Flashman and the Tiger: And Other Extracts from the Flashman Papers. George Fraser MacDonald
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 dam-fool 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 pas?’
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.
I guess I just like contrary women, and Kralta was one. Crooked as a Jesuit’s conscience, as I was to discover, but with a spirit and quality that made you feel it was almost a privilege to mount her – but then, I’ve remarked before that royal breeding tells, and no doubt I’m as impressionable as the next horny peasant. She was a born adventuress, too – aye, the very archetype of all those subtle sirens whom romantic writers love to imagine aboard the Orient Express. I’d barely disentangled myself from those muscular satin limbs, and she’d stopped gasping in what I think was Hungarian and recovered her breath, when she murmured:
‘So … must the secret wait until Vienna?’ Her long fingers stroked my stomach, careless-like. ‘Better there should be nothing between us, nem? Then we can enjoy our journey.’ She flirted her lips across my chest. ‘Why not tell me now?’
‘So that you can call the guard and have me slung out as soon as you’ve heard it? I’ve known women who wouldn’t think twice.’
‘You think I am such a one … after …?’ Her stroking hand slid downwards. ‘Do you not trust me, when I have trusted you … Harry?’
‘Steady, girl! A little decorum, if you please … I’ll tell you, princess –’
‘Kralta …’
‘Aye, well, Kralta … I trust folk as far as I can throw ’em, which in your case,’ I fondled a voluptuous handful, ‘ain’t far, thank God. No, Vienna’ll be soon enough. I ain’t a modest man, but I’m not fool enough to think that you’d continue to play pretty just for the sake of my manly charms … d’you know?’
‘How little you know of women,’ says she. ‘Or rather, how little you know of me.’
‘I know you’re Bismarck’s mistress.’ I couldn’t resist touching this condescending madam on a raw spot – but of course it wasn’t.
‘Fat little Stefan has been gossiping, has he?’ She sounded amused. ‘What did he tell you?’
‘Oh, how the German Emperor persuaded you to gallop stout Otto into a cheerful frame of mind – which I’m bound to say you’re well equipped to do.’ I gave her bottom a hearty squeeze. ‘I’ll bet he couples like a cannibal, does he?’ Coarse stuff, you see, to put her in her place, but all it provoked was a dry chuckle.
‘Poor Blowitz! Either he is a bad reporter, or he was trying to protect my reputation.’ She eased herself up on an elbow and smiled at me bold-eyed. ‘In fact, His Majesty made no such suggestion; he merely poured out his fears to me, like the garrulous old woman that he is. It was I who suggested, delicately, since the Emperor is easily shocked, that I myself should … refresh Prince Bismarck.’
Delicacy being her forte, the brazen bitch. ‘God’s truth – d’you mean you wanted Bismarck? Talk about a glutton for punishment! What on earth possessed you?’
She gave a little dismissive shrug. ‘Amusement? Whim? What shall I call it? I am forty years old, immensely rich in my own right, titled and privileged, married to a dull nonentity … and bored beyond belief. It follows that I seek diversion, excitement, pleasure, and above all, novelty. When a new sensation offers, I pursue it … as you have discovered.’ She teased her lips across mine. ‘That is what possessed me.’
‘I’ll be damned! You didn’t tell that to the Emperor, I’ll be bound! What did he say?’
‘Oh, men are such hypocrites! He pretended not to understand … but he did everything in his power to smooth my way to Schönhausen – secret arrangements, agents to conduct me, my husband sent off on a fool’s errand.’ She gave a well-bred sneer. ‘A professional procurer could have done no more! And so … Bismarck was, as you say, “galloped” into a good humour, the Emperor was pleased and