"Enchanted, highness," says I, retaining her hand, and for a moment we weighed each other before she withdrew it to indicate the lower berth, which was made up as a bed. "You come unannounced, sir. I was about to retire. I had not expected you tonight." She spoke perfect English with that soft Danube accent that is so attractive in men and women both.
"Your highness is gracious to expect me at all," says Galahad Flashy. "If I am inopportune, my excuse is that having seen your picture I could not wait to view the reality."
She arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? But as we left Paris more than two hours ago, I take it you have restrained your eagerness long enough to dine?" Smiling ever so cool, the smart bitch. Very good, my lass, brace yourself.
"Sparingly, your highness," says I, "and with mounting impatience. Had I known how far your beauty outshines the image of the photographer, I’d have gone without dessert, possibly even without the poulet aux truffes. From the evidence of your dinner tray I gather you enjoyed them both, so you may judge the depth of my sincerity." I moved a step closer, sighed deeply, and regarded her solemnly. "But what am I saying? The truth is that for one glance from those glorious eyes, one gleam of the golden cascade of your hair, I’d have made do with a cheese sandwich and a pint of stout."
It took her flat aback, small wonder, and for an instant she stiffened and I received the freezing Queen Bess stare, and then to my astonishment her lips trembled into a smile, and then a chuckle, and suddenly she was laughing outright, bless her—I’d been right, she was human beneath the ice, and I warmed to her in that moment, and not only out of lust, although I wondered if a swift Flashman cross-buttock (tit in one hand, arse in t’other) mightn’t be in order, but decided to observe the niceties a little longer. Make ’em laugh and you’re halfway to bed anyway. She was regarding me now with an odd look, quarter amused, three parts wary.
"The poulet was passable; the crepe chantilly …" She shrugged. "And I begin to see that M. Blowitz spoke no more than the truth when he said that Sir Harry Flashman was a quite unusual man. Tres amusant, tres beau, he told me … and tres galant." Now the cool smile on the fine horse face was haughty-coquettish as she looked me up and down. "Quite overpoweringly galant."
"It’s these tiny compartments; chaps my size tend to loom, rather," says I, happy to continue bantering now that I was sure of her, and curious to see how she’d play the game—after all, she was the one who wanted something. "Perhaps if your highness would deign to be seated …" I indicated the only chair, and she gave me a sidelong look and disposed herself gracefully, an elbow on the chair arm, a finger along her cheek, but still keeping the fur carefully about her.
"Yes … certainly unusual," says she. "That is very well. I am unconventional myself. I think that we shall understand each other." She smiled again, which strangely enough didn’t improve her looks, for while her teeth were like pearls, they protruded slightly—breeding, no doubt. "In spite of your tendency to talk charming nonsense. Golden cascades and sandwiches of cheese! Is that how you approach all your ladies?"
"Only if I’m sure it’ll be appreciated. But don’t misunderstand me, highness—it may be nonsense, but I meant every word of it." I took a step forward and hunkered down in front of her, eyeing her with ardour. "You’re what we call an absolute stunner, you know. Aye … the most desirable woman I’ve seen since—"
"—since we left the Gare de l’Est?" says she coolly. "Even that is not true. My maid is prettier by far than I … as I am sure you noticed."
"Pretty’s ten a penny, I said desirable. Anyway, she’s only a maid, not a princess … and she don’t want anything from me."
She sat farther back in her chair, considering me as she toyed with her hair. "And I do," says she. "In fact, Sir Harry, each of us wants something from the other, do we not?" She glanced at the bottle she’d taken from the tray, standing above the basin. "Shall we begin our … negotiation with a glass of wine?"
I rose to fill a couple of glasses, and when we’d sipped she set hers on the little stand by the window, crossed her legs beneath the coat, tossed back her golden mane, and looked me in the eye, no longer smiling, but not unfriendly either. I hunkered down again—believe it or not, it puts you at an advantage; women don’t care to have a great hairy man crouched at their feet, prepared to spring.
"Stefan Blowitz tells me that you hold a secret which I wish to know," says she, "and that you are willing to—"
"Pardon, highness … a secret Prince Bismarck wants to know." "Very true." She inclined her head. "By the way, I expect `highness' from inferiors. To friends, I am Kralta."
"Honoured, I’m sure—I’m Harry. So first, tell me—why should busy Otto, with the cares of the world on his back, want to know an old secret that ain’t worth a button?"
"I do not know," says she simply. "He did not tell me. And he is not a man of whom one asks reasons."
"Not even if one is on intimate terms with him?" She didn’t even blink, let alone blush. "Come now, Kralta, we both know Bismarck and his fine clockwork mind. He don’t ask damfool questions—and this one couldn’t be sillier—without an excellent reason. Can’t you even guess what it might be?"
She took a sip of wine. "You have said it yourself … Harry. His fine clockwork mind. He must know all. If he has another reason I do not know it."
And wouldn’t tell if she did. Well, it made no odds now, as I contemplated the perfect buttermilk skin and silken tresses. It was time to get to the meat of the matter.
"Well, it don’t signify. But I beg your pardon—I interrupted. You were saying, about Blowitz … ?"
"He said that if I asked you how the Berlin Treaty was obtained … you could tell me."
"Absolutely. Happy to oblige. "
It surprised her. "Now?"
"Well, presently. Let’s say … in Vienna."
"On your word of honour?"
"Cross my heart. Never fear, I’m an authority on honour."
She hesitated. "And in the meantime?" I just grinned at her, wicked-Flashy-like, and she sat back in her chair, giving me a long look with a pout to her lower lip that set my mouth watering. "I see. There is a price."
"Fair exchange, I’d call it," says I, enjoying myself, and to avoid meeting my eye she turned her head aside, displaying the imperious brood-mare profile. Her voice was calm and quiet.
"You think it fair … to exact a price? To take advantage of a helpless woman? Perhaps you are one of those men—I suppose I must call them that—who enjoy forcing a woman to humiliate herself—"
"Aye, I’m a cruel swine, ain’t I just? And you’re about as helpless as the Prussian Army."
"But I am expected to ask your terms, to plead, perhaps—" "D’you need to ask them?"
She was still for a moment, and then she sighed, rose from her chair, still clasping the fur collar beneath her chin, and looked down at me with that cool superior smile.
"Not for a moment," says she, and turning her back she shrugged the coat to the floor and stood there bare as a babe. I overbalanced and sat staring at the long shapely legs, the plump buttocks, the wasp waist, and the alabaster perfection of the smooth strong back, all revealed so unexpected. She stirred her rump, and as I reached out, clutching joyfully, she glanced complacently over her shoulder.
"A fair exchange. n’est-ce vas?"
• • •
And I have to own that it was. That sudden shedding of her clobber just when she’d been pretending that she’d have to be coaxed or ravished, is the kind of lecherous trick that wins my heart every time, and when we came to grips she behaved like the demented stoat aforesaid. Not as skilful as many, perhaps (though you must make allowances for the limited space in a sleeping berth), but a good bruising rough-rider, full of running, and as heartily selfish as royal fillies invariably are, intent on nothing but their own pleasure, which suits me admirably: there’s nothing like voracity in the fair sex, especially when she’s as strong as a bullock, which Kralta was. Not unlike that gigantic Chinese brigandess who half-killed me on the road to Nanking, but civilised, you understand, and willing to chat afterwards, in a frank, easy way which you’d not have expected from her lofty style and figurehead.