer.’
She said, ‘You think the offer still stands?’
‘Offer? I thought,’ he said, ‘it was a promise. In fact, you made the same one a few hours before at an altar. So have you borne a child, Gelis, since we last spoke?’
‘Let me remember,’ she said. This time, she let him hear the anger. He was surprised that she expected him to react.
He said, ‘You know why I have come. I am prepared to bring the child up as mine. I told Gregorio.’
‘I heard,’ she said.
‘So there are arrangements to be made. I cannot discuss them until I know the child exists. We can make this quite brief. It would suit me.’
She stood, looking at him. He realised that of course she had considered, many times over, what his first words would be, and how he would say them. She had not expected, perhaps, how he looked. He knew he looked different. She said, ‘I thought we ought to meet face to face. I wanted to tell you myself. It seems, you see, that I was mistaken. Tragically, there never was any child.’
It was not going to be brief.
He said, ‘Why then did you announce it and stay here?’
‘To escape you,’ she said.
‘I see. So why send for me?’
‘I thought I told you. To see your face. To talk to you in a place where you couldn’t harm me. There never was a child. I was lying. To the world, my doctor made a mistake.’
He said, ‘Then you had better explain it to Simon. Preferably in a room like this with some nuns. Whatever you do, he’ll slaughter your doctor. He thinks you are increasing his stock.’
‘You’ve spoken to Simon about …?’ She stopped herself quickly.
‘As you were hoping, I’m sure. He didn’t think you were lying. And there is Margot as well. Margot would have left if you hadn’t been pregnant. So you were pregnant. Or you have to prove otherwise.’
Move; pause; move; check; move. She said, ‘I could strip for you, but it’s cold. Or there is a small, well-known test for strayed nuns. Infallible, too. Milk is a commodity of which Nature is astoundingly wasteful.’ She waited, her hands usefully poised.
Nicholas reclined where he was. The chair-back was cushioned. He contemplated her for a long time at his leisure until she realised he was going to do nothing. Then she dropped her arms and threw his key on the table. She wore a half-smile.
‘Oh, no, no,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’m not going to assault you; I leave all that to Crackbene. And