A flicker of concern crossed her face, then Josephine ran down the stairs, her slippered feet pattering lightly on the steps as she descended. Napoleon watched her with a sense of dread and then hardened his heart as he drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back. She hurried across the hall and folded her arms around his shoulders as she kissed him on the cheek.
‘My love, I have missed you,’ she whispered into his ear, and then froze, sensing the unyielding stillness of his body. She drew back with a slight frown and stared into his eyes. ‘My dear, what is the matter with you? Have you no kiss, no embrace for your wife?’
‘Later,’ Napoleon said harshly. ‘I have work to attend to. If I have time, we may talk later. Excuse me.’
Without a kiss, or any other sign of affection, the Emperor turned away and walked towards his suite of offices. He did not falter or look back once, knowing that she would be gazing after him in that forlorn, helpless manner that she knew would melt his heart. When he reached the study, Napoleon ordered the footman standing outside to admit no one, on any pretext, unless they were carrying a bowl of soup. He closed the door firmly behind him and immediately crossed to his desk. A small pile of documents and letters lay on a salver, and with a heavy sigh Napoleon tried to banish all thought of Josephine from his mind as he slumped into his chair and began to deal with the correspondence.
Breaking the seal of the first document, he opened it out and glanced over the contents. It was from a senior treasury official requesting an interview to discuss the looming monetary crisis. Napoleon was aware that France’s coffers were running low, but had hoped that the new peace would restore the flow of taxes and other revenue. However, the treasury reported that the economy was suffering from the trade embargo with England, which was affecting the whole continent. That, coupled with the costs of maintaining the armies in Spain, was bleeding France dry. Napoleon penned a few hurried comments on the document and moved on to the next, a reply from his brother, King Louis of Holland, to his request for Dutch reinforcements to be sent to Spain. Louis claimed to be fearful that his subjects might rise in revolt if he attempted to send troops to the aid of King Joseph. To add to his grievances, he claimed that he could not enforce the embargo on English trade for the same reasons.
‘Fool,’ Napoleon muttered as he scribbled a terse response at the bottom of his brother’s letter. ‘Does he not understand that unless we break England, no Bonaparte is safe on his throne?’
The next letter contained a politely worded request that the Emperor might be kind enough to settle the debt owed by Josephine to a Parisian dressmaker. Napoleon’s eyes widened at the sum she owed. Over ten thousand francs. He glared at the letter, then thrust it to one side.
There was a soft click as the door opened and a servant entered the room bearing a tray with a small steaming bowl, some bread, a small decanter of watered wine and a glass.
‘Here, on the desk.’ Napoleon tapped the gleaming wooden surface to his right. The servant crossed the room and carefully lowered the tray before bowing his head and backing away. Napoleon finished his notes and set the pen down. The pleasant odour of onion soup curled into his nostrils, and he eased the tray across the desk in front of him. Outside the rain rattled against the window panes in an irregular rhythm as the wind moaned over the chateau. Taking up the spoon he began to sip carefully, his mind soon moving back to the most pressing of the issues weighing on his mind - the matter of how to break the news to Josephine.
A week later Napoleon ate alone with his wife. The last of the dinner service had been cleared away, with most of the food lying untouched on the fine chinaware. At length a steward served them coffee and then retired from the small salon where the Emperor and Empress had taken their supper. It was bitterly cold outside and night had long since closed over the chateau. Hardly a word had been spoken over the meal, beyond mere pleasantries. Napoleon’s stomach was too knotted with anxiety to allow him to eat and he had had to force himself to eat a few mouthfuls of chicken before poking at the rest of the meal and finally laying aside his cutlery and clicking his fingers for the servants to clear the table.
‘It will soon be Christmas,’ Josephine observed at length.
‘Yes.’
Josephine raised her cup and sipped carefully. ‘Nothing has been arranged.’
‘No.’
‘Well, don’t you think we should organise an event of some kind? A celebration?’
Napoleon looked at her, feeling sick at the imminence of his betrayal. ‘There will be nothing for us to celebrate.’
‘What?’ Josephine lowered her cup slightly. ‘Why do you say that? What is wrong, my love? You have been so cold with me from the moment you returned.’
‘I . . . I have something to tell you.’ Napoleon swallowed nervously and found that he could not continue. Josephine saw the pained look in his face and began to rise from her chair to come and comfort him. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered. Then, aware of the harshness of his tone, he forced himself to soften his voice. ‘Please, sit, my love.’
After a moment, she did as she was told and stared back at him. ‘What is it? Tell me.’
There was no longer any means of avoiding the moment and Napoleon took a calming breath before he spoke. ‘I must divorce you.’
‘What?’
‘I have to divorce you. I must have an heir. So I must find a new wife.’
She stared at him and then laughed nervously. ‘You are joking. That’s it. You are teasing me.’
‘No. It’s true.’ Napoleon felt the relief begin to flow through his body now that he could finally explain the situation. ‘This is not about you and me, it is about France. I love you, I always have. But we must be brave and put the needs of our people before our own.’ He watched her dumbstruck expression closely. ‘Do you understand?’
Josephine shook her head faintly, her lips trembling. ‘No . . . No . . .’
‘I wish, with every fibre in my body, that we could avoid this situation,’ Napoleon continued gently. ‘But it has to be done.’
Josephine clenched her fists. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’
‘I have to. If we are to be divorced then we cannot be together. It would be unseemly.’
‘Don’t do this, my darling.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I beg you.’
‘It has already been done. The senate ratified the decree earlier today. I will announce it in Paris tomorrow, and we will both sign the formal agreement before the imperial court. It is best for it all to be done as swiftly as possible.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘To ease our suffering, you understand.’
‘NO! NO! NO!’ Josephine screamed, sweeping her arm out across the table, knocking her coffee cup and saucer flying towards the fireplace, where it exploded into fragments with a sharp crash. She rose to her feet and lurched round the table towards him, then stopped and stared at him, eyes wild.
‘NO!’ She suddenly raised her fist and Napoleon instinctively flinched. Instead of striking him, she struck her breast, hard, again and again.
‘Don’t do that!’ Napoleon stretched a hand towards her.‘Please don’t, my love.’