The empress of ice cream

Carlo

An ice that is too sweet, or too rich, will never freeze.

The Book of Ices

‘Not deceived,’ she said. ‘Misled. Oh, they have been so clever. Clever, clever, clever.'

‘But. . .’ I stared at the letter, my head reeling. ‘I don’t understand. Does this mean that you have not become the king’s mistress after all?’

‘Of course not,’ she said sharply. ‘Did you really think I would dishonour my family’s good name so easily?’

‘I was not sure what to think.’ But my spirits soared at her words. ‘So you were tricked? You never agreed to anything?’

She nodded, shamefaced. ‘They knew how to play me so that I would go along with their plans.’

‘That was me. I’m so sorry, Louise: I told them you were virtuous, that your parents had sent you to Versailles to make a good marriage. That must have been when they decided marriage would be their bait—’

‘It was hardly your fault. After all, five minutes’ conversation with me would have revealed exactly the same thing. And I would not have been the first girl so dazzled by the prospect of a crown that I forgot the inconvenient necessity of needing a wedding in order to get it.’ She sighed. ‘They almost succeeded, too. Had Charles been just a little more determined, or I a little less . . .’

‘But now it is not only Charles’s determination you must contend with.’

‘Yes. That is what appals me most - the fact that Louis is part of all this. Since I arrived at Versailles he has been like a father to me.

‘And fathers do not sell their daughters to the highest bidder?’ I said dryly. ‘Besides, no one knows better than Louis that a king can sometimes prevail where others cannot.’

‘True. But you must not feel bad, Carlo. It is me who should be apologising-to you. When I told you in France that you were too low-born to marry me - now the boot is on the other foot, I realise how insulting that was. I behaved abominably.’

‘It hardly matters now.’ I held up the letter. ‘Not compared with this. What are you going to do? Will it be the king’s bed, or a nunnery?’

‘Neither.’

‘Neither!’

She lifted her chin. ‘I am still Louise Renee de Penacoet, Dame de Keroualle, the eldest daughter of the oldest family of Brittany. I am no man’s concubine, king or otherwise. And certainly not because some jumped-up errand-boy of an ambassador tells me I should be.’

‘Then you must stand aside, surely?’

‘There may be another way.’ She began to pace up and down the inlaid floor. ‘I think Louis does not really care whether I am King Charles’s mistress or not - that is simply a means to an end. And the end is influence - that is to say, holding Charles to the terms of the treaty.’

‘War against the Dutch.’

‘Exactly. If I can achieve that without giving myself to the king, even Louis will have to admit that being his mistress isn’t necessary’

‘But how will you do that?’

‘I have Charles’s ear. And I have his confidence. He has talked to me already of the treaty, and his doubts about it. It seems to me that I can put the case for war just as easily without. . . without aU this nonsense about yielding and mistresses.’ She looked at me. ‘Will you help?’

‘I am not sure how I can.’

‘I’m not sure either, at the moment. But I do know that it will be the two of us against all of them. And that I cannot do it alone.’

‘Then I will do whatever I can.’

Of course I would: I would do anything, rather than see her in the king’s bed. But in my heart I was uneasy.

For who knew better than me that men want most the one thing they are told they cannot have?