The next morning Napoleon rose at dawn. He had an appointment with a junior official in the Treasury at noon and had to ensure that the details of the dispute were firmly fixed in his mind. He pulled the satchel from under his bed and once again read through his father's copy of the contract that he had entered into with the French Government for the subsidy on the mulberry plantation. Napoleon made notes in a small book as he read through the paperwork. At length he was satisfied that he had mastered the details and could use them in support of the arguments he had prepared. Carefully sliding all the doc.u.ments and his notebook back into the satchel, Napoleon fetched some cold water to wash himself and then dressed in his best uniform jacket. He combed out his lank shoulder-length hair and tied it into a neat tail with a small ribbon before easing his hat on to his head. Pleased with the reflection in the mirror, he picked up his satchel and set off for the Treasury offices on the Place Merignon.

A small arch opened into a dim courtyard. On the far side a few steps led up to the main entrance hall, which was packed with men waiting for their appointed time to meet with various clerks and senior officials. Napoleon gave his name to the clerk on the small desk to one side of the staircase and then took a seat to wait for his time. He was nearly an hour early, since he had no wish to lose his opportunity to present his family's claim if the preceding appointments were completed more quickly than expected. As he waited he studied the people around him: a cross section of French society - everyone from modest shopkeepers to affluent merchants. Well, almost everyone, he thought. There were no aristocrats. They must be far too grand to have to deal with Treasury officials.

The hubbub was pierced by s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation, which Napoleon could make out and while there were a few other people making claims for compensation, the majority of the talk was about the latest round of tax rises demanded by the government. The mood was close to simmering outrage, and the fuggy atmosphere of the waiting room reminded Napoleon of a sultry summer day when a storm is waiting to break. Every so often a clerk would appear at the gallery at the top of the staircase, a sea of faces would rise to look up at him in hope, and he'd call out their name.

The time for Napoleon's appointment came and went, and he could no longer bear to sit down on the hard wooden seat. Tucking his satchel securely under his arm, he squeezed through the crowd towards the entrance to the building and leaned against a pillar just inside the door where he could breathe fresh air, yet still hear his summons. Outside the sky was grey and a light drizzle had begun. Beyond the arch people hurried by, heads shrunk into their collars against the cold and damp.

'Buona Parte! Monsieur Buona Parte!'

Napoleon spun round.The clerk in the gallery was calling out his name. Napoleon thrust his way through the crowd towards the stairs and forced himself to climb them one at a time as he made his way up to the clerk.

'Buona Parte?'

'Yes.'

'Follow me.'

The clerk led him down a narrow corridor at the far end of the gallery. At the end of the corridor Napoleon was shown into a small room, just large enough for a desk and two chairs. The walls were covered with shelving on which bound files lay in neat stacks. One file lay open on the desk and glancing over the contents was a thin man of advanced years with grizzled strands of hair on his scalp. A pair of gla.s.ses had been eased up to rest on top of his head.

'Sit down,' he instructed without looking up.

Napoleon took the other chair and, opening the satchel, pulled out his papers.

'Quiet, if you please. I'm trying to concentrate.'

Napoleon stilled himself and waited for the official to complete his reading. At length, the man closed the file, leaned back, pulled his gla.s.ses down to the bridge of his nose and blinked at Napoleon.

'Monsieur Buona Parte? I had thought you were somewhat older.' He ran his finger down the notes on the cover of the file. 'You work at the court in Ajaccio?'

'That was my father, Carlos,' Napoleon explained. 'He died a few years ago. I am his son, Napoleon Buona Parte. I am pursuing his claim for compensation.'

'You've come all the way from Corsica to deal with this?'

Napoleon nodded.

'Well, I'm afraid I have not yet located all the doc.u.ments relevant to your claim.'

Napoleon bit back on his frustration and anger. 'That's not good enough. I want you to send someone to look for them now.'

'I can't do that. My clerks are extremely busy. Finding these doc.u.ments will have to wait until there's a man free to carry out the task.'

'When will that be?'

