The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [222]
She had once seen the other man do it: the man who had died. She knew it was possible. In the Tyrol, their maps were too poor. The other man had been poring over a drawing of Florence. He wanted to see, he had said, in what street his mistress was sleeping that night. She remembered how worn he had looked. Now, she hesitated.
De Fleury must have heard her, and turned. His face against the light was not at first distinct, and she smiled, stepping towards him.
She said, ‘Weel, Nicol! What sinistrous trick have we here? You’ve become crafty now at your trade?’
His hand moved, half palming the stone. She waited for him to stand. When he did, he had uncovered the bob and laid it on the map. His back was still to the light. He said, ‘Duchess.’
She looked at him, and then made up her mind and walked forward to study the map. It was large, but not professionally done. She thought, from the ink on his fingers, that he had probably drawn it himself. It showed the streets of a large town and some of their houses. On another sheet, laid aside, she saw the plans of three dwellings. She recognised two. One, unmistakable because of its church, was the Hôtel Jerusalem, Bruges. The other was her own late sister’s house, that of Wolfaert van Borselen in Veere. She realised that the town on the map must be Bruges.
She said, her voice kindly, ‘I interrupted. Ye were seeking your wife. Did you find her?’
He spoke, his voice slower than usual. ‘No, your grace. I didn’t expect to find her. She stays outside Bruges.’
‘Then who? My family, would it be?’ She let him hear the reserve.
‘No! No, your grace,’ he said immediately. ‘Another lady. I found her. I had been … concerned for her safety.’
‘And is she safe?’ the Duchess asked. She moved, inducing him to turn round. She saw it was as she suspected. She said, ‘Am I allowed to know her name?’
‘Of course,’ said de Fleury. ‘Her name is Margot. She is the close friend of Gregorio, my manager. She went missing.’
‘But now she is back?’ the Duchess said. ‘You can tell that?’
‘It seems so,’ he said. ‘They are both there, in the house that we use.’
‘Then they are at ease, and you too. But don’t fall sick for their sake,’ said the Duchess. ‘Spare your gift. Or you’ll find me ill pleased that I taught you.’
‘Never that,’ de Fleury said. ‘You showed me a way. If it does me harm, then most likely I deserve it.’
Their eyes joined. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I jaloused that already.’ When she turned at the door, he had already crushed the maps from his desk and discarded them.
It was their last meeting in private. Soon he was gone, with his entourage and companions. They would cross the ridge and descend the sunny slopes of the mountains where the apple blossom sparkled in ice and the southern warmth beckoned.
She did not envy Nicholas de Fleury, although she would not forget him. Indeed, in her way, she incorporated him in her planning much as he, in his turn, had used her. She did not know that she had been the fourth stage of a plan which – because of a death – had undergone a masterly reconstitution.
Nicholas de Fleury had been debarred from the chase of his choice. No one had said he couldn’t fire from the coverts. Or return, once this diversion was over, to see what he had killed.
Chapter 31
ALEXANDRIA, THE JEWEL on the northernmost sea-strand of Egypt, was one of the romantic places of the world to which Nicholas, on his wedding day, had promised himself to bring Gelis, his wife. It suited him to enter it, without her, three months after leaving the Tyrol. He had John le Grant at his side and a few writings attributable to a parrot.
He did not leave his main arena