Napoleon feel anxious and as the meal began he found that he had completely lost his appetite, and pushed much of his food to one side of his plate. The Prussian's French was almost incomprehensible and all that Napoleon could make out was that he was a firm advocate of the sabre as a duelling weapon. The rest was an unintelligible torrent of garbled vowels and consonants. The Englishmen paid Napoleon almost no attention and chattered away in their own tongue. So he was able to watch his fellow diners surreptitiously, and found his gaze wandering back to Wesley. The Englishman was seated at the right hand of Madame de Pignerolle and was evidently one of her favourites. She laughed gaily at his jokes and looked deeply attentive when Wesley launched into deeper discussion.
As darkness fell outside the long windows the meal came to an end. The waiters cleared the table and, using long tapers, they lit the candles in the chandeliers that hung over the table.Then they set up decanters of brandy and fine cut-glass goblets on the table and withdrew to the side of the room once again. Once everyone's glass was filled Madame de Pignerolle rose from her seat.
'Gentlemen, if I may ask for your attention…'
The chatter died away quickly.
'Thank you. I hope you will indulge me with your kind attention for the start of the evening's entertainment.'
She made her way over to the pianoforte and sat down. The sheet music was already set up in front of her and after a moment's adjustment of her feet on the pedals she looked back towards the table.
'Arthur, will you join me?'
Wesley smiled, rose at once from his chair and strode over. He bent down behind the pianoforte and emerged with a violin. Napoleon realised that this was all carefully prearranged between his hostess and her favourite. The cadet tucked the violin under his chin, raised its neck and held the bow poised just in front of the bridge. Madame de Pignerolle nodded her head three times and they began to play a minuet.
At once Napoleon was mesmerised. All his earlier hostility to the Englishman faded in an instant.The range of sound that came from the violin and the purity of the notes was sublime. Music had always been a distant pleasure for Napoleon, who could appreciate its quasi-mathematical order and the swirling patterns and variations of theme and melody. Most of the music he had heard before had been played by those with technical competence, and occasionally some feeling. But this cadet played his instrument as if he had been born to it. Indeed, from the ecstatic expression on his face it appeared that life had no greater joy for Wesley than when he was playing his violin. Glancing round the table Napoleon saw that everyone was caught up in the virtuoso display of talent, and watching and listening in rapt silence. And so it went on for more than an hour, each piece of music performed to near perfection, and even Napoleon found himself uncommonly moved by the final performance, played solo, a mournful piece that slowly faded in intensity until there was a last note that Wesley seemed to hold for an impossibly long time, before it diminished, leaving just silence. For a moment the audience was still. Then a chair scraped.
'Bravo!' The director clapped his hands together. 'Bravo Wesley!'
The rest of the guests joined in and the cadet blushed with pleasure and bowed before returning to his seat.
Later, when the dinner party was breaking up, Fitzroy began to collect the artillery officers together to take them to the bedrooms that had been prepared for them.
'Just a minute,' Napoleon raised his hand. He walked over to Wesley and, slightly shame-faced, he smiled. 'I must apologise for what I said to you before the meal. I did not intend to offend you.'
'No offence taken, sir.'
'Good. Might I ask where you learned to play the violin so admirably?'
'I was taught by the best. My father, Garrett Wesley, amongst others.'
'And that last piece. I've never heard it before. What is it?'
'A composition of a friend. I gather he based it on a folk song, popular amongst some of our people in Meath. He wrote it shortly before he died.'
Napoleon mentally flinched at the reference to 'our people'.'It was beautiful. Quite beautiful. And finely performed.'
'Thank you, sir,' Wesley bowed his head. 'It's my favourite piece.'
Napoleon smiled, and raised his hand. 'We're leaving at first light. So I'll say goodbye now.'
With the slightest hesitation the Englishman shook his hand and then returned the smile. Napoleon turned to go, walked a step and then paused and turned round.
'A word of advice, if I may?'
'Of course, sir.'
'Any man who has such a God-given talent for a musical instrument has no business being a soldier.'
Wesley nodded and they exchanged a polite smile before Napoleon turned away and followed Fitzroy and the others off to bed.
Chapter 34
London, Christmas 1786
'I do believe that is my ugly boy, Arthur.' Lady Mornington discreetly pointed across the crowded foyer of the Haymarket Theatre.
'Where?' asked her friend Sarah Ponsonby, stretching her neck.
'The tall boy, over there on the staircase. Talking in a rather animated manner with those rakes.'
'Oh, I see him now.' Sarah stared for a moment in surprise. 'That's Arthur?'
'Yes, I'm certain of it now.'
'That's the same Arthur you've been telling me about? 'Thin, surly and quite dull' is how I believe you described him to me. Well, Anne, he's certainly not how I imagined him.'
'No.' Anne looked confused. 'Follow me. Let's go and speak to him. I'm interested to know how long it is since he returned from France.'
They moved through the crowd towards the staircase. The crowd was emerging from a revival of The Rivals, still high-spirited from the performance of the dashing lead. After much genteel shoving and muttering of apologies they reached the foot of the staircase and Anne waved a gloved hand to attract her son's attention.
'Arthur!'
As soon as he heard his name, the young man turned his gaze in her direction. After a word of apology to his friends, he strode down the steps and took his mother's hands. She offered her face for a kiss and then looked him up and down.
'You've changed. Taller, somehow, and you carry yourself so much better.'
'Thank you, Mother.' He bowed his head graciously. 'I'm glad you approve. It seems that your money was well spent in sending me to Monsieur de Pignerolle's establishment.'
'When did you get back from France?'
'The tenth of December. I travelled back with Simpson there.' He pointed towards one of the young men watching the reunion from the stairs. 'He invited me to stay with his family in Mayfair for a few days. After that, it was my intention to come to you.'
'I see.'
There was no hiding Anne's hurt expression and her companion quickly intervened. 'I'm delighted to meet you, Arthur. I've heard so very much about you. I am Sarah Ponsonby.' She extended her hand and Arthur made a pretty bow and kissed her hand before straightening up with a good-humoured smile.
'I trust not everything my mother said was derogatory.'
'Oh, no!' Sarah glanced at her friend. 'Not everything. Although one would struggle to recognise you from her descriptions. '
'No doubt!' They shared a spontaneous laugh while Anne blushed. As she looked at Arthur she found it hard to believe the difference in him. So self-assured and with an easy charm that was already working its way with Sarah Ponsonby.When the laughter had subsided she addressed her son again.
