Soldier of Fortune (4 page)

'Stupid?'

'How
could any man spurn such joy?'

'Armand
has not spurned it,' she said coldly. 'He is probably sharing the same joy with
his mistress at this very moment. I am a wife in title only. My husband sees me
as no more than an attractive piece of furniture.'

'Then
he is blind as well as stupid.'

'It
was so different when we were first married.'

'Were
you happy then?'

'I
was treated with respect.'

Berenice
omitted to mention that she had been the mistress of Armand Salignac before
becoming his wife after the untimely death of her predecessor. The extravagant
promises with which she had been showered beforehand wilted under the tedium of
domestic life. As his lover, she had been mysterious, desirable and only
infrequently available. As a wife, she was there all the time, diminished in
every way by sheer familiarity. Her mystery had soon vanished.

'I
should never have married a soldier,' she sighed.

'He's
wealthy and highly esteemed at Court.'

'But
he's never here to enjoy that wealth or to take me to Court where I can share
his esteem. It's where I belong, Daniel - among the ladies at Versailles,
earning smiles and glances from the King.' 'Even I cannot compete with King
Louis,' he admitted.

She
hugged him. 'You outshine any man!'

'Does
that mean I can come here again?'

'Yes
- as often as possible.'

'What
about this blind, stupid, uncaring husband of yours?' he asked. 'He cannot stay
away from the house forever. Surely, he will return to his wife soon.'

'If
he does, it will only be to pack his trunk.'

'Is
he off on another campaign then?'

'Armand
will leave next month,' she said bitterly. 'Knowing him, I doubt if he will
even bring me back a present from Vienna.'

'Vienna?'
Daniel's ears pricked up. 'Why is he going there?'

'Armand
swears they will capture it in a matter of weeks.'

'Indeed?'

'According
to him...'

Berenice
talked about her husband with a candour she had never shown before. When she
had first met Armand Salignac, she freely conceded, she had been impressed by
his military prowess, his social position and his easy sophistication. He had
been loving and attentive to her. Once married, however, he cared less about
Berenice and more about his career in the French army, subordinating her to the
fringes of his life while he sought glory in the field. When the campaigning
season resumed in April, he would desert her without a hint of regret.

Cradling
her in his arms, Daniel listened intently until a more menacing sound was
heard. It was the rattle of a coach, turning off the cobbled street and rolling
down the side of the house to the courtyard. The lovers sat up guiltily.
Without warning, Armand Salignac had returned home.

They
leapt off the bed as if it had just been set on fire. While Berenice ran to the
door to check that it was locked, Daniel went to a window that overlooked the
courtyard. He watched in horror as the coach came to a halt and a servant
rushed to open its door. A bulky figure stepped out. It was clear from the
deference shown to him that he was the master of the house. Daniel did not
hesitate. Snatching up his clothes, he dressed himself with a speed born of
practice. A hasty retreat was his only option.

Berenice
reached for her own apparel, alternately cursing her husband and apologising
profusely to her lover. When she glanced in a mirror, she saw how ruffled her
hair was and trembled with fear. Her husband must not be allowed to see her in
that state. Having put on his own clothes, Daniel helped her into her dress,
trying to calm her and insisting that she was not to blame for her husband's
unexpected return. The important thing was that she was not compromised in any
way. He was still assisting her when there was a thunderous knock on the door.

'Berenice!'
shouted her husband. 'Berenice - let me in!'

It
was no time to stand on ceremony. Taking a last kiss from his lover, Daniel
opened the window and clambered out on to the roof. As he searched for a way to
get down to the ground, he could hear the cuckolded husband, pounding on the
door with a fist as if trying to knock it down. Escape was his priority but it
would not be easy. When he looked at the courtyard, now illumined by torches,
he saw that ostlers were loosening the harness on the horses so that they could
be led forward out of the shafts. Daniel's own horse had attracted the
attention of a servant who was opening the saddlebags in the hope of
identifying the animal's owner.

An
alternative route was needed and that meant scrambling across a steep roof made
slippery by vestigial frost. It was a perilous manoeuvre. If he lost his
balance, he would plummet down to certain death. Picking his way over the tiles
with extreme care, he went up to the apex and cocked a leg over it. Daniel was
able to rest briefly and consider his best course of action. From his elevated
position, he could see, in the gloom, the guttering that ran along the base of
the roof. Long, square, cast-iron drainpipes conducted rainwater to the ground.
He had to trust that one of them would hold him.

Taking
his weight on his hands, he pulled himself forward along the ridge tiles until
he came to the part of the house that overlooked the garden and which was
obscured from the stables by a high wall. It looked like the safest place to
descend. On a raw evening like that, he still faced hazards. A biting wind had
sprung up and a sudden gust whipped off his hat before sending it downwards in
a spiral. For an anxious moment, Daniel feared that it would land in the
courtyard and be spotted by someone but, unseen by him, it swung sharply to the
left and came to rest in a flower bed.

With
the wind plucking at his cloak, he inched himself slowly back down the roof
until his boot eventually made contact with the guttering. Daniel worked his
way along it until he came to a drainpipe then he knelt down and put a first
tentative leg over the parapet. He did not dare to look down. Getting a grip on
the drainpipe, he brought his other leg over then swung his body across. The
drainpipe was old and rusted and, even with his gloves on, he could feel how
cold it was but it had a brute solidity that cheered him.

Descent
was slow and laborious. Even in daylight, it would have tested his mettle.
Groping in the darkness, with his cloak flapping in the wind like a pair of
oversized wings, he needed all his strength and concentration. It seemed to
take an age and Daniel began to wonder if he would ever reach the bottom of the
pipe. He clung on tightly and persevered, sweat oozing from every pore in spite
of the cold. At long last, his toe finally brushed the ground. He let go of the
pipe and stood there until the fierce ache in his limbs slowly subsided.

Accepting
that he had lost his horse, Daniel searched for his hat then turned his mind to
the problem of quitting the city. Before he loped off, he blew a farewell kiss
up to Berenice Salignac. He carried away fond memories of her. Though it had
ended abruptly, his visit to the house had been, in more ways than one, very
profitable.

Holywell
was the favourite residence of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. Situated
near St Albans in Hertfordshire, it was a place of refuge from the rigours of
waging a war, a country home where he and his wife, Sarah, could enjoy the
domestic life that his military duties so frequently interrupted. When they
first took full possession of the estate, they had rebuilt the house and laid
out the gardens and walks, planting fruit trees in abundance and creating
floral colour everywhere. While he was abroad, Holywell was rarely far from of
his mind and Marlborough was always sending gifts back to the house. As he and
his guest dined that day, they had eaten off china shipped home by him years
earlier from The Hague. They were now sharing a post-prandial drink.