'I can't say. It might be weeks, or months.'

'That's not acceptable. I can't afford to wait here that long.'

'That is your choice, Monsieur Buona Parte. But if you fail to pursue your claim in person you can hardly blame the Treasury for not prioritising your request. I suggest you come back in, say, two weeks.'

'Two weeks?' Napoleon glared at him. 'My family are already in debt. And it's growing all the time, thanks to the Treasury. I demand that you do something about it right now.'

The official stared back at him, coldly. 'You can demand what you like. I will task one of my clerks to search for this record, when there is time. But I will not be dictated to by some provincial upstart in my office. Now, Monsieur Buona Parte, if you don't mind I have other pressing business to attend to. I suggest you make another appointment to see me in two weeks. I might have some news for you then.'

'And if you haven't?'

'Then I'm afraid you'll just have to wait a little longer.'

Napoleon stood up, s.n.a.t.c.hed the contract back and stuffed the papers into his satchel. 'This is an outrage. I shall complain through the highest possible channels.'

'Please do. Now, good day to you, sir.'

Napoleon did not reply, but turned away and stormed out of the room, back along the corridor, down the hall and out into the street where the rain had turned into a steady downpour that hissed off the cobblestones. He turned in the direction of his hotel and, tucking the satchel under his arm, he strode off, a scowl of bitter anger and frustration etched into his face.

A short distance behind him a figure detached itself from the crowd watching a street puppeteer and set off after the young artillery officer.

Chapter 43.

By the time evening came, Napoleon had calmed down, but the sense of outrage still smouldered deep inside. As he emerged from his hotel to go for his evening walk and find somewhere to eat he discovered that the rain had at last stopped and the air had a clean, crisp feel to it. Thin strips of silvery cloud half veiled a bright moon. Around him the wet street gleamed in the dull glow of light shining from windows. He clasped his hands behind his back and set off, heading for the heart of the city. His appet.i.te had deserted him, so he walked for long hours, past the fine buildings and monuments of the capital, until late in the evening he found himself amongst the crowds wandering along the colonnade of the Palais-Royal. It was a favourite spot for the young of Paris to congregate to drink and flirt, and perhaps, if the mood took them, to fight.The shadowy colonnade that ran alongside the Palais was also the preserve of a more sensual pastime and as Napoleon strode past he ignored the advances of the prost.i.tutes sitting on the steps or leaning against the pillars.

He was close to the end of the colonnade when he saw a slight shape hunched against the base of a cold stone pediment. It was a small street girl, asleep as she sat leaning against the stone. Her face was tilted up and to the side, and the moonlight gave her a cold, blue ethereal beauty that arrested Napoleon's attention so that he stopped and stared. She was quite stunning, he realised. Her hair, long and dark and wavy, hung in tresses over a dull grey cape. She had full lips and high cheekbones, and fine eyebrows above long lashes. He felt a sudden yearning for her in the pit of his stomach that caught him by surprise. Disturbed by the spontaneous sensation Napoleon was about to tear his gaze from her and walk away when her eyes flickered open and she ran the tip of her tongue delicately across her lips to moisten them. As she became fully conscious, she immediately noticed the slight figure of the artillery officer staring at her from a short distance away, and smiled.

'h.e.l.lo, handsome,' she lisped. 'Looking for somebody?'

'Me?' Napoleon stammered. 'No. No, I'm just walking.'

'Really?' She laughed, revealing good teeth. 'I thought people moved when they walked.'

Napoleon blushed, but he drew a quick breath and recovered his poise. 'I had just stopped to admire-'

'Me.You were admiring me.' She jumped up and approached him quickly, pointing her finger. 'Go on, admit it!'

She laughed, a light trilling sound that was so infectious that after a moment Napoleon could not help joining in.

'All right then, I give in. I was looking at you.'

'I bet.' She a.s.sessed him shrewdly. 'Would you like some company, sir?'

'My name is Napoleon.'

'Napoleon,' she nodded.'And what would you like to call me?'

Napoleon looked puzzled for an instant before he replied, 'I'd like to call you by your name.'

