‘How will I get back to England?’ I asked J-F one evening as the bargeman snored gently in his hammock. We were nearing the Channel port of Le Havre and I needed to make plans for the next stage of my journey.
‘Are you sure you want to go back, Cat?’ he asked, blowing a plume of smoke into the air from his pipe. He swore the fumes kept the mosquitoes at bay but I suspected he was merely trying to impress me.
‘Where else can I go? It’s my home.‘
‘You could stay in France – with me.’ He glanced at my face to see how I took the casual invitation. I didn’t know if he could tell, but my heart was thumping: was this the declaration I had been expecting? I was suddenly no longer sure I wanted to hear it. ‘Every court needs a queen,’ he concluded.
‘You have plenty of candidates,’ I said, trying to turn the remark light-heartedly. ‘Annette, Marie – either of them would make a worthy companion. If I were you I’d choose Marie – she’s a natural leader.’
‘True.’ He sucked on his pipe stem.
‘And I’d be a burden: you’d have to get me out of difficulties all the time.’
‘Yes, you would be trouble: I’m sure of that. Perhaps that’s why I’m asking you to stay.’
This seemed less than wholehearted. I needed more.
‘I don’t know, J-F. I’m hardly welcome in Paris at the moment – I can’t really stay, can I?’
J-F paused. ‘I suppose not.’
Having wanted him to agree and endorse my decision to go, I now felt annoyed that he had. Did he not care enough to make more fuss about my imminent departure? Or did he just feel too much and not want to risk revealing it: a display of weakness was fatal to someone in his position. He’d probably forgotten how to show anyone he needed them.
My confusion made my next words too brisk. ‘Well, in that case, I’d better get myself back home where I’ll be no trouble.’
J-F shook his head. ‘I can’t believe that.’
‘Can’t believe what?’
‘You – no trouble. It follows you like a tail does a cat.’
I had to laugh: he was right, of course. I wasn’t leaving trouble behind but heading right into a new storm involving Billy Shepherd, some stolen stories and a playhouse reduced to rubble. I didn’t relish the thought of facing that alone.
‘Why don’t you come with me, J-F? Come and see London for yourself.’
He sat down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. ‘I can’t. I’d be a fish out of water. You wouldn’t like me any more if you saw me like that.’
‘Who says I like you now?’ I prodded him in the ribs. ‘You told the bishop I meant nothing to you: you see, I haven’t forgotten.’
‘I wish you would.’
Silence fell between us: it was a moment that could have gone in any direction – to a kiss, to a joke, to an argument even. It was J-F who broke the spell, turning to practical matters.
‘There’s no need to worry, Cat: I promise I’ll get you home even if I do have to pass up the chance to see your city. I have a useful contact who should be able to get you into England – and he’ll do so without alerting our authorities to your regrettable desire to quit these shores.’
Once again, I felt disappointed that J-F hadn’t tried harder to persuade me to stay – but part of me was also relieved. I attempted to match his practical turn of mind. ‘Oh yes? What kind of contact?’
‘A privateer. I help him – how shall we say? – distribute his wares.’
‘A smuggler!’
‘Why so shocked? I’m hardly likely to know the town priest, am I?’
‘No, I suppose not. But is he to be trusted?’
‘If you were on your own, not a bit – you’d end up in the white slave trade in the Levant – but with me of course!’
‘And where do we meet this charming individual?’
‘I’ve sent a message ahead. If he’s in port, he’ll wait for us at a certain house we both know.’
‘You’re sure about this plan, are you?’
‘Sure? On my mother’s honour.’
Not having met his mother, I wasn’t sure if this was a reassuring pledge. How virtuous were mermaids? In any case, I was sorry to bid farewell to my quiet berth on the barge which had given us the chance to linger in this period of indecision. Now I was to commit myself to depart, swapping the gentle waters of the Seine for an uncertain welcome on board a smuggler’s vessel.
*
‘I should warn you,’ I muttered to J-F as we made our way through the grimy backstreets of Le Havre, ‘I’m a truly terrible sailor.’
‘At least your misery will be brief. The Medici is the fastest little vessel in the business,’ he said with a complete lack of sympathy.
J-F pushed open the door of a low looking tavern. The air was full of smoke. Guttural voices argued in the fog. Dice rattled on the table as coins changed hands. Undeterred, J-F made his way to the bar. Heads turned. I felt all eyes examine us, doubtless gauging the depth of our purse and the depravity of our characters. Rather unflatteringly, we passed the inspection and no one tried to interfere with us.
J-F rapped on the bar with a coin.
‘Yes, sweetheart?’ asked the barmaid, her false curls jiggling with a life of their own as she swung round to greet us.
‘Mademoiselle, is Monsieur Bonaventure within?’ He left the coin on the counter.
The barmaid’s eyes flicked down to it and it disappeared into her pocket with admirable swiftness. ‘Your luck’s in, darling. He’s through there.’ She jerked her head to the back room. ‘Says he’s waiting for a big man from Paris but you might be able to catch a few minutes with him.’
J-F smiled to himself as we headed through the door.
‘Big man? Have you and he ever actually met?’ I whispered, feeling slightly panicky.
J-F shook his head. ‘Not until today.’
I followed him anxiously into the dark inner chamber. A man sat in the corner by the fire, feet up on a stool, hat pulled over his eyes. A pipe glowed in his fingers.