It might work. Certainly it was in keeping with a widow trying to supplement her means with a little business, and even if turned back, they had a way to get to the island.
‘Well done! We shall do it. Er, how?’
‘Don’t stand there, mon brave – we’ve much to accomplish before morning.’
It was the early boat. Louise stood primly in her best rig, her porter in ragged work clothes and a broad, drooping straw hat squatting behind her, zealously guarding four trays of sweetmeats draped with muslin and a bag for returning empty dishes. Renzi kept his eyes cast down, his skin uncomfortably prickling where it had been rubbed and stained to a convincing dark hue.
‘Quickly, Madame,’ the boatman urged, and was awarded an icy glare as Louise stepped delicately aboard. Renzi scuttled on behind her, clearly overawed by the well-dressed passengers.
‘Larguer!’ The bowman poled off and the landlubber porter was fetched a smack on the head from the swinging boom, which brought a laugh and sent him into a defensive crouch in the bottom boards.
The boat caught the wind expertly and hissed through the blue sea, in any other circumstance a sensual pleasure with the breeze caressing the cheeks under the enveloping warmth of the morning sun. The islands were at their best, the green of their vegetation the deepest Renzi could remember and the fringing white beaches a languid temptation.
Grand-Bourg was the capital of Marie-Galante. It was a modest town with a single pier and scattered buildings nearly hidden by lush vegetation. On a slight rise there was the dull red stone of the top of a fort, its embrasures set to command the small harbour, but what Renzi noticed most was a reef nearly a mile long offshore that the boat had to manoeuvre around – the fort and this barrier would make any direct British assault on Grand-Bourg a costly affair.
Bumping up to the low landing stage, the boat emptied while Renzi bent to fiddle with the trays.
‘Come along, Toto!’ Louise ordered imperiously, nodding to a passer-by, who had removed his hat in respect.
It was not far: the Villa Tartu was pointed out a little way inland, at the end of a neat avenue of palm trees.
They walked on without speaking, Renzi taking an obsequious position close behind as they approached the old general’s grand residence. As they got nearer his pulse quickened. Not only was there a pair of sentries at the doorway and a tricolour on a mast but definite activity inside.
He was beginning to have second thoughts about involving Louise but forced himself to focus. Evidence: he had to get unassailable proof. But this was a reconnaissance only, a spying out for what must come later. An observation – then a burglary?
‘Halt!’ The sentries moved forward suspiciously. ‘Who are you, Madame, that you come here?’
‘Madame Vernou, imbecile!’ Louise snapped. ‘Weren’t you told to expect me?’
‘We’ve no word of a Vernou. Have you papers?’
‘Papers? You fool! I’ve been asked by your commandant, M’sieur.’
‘To what purpose, Madame?’
‘He requests me to come with some of my legendary Vernou sucreries for your officers with a view to regular supply,’ she replied scornfully.
‘Ah. Are those …?’
‘These are my rosewater jellies and those are my bonbons.’ A hand went out, which Louise slapped firmly. ‘They are not for your sort. Where is your officer?’
‘Well, I can’t really—’
‘Mon Dieu!’ Louise blazed. ‘I came because I was told there were Frenchmen here who’d relish a delicacy or two to relieve their exile! Do you think I enjoyed several hours in the hot sun in a boat to be turned away when I get here?’
‘Pardon, Madame. Er, if you’ll follow me.’
He led her towards the house but not before she said impatiently, ‘Come, Toto, hurry with those sweetmeats.’
They were ushered into a room and a frowning officer soon arrived.
‘Ah, M’sieur! At last! Your nice commandant suggested I bring you some of my famous delicacies to try. If you like them, I will see if I can arrange a special delivery each week.’
Deftly she flicked the muslin from the top tray. ‘Do taste a jelly, M’sieur, and tell me what you think.’
The officer reached out and helped himself to one. ‘Grâce de Dieu, but these are very fine, Madame!’ he said, in open admiration. ‘And those are …?’
‘Coconut and pistachio, M’sieur. You have good taste. The other gentlemen of your establishment, do they enjoy fine food also?’ she asked suggestively.
‘We shall find out, Madame. Do come this way.’
Dutifully Renzi scuttled behind, bobbing his head low as they came into a drawing room where a number of other officers were relaxing with brandy.