She shrugged. 'As you wish. Annabelle.'

'Annabelle. Pleased to make your acquaintance.' He held out his hand, and she took it with a grin. Napoleon formally shook her hand, but she held on after his grip relaxed and refused to let go.

'So where are you taking me then, Napoleon?'

'Taking you? Why, I hadn't thought-'

'I'm hungry. And you look like you need some company. Let's go and find something to eat first.'

'I don't know if I can afford it.'

'That's all right. I know somewhere that's very reasonable.' She slipped her hand under his arm and smiled at him. 'After that . . . well, we'll just have to see.'

As the first grey smears of dawn spread across the room Napoleon woke with a start. He was naked. He felt it at once. He also felt the warm flesh of another curled up in the crook of his body and his forearm rested on her hip. At first the shocking unfamiliarity of the situation frightened him, and then the full details of the night before flooded back into his mind. The cheap meal he had bought them at a small inn.The lightness of the conversation and the fact that she had made him laugh, then little by little drawn out his ambitions to which she listened with avid attention - or seemed to, he reflected. Afterwards they had walked arm in arm back to his hotel, their laughter and high-spirited talk echoing along the dark streets. Then, in this room, by the light of a single candle, they had undressed in awkward silence before Napoleon held his breath at the vision of a naked female body standing before him.Then she had shivered and dived into the bed. After a brief hesitation he had followed her under the blanket and then flinched as she wrapped herself around him.

'It's your first time, isn't it?' she had said softly.

'No.'

'If you say so. Come on then, you great lover. Let's see what you're made of . . .'

He smiled at the memory of the lovemaking; tender and nervous at first, before he gave in to the rush of animal pleasure that flowed through his body until the ecstatic burst of nerve-tingling energy of the climax, and the warm relaxing glow of oblivion afterwards. Then sleep, curled across her, his head resting on the soft smooth flesh between her shoulder and her breast.

She stirred, opened her mouth and yawned. Then she ran her tongue over her dry lips and her eyes blinked open.

'I'm hungry. Got anything to eat?'

'Some bread, over there.' Napoleon gestured towards the room's only table, under the window. Outside the morning was clear and bright and a pale shaft lay across the table, illuminating the wooden box Napoleon kept his food in to protect it from the rats. 'There's a sweet pastry as well. I'll get them for you.'

'I'll go.' She slid from the covers and padded across to the table as Napoleon stared at her. She ate the pastry first, hungrily. Then she finished off the bread and reached for her clothes, hanging over the back of the chair.

'Where are you going?' Napoleon propped himself up on an elbow.

'Home. I have to get home. My man gets worried if I don't come back in the morning.'

'You're married?'

'As good as,' she replied, smoothing down her heavily worn slip. 'We're to have a blessing in a few weeks.'

Napoleon was horrified. 'Does he know about . . . this?'

'Lord, yes.'

'But doesn't he object?' Napoleon glanced away from her. 'I know I would, if you were mine.'

She paused and smiled at him. 'Bless you, Lieutenant.That was a kind thing to say. But then it's easy for you. My man was a silk weaver, and that trade's in trouble. He lost his job over a year ago and we had to come to Paris to try and find work. There's not much work to be had here. One of us had to earn money so . . .' she shrugged, 'here I am.'

'Where were you from?'

'Lyons.'

'I see.' Napoleon shifted uncomfortably and pulled the blankets over him more securely. 'Is there nothing else you can do?'

'Like what?' she replied with a helpless gesture.'I have no skills, apart from being able to please men, and we need food, shelter and that's before we have to cope with all these tax rises. We barely survive as it is. I don't expect you'd understand.'

Napoleon was about to protest. After all, he was only here in Paris because his family faced ruin unless the Government could be persuaded to honour its original agreement. But the difficulties faced by the Buona Parte family were leagues apart from the struggle for survival that this girl and her man faced.

She had finished fastening the b.u.t.tons on her simple dress and completed her attire with a thick shawl that had been hanging around her shoulders last night but which she now fastened securely over her hair. She pulled on and laced up her boots before coming back towards the bed.

