The Chemickal Marriage

the grey beef stank of vinegar. Still, he finished the plate, emptied the mug and carried them to the door.
    As the guard took the empty dishes, Doctor Svenson looked out.
    ‘Do you think I might stretch my legs?’ he asked. ‘I have had so little sleep, if I do not walk I will collapse.’
    ‘Why not sleep now?’
    ‘There is no time. Mr Schoepfil says we must travel. I require my wits.’
    He took out his last two cigarettes, offered one to the grenadier, who – blessedly – declined. Svenson tucked it away, lit the other and indicated the small corridor. ‘Just here?’
    The guard did not protest and Svenson wandered to a window. Night had fallen and a movement outside caught his eye: a man in a white jacket, arms bound, dragged by soldiers towards a livery shed. A few steps behind came Kelling. Perhaps a minute later Kelling and the grenadiers returned alone.
    In the distance came the sound of doors. Svenson ambled to the corridor’s end in time to see the Contessa with an escort of guards.
    ‘
There
you are!’ She called with such self-importance that her soldiers allowed her to veer towards Svenson. He bowed as she approached.
    ‘The Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza,’ he said to his guard, ‘a gentlewoman from Venice.’
    The guard’s reply, and her own guards’ desire to interpose, was brusquely overridden. ‘Doctor Svenson, thank
goodness
. I’ve just been with Her Majesty now’ – this clearly for the benefit of the guards – ‘and I
would
speak to Mr Schoepfil – yet I may not have
time
, you see. Because of Her
Majesty
.’ She pointed past Svenson. ‘Is that where you’ve been waiting? May we speak?’
    ‘I am at your service,’ replied Svenson.
    ‘Mr Schoepfil wants you to wait,’ managed one of her guards.
    ‘Of course I’ll
wait
,’ she cried. ‘But if the
Queen
requests my presence, what do you suggest? This way I may convey to Doctor Svenson – who also
waits
for Mr Schoepfil – my own account of the matter, so he may pass it on –
in case
. Don’t you see?’
    She strode down the windowed passage, unseen heels clipping the floor like the hoofs of a performing horse. ‘I will knock when I am finished,’ she told the guard. ‘What is that, beer? Two more of the same. I am parched.’
    She sailed inside and sat in the only chair. Svenson smiled apologetically at the guard and began to shut the door.
    ‘The
beer
,’ the Contessa snapped.
    She flounced her dress into place. The knot of soldiers stared past him at the woman. Svenson accepted the beer and shut the door with his heel.
    ‘What are you waiting for, trumpets?’
    She snatched a mug from his hand and drank deeply, paused to breathe, then finished it off. ‘
Drink
. Drink or give it to me. There is very little time.’
    He looked to the door. ‘Surely everything we say is heard –’
    The Contessa took hold of Svenson’s belt and yanked him sharply to one knee. She took his mug and set it down, slopping beer across the varnished cork.
    ‘We have unfinished business.’
    ‘Madam, nothing between us –’
    She jerked his belt to stop his rising. ‘Speak
quietly
,’ she whispered. She put her mouth near his ear. ‘We have all
manner
of unfinished business, Abelard Svenson. Do not deny it.’
    ‘I will not.’ He swallowed. ‘But this morning – I cannot –’
    ‘Cannot
what
?’
    ‘You took the life of Mrs Dujong –’
    ‘Someone had to.’
    The crack of Doctor Svenson’s open hand across her cheek split the room. He leapt to his feet, furious, appalled.
    Her eyes blazed. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
    ‘I already have.’
    The Contessa burst into a raucous laugh. The door opened and two grenadiers peered in, alarmed by the sound of the blow, but now confused by herlaughter and the Doctor’s shame-red face. The Contessa waved them away and, docile to
hauteur
, they went. She laid two fingers on her cheek. ‘My lord.’
    ‘Whatever you have to say, madam,
say
it.’
    ‘Not until you kneel.’ She raised her eyebrows. Svenson sighed and did so, reaching to shift the beer mug.
    ‘I’ll have that. If you’re not drinking.’ She took another long pull. ‘I’ve been in the baths. No wonder her skin comes off in strips.’
    ‘Immersion dehydrates the flesh,’ observed Svenson. ‘So does alcohol.’
    ‘Not beer, surely.’ She offered him the mug. He shook his head, and the Contessa tipped back the rest.
    ‘Those soldiers will not wait forever. And Schoepfil not at all.’
    ‘Nor