The empress of ice cream

Louise

Charles listens to me play, lolling in a chair beside me, his long legs almost touching mine. In his lap a spaniel scratches lethargically with its hind leg at one tangled ear.

‘Have you given any thought to the Dutch!*’ I ask, as if it is no more important a subject than any other we discuss.

He glances at me. ‘Why? Does your king become impatient?’

I play another phrase. ‘My king? I have two kings now.’ I smile at him. ‘But if you mean Louis, I believe he is always mindful of the need for haste.’

Charles grunts. ‘I have heard that he is sometimes over hasty.’

‘As a statesman?’

‘In aU respects.’ He leans forward. ‘I prefer to take my time.’

‘As a statesman?’

‘In all respects.’

In response, I drop the speed of my playing, comically, from cindpinte to adagio.

‘I have been in wars, you know,’ he says. ‘They are rarely as glorious as people think. As a young man - a boy - I fought Cromwell, my army against his, pikes against swords, Enghshman against EngUshman ... It left me with a lifelong aversion to the shedding of human blood.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘Don’t tell my ministers. But I have always preferred negotiation to conquest.’

There is an edge to his last comment: we are not simply talking now about wars.

‘I like to watch you play,’ he says idly. ‘Did you know that you lift your chin at the start of every measure?’

‘Louis believes that delay will only make the war more arduous. To strike quickly and decisively will save more lives than it costs.’

‘I am familiar with the argument,’ he agrees. ‘But it does not explain why we must strike in the first place.’

‘To have peace in Europe—’

‘We must first have war? But there will not be peace in Europe if there is civiljwar here in England.’

I smile, and play a little more. We both know that it is not for me to comment on the policy of France.

‘Will you dine alone with me this evening, mademoiselle?’ he says abrupdy.

I keep my eyes fixed on my music. ‘Your Majesty knows I cannot.’

‘Why not?’

‘People will talk.’

He makes an impatient gesture. ‘Let them.’

‘I thought Your Majesty had just suggested that he is not, by nature, one to rush things?’ I suggest, with what I hope is an attractive mischievousness.

‘And yet you would have me jumped into this war.’ Suddenly, he is petulant. ‘You must not be hurried, it seems, but I must. You must keep your honour, but I must discard mine.’

I play without speaking for a minute. These flashes of irritation come on him sometimes. They usually pass just as quickly.

Not this time.

‘God’s nails, woman, how is this fair?’ he thunders. Across the room, Anne and Lucy look up from their sewing, startled. The spaniel, given no warning, scrambles hastily to the floor as Charles gets to his feet. ‘You would have me fight the Dutch, but with you . . . with you . . .’

I keep playing, anxious not to make this more of a scene than it already is.

‘With you I must play the lapdog,’ he says, aiming a kick at the dog. ‘I will dine elsewhere. As for your war - tell Louis I will attend to it.’

*

But he does not attend to it.

‘He is a man used to wielding power,’ Lady Arlington says. ‘His desire for you is such that you have the power now, not him. No man likes to be in that position.’

‘What must I do.>’

‘Yield, of course. Nothing restores a man’s tempter better than undressing a new mistress.’

But I will not yield. Neither will the king.

‘You have lost him,’ Lady Arlington says. ‘I hear that he has been seen going into Nell Gwynne’s house in Pall Mall. You might as well go back to France.’

I must be careful how I handle this. I see it in their faces Arlington, the ambassador: they all think that to make him declare war, there will have to be a trade.

My body, for an army. It is a deal which almost everyone involved would consider a bargain.