'Lieutenant, you have to pay me now.'

'Pay you?' Napoleon blushed. 'Yes, of course. Excuse me.'

He rose from the bed, wrapping the blanket around him, and crossed over to where his coat lay draped over his travel chest. He fumbled in the pocket until his fingers closed round his purse. He took it out, unclipped the fastener and peered at the coins inside.

'How much?'

'Five francs, sir. But any more would be appreciated.'

He nodded and counted out five francs, paused a moment and counted out another five before he approached her and placed the money in her outstretched hand. 'Annabelle, get out of this city. Go back to Lyons. Go to the country, but get out of Paris. Find somewhere to settle down with your man and give up this life.'

She looked hurt. 'I thought we'd had a nice time.'

'We did. I did.The best night I've ever had.' Napoleon reached out to take her hand and the blanket fell away revealing his naked body and his p.e.n.i.s, stirring into life once again. He laughed, trying to hide his embarra.s.sment. 'There's your proof of my earnestness!'

They both laughed now, and when they had recovered she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. 'Farewell, Lieutenant. I wish you well. Maybe one day, we'll both find ourselves quiet homes in the country.'

'Maybe.' Napoleon nodded. 'Goodbye.'

She left the room quietly, closed the door and he heard her footsteps softly cross the landing and descend the stairs. He returned to bed and curled up under the blanket until his body had warmed up again.The smell of her was still on the pillow and he shut his eyes and breathed the scent in through his nose and let his mind drift back to the thrill of the previous night.

Chapter 44.

Napoleon finally rose and dressed as a bell tolled eleven. He sat down at his table and drafted a letter to the War Minister, Jean-Baptiste de Gribeauval, explaining that he was being obstructed by the Treasury in pursuit of compensation for his family, and therefore needed to apply for another six months' extension to his leave. He had few illusions that the War Minister would be pleased to grant such a junior officer yet more leave. After all, he had not served with his regiment for over a year already. But it was all Napoleon could do at this stage. In any case, his money would not last much longer and he would be compelled to return to Corsica. He was not looking forward to reporting his lack of success in Paris. His anger at the corruption and inefficiency of the government was fuelled by the wider inequality between the grinding poverty of the ma.s.ses and the heedless luxury of the aristocrats and their coteries. Something had to change. But what prospect of change was there when the army stood by ready to crush any expression of discontent by the downtrodden and despairing people of France? What could anyone do about the situation?

Once the letter was completed, Napoleon copied it into a more legible form and sealed it. He tucked it inside his coat and set off for the War Ministry offices where the letter was handed in to a clerk, who was given the address of Napoleon's lodgings for the reply. Then he set off again, walking the streets, deep in thought about the state of the world around him, almost unaware of the fine weather that had embraced Paris and infused most of its inhabitants with better spirits after the cold and damp of previous weeks. When Napoleon looked up he realised that he was pa.s.sing the street on which Monsieur Cardin had his shop. He pulled up with a start and glanced round, but he recognised no faces in the street around him, and he quickly hurried on.

By the time he had found a cheap inn for his evening meal, Napoleon's thoughts had returned to the pamphlet he had read two days earlier. The arguments poured through his mind with the irresistible force of a great river. The author, Citizen Schiller, deployed logic as if it were a weapon, and shot down anything in his sights, whether it was the monarchy, the Church or the aristocracy. He must be an interesting man to meet, Napoleon reflected. And he was speaking at Monsieur Cardin's shop that night. It was the thought of a moment and the decision followed immediately.

As one of the city clocks struck eight Napoleon emerged from the shadows opposite the subscription library and quickly crossed the street, with a last anxious glance round to make sure that he was not being observed. The library was almost in darkness; only a tiny glimmer of light flickered in the depths of the interior.Yet there were already men inside. From across the street he had seen them arrive, singly and in small groups. Napoleon reached for the door handle, but someone had obviously been keeping watch, because the door swung open at his approach.