Under false colours

thank him for the splendour of his reception. But Liepmann was not in the room. As the door was opened a woman rose from a chair set before a blazing fire. She turned.

He was confronted by Hortense Santhonax.

PART THREE The Snaring of the Eagle

'Napoleon went to Moscow in pursuit of the ghost of Tilsit'

Napoleon,

J. Bainville

CHAPTER 15 Beauté du Diable

January 1810

In the shock of encounter Drinkwater's mind was filled with suspicion. He felt again the overwhelming dead weight of a hostile providence with sickening desperation. Suddenly Castenada's obligingness and Liepmann's absence seemed harbingers of this entrapment. He regretted the sword bayonet cast aside in the box hedge and felt foolish in borrowed finery before this breathtakingly handsome woman.

She wore travelling clothes, a dark blue riding habit and scuffed boots, about her throat a grey silk cravat was secured with a jewelled pin that reflected the green of her eyes. Hat and cloak lay beside her chair and she held nothing more threatening than a glass of Rhenish hock.

'We have met before,', she said, tilting her head slightly to one side so that a heavy lock of auburn hair fell loose from the coils on her head. She spoke perfect English in a low and thrilling timbre.

'Indeed, Madame,' Drinkwater said guardedly, acutely aware that this woman possessed in abundance those qualities of grace and beauty for which men threw away their lives. He footed a bow, wondering at her motives.

'Will you take a glass of wine, sir?' Her cool courtliness was seductive and she turned aside, sure her offer would not be rejected.

The hock was refreshing. 'I am obliged, Madame, 'he said, maintaining a fragile formality despite his inward turmoil.

'You rescued me from the sans-culottes on the beach at Carteret, do you remember?' she went on, watching him over the rim of her glass, 'and you were with Lord Dungarth the night I was left ashore on the beach at Criel ...'(See A King's Cutter)

He did not respond. She had turned her coat by then, having met Edouard Santhonax and thrown her lot in with the Republicans. He let her lead the conversation to wherever it was going, wondering if she knew he had given her husband his death thrust.

'But that was a long time ago, when we were young and impetueux, was it not?'

She stepped closer to him so that he could smell the scent of her. She was undeniably lovely with a voluptuously mature beauty made more potent by the confidence of experience. He felt the male hunger stir him, mixed with something else: for years that damned portrait had symbolized for him the essence of a ruthless enemy, battening on the unsatisfied passions of his young manhood. Its power lay in both its imagery and association with her, a synthesis of wickedness, of desire denied, of lust ...

'It was no coincidence that you were with Marshal Davout, was it? No coincidence that my portrait had come into his possession?'

There was an edge in her voice now, keen enough to abort his concupiscent longing.

'You are deceived as to that, Madame,' he replied. 'It is true the portrait was once my property, but Marshal Davout acquired it from a British brig wrecked on the Jutland coast. I was not aboard the brig, Madame, you have my word on it.'

'Your word? And what reliance may I put on that? You are a British naval officer, you are in the territory of the French Empire and,' she looked him archly up and down, 'that is not a uniform, M'sieur Drinkwater.'

Oddly, he felt no apprehension at the unveiled threat, rather that cool resignation, that surrender to circumstances he had experienced in action after the fearful period of waiting was over. He knew they were nearing the crux of this strange encounter and the knowledge exhilarated him. He smiled. 'You remember my name.'

'As I remember Lord Dungarth's.' She turned away to refill her glass.

'You have met him, have you not,' probed Drinkwater, 'since the business on the beach at Criel?' He did not wait for a reply, but asked, watching her keenly, 'Did you have him blown up?'

She swung round angrily. 'No!'

'I must perforce believe you,' he said, unmoved by the violence of her denial, 'and you must believe me when I tell you it was indeed coincidence that we met in Marshal Davout's antechamber. As to your portrait, I acquired it many years ago when I captured the French National Frigate Antigone in the Red Sea. She was commanded by your husband, Edouard Santhonax. It was among my belongings aboard the Tracker when she was herself taken a fortnight or so past.'

'Why did you keep it for so long, M'sieur?' She seemed calmer, as though his explanation satisfied her, and extended her hand for his empty glass. He gave it her, but did not immediately relinquish his own hold.

'I was struck by your beauty, Madame. You had already made an impression upon me.'

She could not doubt his sincerity, but his serious tone betrayed no sudden flare of passion.

'A lasting impression?' she asked mockingly, her eyes sparkling and a smile playing about the corners of her lovely mouth.

'So it would seem, Madame, though your husband had a more palpable effect ...' He let the glass go.

'Your wounds?' she asked as she replenished the hock. She turned and held out the refilled glass. A coquettish gleam lingered in her eyes. 'Did you know I am a widow now?'

'Yes, Hortense,' he replied, his voice suddenly harsh, 'it was I who killed your husband.'

The words escaped him, driven by a subconscious desire to  hurt her, to hide nothing from so bewitching a woman with whom this extraordinary intimacy existed.

Her face turned deathly pale, her eyes searched his face and her outstretched hand trembled. 'It is not possible,' she murmured in French. He took the glass and with his left hand steadied her, but she drew back, frowning. 'Mais non ... I'Empereur ...'

She seemed to be considering something, seeking the answer to some personal riddle. 'I was told he was lost in Poland ... then the disgrace ...'

'There was no disgrace, Madame. He was a man of uncommon zeal. He was killed at sea aboard the Dutch frigate Zaandam.'(See Baltic Mission)

'A Dutch frigate? I do not understand ...'

'Madame,' he said with sudden intensity, 'I had obtained some information of considerable importance to London. I believe it was acquired at your husband's expense. He was attempting to stop me reaching England ...'

She was no longer listening. It was as though he had struck her. Two spots of high colour appeared on her cheeks and her eyes blazed. 'Diable!'