Tracy Chevalier - The Lady and the Unicorn

‘I want spikes on the poles,’ Papa repeated. ‘There are too many women and flowers in these tapestries. There should be battle poles, and something else to remind us of war. What happens to the unicorn when the Lady has caught him?’

Luckily Nicolas didn’t have to answer, as he couldn’t have spoken. I had placed my hand on his bulge, which was as hard as a tree branch. I had never touched one before. ‘Doesn’t the Lady lead him to the hunter who kills him?’ Papa continued. He likes to answer his own questions. ‘You should add another tapestry to complete the story.’

‘I believe there is no room in the Grande Salle for another tapestry,’ Oncle Léon said.

‘Then replace one of these women. The one with the carnations, or the one feeding the bird.’

I dropped my hand.

‘That is a very good idea, Monseigneur,’ Oncle Léon said. I gasped. Luckily Nicolas made a noise too, so I don’t think Papa heard me.

Then Oncle Léon showed just why he is so good at business. ‘It is a fine idea,’ he repeated. ‘Of course the boldness of the kill will contrast well with the more subtle hints of the battle poles. One would not want to be too cunning at the end, would one?’

‘What do you mean, too cunning?’

‘Well, for instance, one might simply imply the hunt – or the battle, if you like – with the spiked poles (a fine touch, Monseigneur, I must say), the battle shields Nicolas has suggested adding, and perhaps something else. Let me think. What about a tent – the kind set up in battles for the King? That would also remind one of the King as well as the battle. But then again, perhaps that would be too subtle. Perhaps a hunter killing the unicorn would be better.’

‘No, I want the King’s tent.’

I sat back on my heels in wonder at Oncle Léon. He had hooked Papa like a fish, without Papa even noticing, and brought him to land just where he pleased.

‘The tent would be quite large and so should go on one of the larger tapestries,’ Léon said briskly, to keep Papa from changing his mind. ‘The Lady with the jewels or the Lady with the parakeet. Which would you prefer, Monseigneur?’

Nicolas began to speak but Papa interrupted. ‘The jewels – she is more regal than the other.’

Before I could cry out again, Nicolas reached under the table with his foot and pressed my own foot. I kept quiet and he left his foot there, tapping mine.

‘All right, Nicolas, add a tent to this one,’ Oncle Léon said.

‘Of course, Monseigneur. Would Monseigneur like a special design on the tent?’

‘A coat of arms.’

‘That goes without saying, Monseigneur. But I was thinking more of a motto for a battle. Something to indicate that it is a battle for love.’

‘I know nothing of love,’ Papa growled. ‘What would you have? I suspect you are familiar with it.’

I had an idea, and tapped Nicolas’ leg. After a moment one of the drawings floated to the floor. ‘Oh! Pardon , Monseigneur. I am so clumsy.’ Nicolas crouched down to retrieve the drawing. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, ‘ C’est mon seul désir .’ Then I bit him.

Nicolas stood up.

‘Is your ear bleeding?’ Papa said.

‘ Pardon , Monseigneur. I knocked it against the table leg. But I have had a thought. What about “ À mon seul désir ”? It means—’

‘That will do,’ Papa cut him off. I knew that tone – it meant that the meeting had gone on for too long. ‘Show your changes to Léon and bring the finished paintings here a fortnight after May Day. No later, as we leave for Château d’Arcy by Ascension Day.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

Papa’s legs moved away from the table. ‘Léon, come with me – I have things to discuss with you. You can accompany me as far as the Conciergerie.’

Léon’s robes swayed as he began to move, then stopped. ‘Perhaps we should remain here, Monseigneur. It’s more comfortable for discussing business. And Nicolas is just going, aren’t you, Nicolas?’

‘Yes, certainly, as soon as I collect the drawings, Monseigneur.’

‘No, I’m in a hurry. Come along.’ And Papa was gone.

Oncle Léon still hesitated. He didn’t want to leave me alone with Nicolas.

‘Go,’ I hissed.

He went.

I did not come out from under the table, but remained there on my knees. After a moment Nicolas climbed in to me. We gazed at each other. ‘ Bonjour , Mademoiselle,’ he said.

I smiled. He was nothing like the kind of man my parents intended for me. I was glad. ‘Are you going to kiss me, then?’

He had me on my back and was on top of me before I could think. Then his tongue was deep in my mouth and his hands were squeezing my breasts. It was a strange thing. I had been dreaming of this moment ever since meeting him, but now that there was a body on top of me, a bulge grinding hard into my belly, a wet tongue in my ear, I was surprised by how different it felt from what I had dreamed.

Part of me liked it – wanted the bulge to push even harder, and not through so many layers of clothes. My hands wanted to touch every part of him – squeeze his cherry bum and measure his broad back. My mouth met his as if it were biting into a fig.

But it was a shock to have someone’s wet, thrusting tongue in my mouth, to have so much weight squeezing the breath from me, to have his hands touch parts of me no man had ever touched. And I had not expected to think so much when a man was with me. With Nicolas I found words accompanying everything we did – ‘Why is he doing that? His tongue is so wet in my ear,’ and ‘His belt is jabbing into my side,’ and ‘Does that feel good?’

I was thinking too of my father – of being under the table in his chamber, and of the value he placed on my maidenhead. Could I really throw it away in a moment, as someone like Marie-Céleste had? Perhaps that more than anything stopped me from truly enjoying myself. ‘Should we be doing this?’ I whispered when Nicolas had begun biting my breasts through the cloth of my dress.

‘I know, we’re mad. But we may never have another chance.’ Nicolas began pulling at my skirt. ‘They never leave you alone – not the daughter of Jean Le Viste with a mere painter.’ He lifted up my skirt and underdress and ran his hand up my thigh. ‘Now this, beauty, this is mon seul désir .’ With that he touched my maidenhead, and the surge of pleasure I felt was so strong that I was ready to give it up to him.

‘Claude!’

I looked behind me and saw Béatrice’s face upside down, glaring at us.

Nicolas pulled his hand from under my skirt, but he did not immediately jump off me. That pleased me. He looked at Béatrice, and then he kissed me deeply before slowly sitting back on his knees.

‘For this,’ Béatrice said, ‘I really will marry you, Nicolas des Innocents. I swear I will!’

Béatrice has told me the bodices of my dresses have become too loose. ‘Either you eat more, Madame, or we must call in the tailor.’

‘Send for the tailor.’

That was not the answer she wanted, and she kept her big dog-brown eyes on me until I turned from her and began playing with my rosary. I’d had the same look from my mother – though her eyes are shrewder than Béatrice’s – when I took the girls to visit her at Nanterre. I told her that Claude did not come with us because of a stomach ache that I suffered from as well. She didn’t believe me, just as I hadn’t believed Claude when she made her excuses to me. Perhaps it is always thus, that daughters lie to their mothers and their mothers let them.