Free The Magician's Wife by Brian Moore

the vaguest of assents, smiles and nods. It was conversation without purpose, a brief break in the quick and ruthless service of food, necessary to the fulfilment of the Emperor’s demand that lunch or dinner must never take more than an hour at table.
    And so when, fifty minutes later, the Emperor stood up, his chasseur drawing the chair away from the table, lackeys at once stepped forward and put their hands on the back of the guests’ chairs, as a signal that all must rise. The chairs were drawn out and the procession followed the Emperor and Empress out to the grande salle . Emmeline, escorted by the Marquis de Caux, was suddenly accosted by her husband who bowed to the Marquis then took her arm and led her out on to the loggia.
    ‘What did he say to you?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The Emperor. I saw him talking to you. Did he say why he invited you?’
    ‘He wants me to go to Africa. With you. Henri, what’s this about? Why won’t you tell me?’
    ‘Because it’s confidential. You’ll know soon enough. What else did he say?’
    ‘He wants me to be on his side this afternoon, whatever that means.’ She saw that this pleased him.
    ‘So they really want me.’ He smiled. ‘What did he say about me?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘By the way, I was watching him all through luncheon. He was laughing and smiling at you. I saw him put his hand on your arm. You know, of course, that he has the reputation of being a terrible roué. Did he . . .?’
    ‘Did he what?’
    ‘When he had his hand on your arm. What was he talking about?’
    ‘Croquet.’
    ‘Croquet?’
    ‘Yes. It’s a game. He wants us to learn it together.’
    ‘You and me?’
    ‘No. Louis Napoleon and me.’ She began to laugh. He looked at her as though she had slapped him.
    ‘Deniau will meet us at the foot of the main staircase at two o’clock sharp,’ he said. ‘Don’t be late.’
    And walked away.
     
     
     
     
    When Colonel Deniau came down the central staircase of the château that afternoon, Emmeline did not at first recognize this imposing figure in dress uniform with long cape and gold-leafed kepi. Previously the Colonel had worn civilian clothes like most of the other gentlemen attending the série . But now, in uniform, his dark good looks and military bearing were heightened to a point that seeing him approach she suddenly felt a quick, guilty excitement. Instinctively, she hurried towards him and as he bent to kiss her hand it seemed as if he, too, were caught up in her mood.
    ‘Where is your husband?’
    ‘He will arrive exactly three minutes before the time of our meeting,’ she said. ‘It is always like that.’
    ‘Just like the Emperor,’ Deniau said. ‘As you may have noticed, he divides his time into neat compartments. Of course, who can blame him? He has a great deal on his mind, these days.’
    She did not know what could be on the Emperor’s mind. Croquet, perhaps? But she held her tongue.
    Lambert appeared exactly as she had predicted and they all three went down a long corridor and through a door which led to an antechamber where two chamberlains waited. Precisely as a clock chimed the half-hour, three gentlemen emerged from the inner chamber, deep in whispered conversation. As these gentlemen went out, one of the chamberlains beckoned to Deniau, who turned to Emmeline. ‘After you, dear Madame.’ And so it was Emmeline who led the way into the Emperor’s study. The Emperor came to greet her, taking her hands in his and leading her solicitously to a chair on the right of his desk. He sat her down on this chair, then sat at his desk, close to her, waving absent-mindedly to Deniau and Lambert to seat themselves opposite. It was then that Emmeline saw that the Emperor seemed ill: he grimaced with pain as he bent forward to pick up a folder on his desk; his eyes were circled by dark shadows, his face was puffy and she realized, with shock, that his cheeks were rouged. Nevertheless, when he began to speak his voice was