But Clara was pleased with the manner in which the Osnabrück court was conducted. She herself loved display; and she did not forget that it was due to the fact that she and her sister had recently come from France that they had been given an opportunity to display their talents.

Now as waiting woman to the Duchess Sophia she had an occasional opportunity to study her quarry. Ernest Augustus pleased her. He was a man of lusty appetites and she would know how to satisfy them. Her sensuality was second only to her ambition; and she did not see why she should not indulge the former while serving the latter. Once Ernest Augustus had tried her, her fortune would be made; for she would make sure that he should discover her to be unique. The experience must be such as he had never enjoyed before. But how make sure of that? If his eyes rested on her lightly as they had done on the unfortunate Esther – unfortunate because Clara had decided that her reign would soon be over – he would make up his mind that here was another of his light o’ loves and that would be all she could ever hope to be. A man had to be made aware that he was getting something special before he would believe he was.

‘How?’ she asked herself.

She would wear some entirely French and exciting garment. Yes, that – but clothes were not enough. She had to seduce his mind before she seduced his body.

For this purpose during those first weeks in the service of the Duchess Sophia, she actually kept out of Ernest Augustus’s way; and instead ingratiated herself with Duchess Sophia.

An intelligent woman, thought Sophia. Discreet and oddly modest. She complimented Platen on his marriage; and remarked to Ernest Augustus that George Lewis’s governor was cleverer than she had thought.

Ernest Augustus while commenting that he had not made such a good job of George Lewis, fairly admitted that he doubted whether anyone could. He was glad that she had a high opinion of Platen because he was thinking of making a minister of him. A quiet efficient fellow – those were the sort he liked to have about him.

This was triumph, Clara decided, as well as a sign for her to go forward, and when Platen received his promotion she insisted on hearing everything that took place. She was astute, shrewd and single-minded; and she was working to one end, to attract Ernest Augustus and to set up in Osnabrück that institution which was so much a part of the admired Court of France, the maîtresse en titre. Clara was yearning for that role – the woman who by wit, charm, brains and beauty, ruled the King and therefore ruled the country.

It was naturally simpler here than it would have been at Versailles. There were no rivals for one thing. Silly little girls who giggled together about what had happened to them in the Bishop’s bedchamber were welcome to their brief triumph.

She saw that she had been wise to marry. Frank Platen was no fool; he was merely a coward. He wanted a peaceful existence, free from conflict. In a few weeks she had dominated him; and while he was a little disappointed to find his marriage was not what he had hoped it would be, he was continually being astonished by the astuteness of his wife.

‘We are working together,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to make you the chief minister. I’m going to get you a resounding title. A count, I imagine. Yes, I would like to be a countess.’

He had laughed. ‘The things you say, Clara.’

‘I say what I mean,’ she told him fiercely.

She listened to his accounts of meetings; she told him what he should say; she even phrased his speeches for him, pithily, wittily.

He began to be noticed; he, little Frank Platen, who had hitherto not been of any great importance, to be singled out by his fellow ministers, by the Bishop himself.

‘If the Bishop asks you who thought of that, tell him your wife.’

He looked at her in astonishment. ‘I have my reasons,’ she said.

‘What reasons are those?’

‘You will see.’

He obeyed her; it had become a habit to obey Clara.

‘Your wife seems to be an extraordinary woman, Platen,’ said Ernest Augustus one day.

‘She is, my lord.’

‘In the Duchess’s bedchamber, is she?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘I believe the Duchess is pleased with her.’

‘I think that to be so.’

‘Well, you look pleased with yourself. I must meet her one day.’

Platen reported this conversation to Clara.

She laughed. ‘He shall,’ she said.

Ernest Augustus was dozing in his private study. He had eaten too much and had retired hither on the pretext of studying some state papers but actually to sleep.

I’m getting old, he thought, yawning.

He could hear the music coming from the great hall. Music was played during meals now. He had always loved music – good stirring German music; but of course the taste now was all for the French.

Too much red cabbage, he thought; too much beer. The French drank wine. Well, he thought, we don’t want to become as French as that.

He smiled, thinking as he often did of George William over at Celle. What was he doing now? Sitting down with his wife and child like any peasant. No, not like a peasant, of course. In the utmost luxury, for George William was the richest of all the brothers – and quite a lot of that fortune would go to that little French bastard of his unless he and Sophia could think of a way of preventing it – in the room, made gracious by Madame Eléonore who would be seated in her chair, her delicate white fingers working at her tapestry; and the girl would be seated on a tabouret either at his feet or hers; and they would be talking about the affairs of the castle. A charming domestic scene … if one cared for domestic scenes. He could not imagine himself and Sophia indulging in them. Theirs was not that sort of marriage – no idyllic love affair without end, but a good marriage of two people who understood each other. She had her way in anything that did not interfere with his comforts and needs – and the same for him.

Let George William keep his domestic bliss – his beautiful wife, his pretty – and if accounts were true – coquette of a daughter.

A gentle scratching on the door. He frowned, having no wish to be disturbed. Who had dared open the door without an invitation to do so?

A woman stood there. He had seen her before; she was one of Sophia’s women. Good figure, bedworthy, he had marked her down for future dalliance. But when he wanted a woman he would summon her; he did not expect to be disturbed thus.

‘My lord …’

Her voice was low, exciting in a manner new to him.

‘What do you want?’

‘I heard that Your Highness wished to see me.’

‘Then who carried such a message?’

‘It was my husband, Frank von Platen.’

‘Ah! So you’re Platen’s wife?’

She came to his chair, bowed before him, making sure that her dress fell away from her full breasts as she did so.

An invitation? wondered Ernest Augustus, slightly surprised, remembering how demure she had been.

‘I didn’t send for you now,’ he said.

‘My husband said you would like to meet me some time.’

He laughed. ‘At a more appropriate time,’ he said.

‘My lord, I thought this … a most appropriate time.’

‘Most wait until sent for.’

‘You will find that I am not like … most.’

Her eyes were brilliant; she had cleverly made them look bigger than they actually were. What a body! he thought. She would have skills. And she came from France, he remembered, although she was a German. This meant that she had the airs and graces without the pride of his sister-in-law Eléonore. Now, there’s a woman I could never fancy, he thought. He realized that he had already come to the point of fancying Platen’s wife.

‘Your husband often mentions you,’ said Ernest Augustus. ‘He seems to value your judgment.’

‘At least it is valued by one of Your Highness’s ministers.’

There was a meaning behind her words. He was a little fascinated and his annoyance at having been disturbed was fast disappearing.

‘I see that you have other gifts to bestow on your husband … besides advice.’

‘It is a pleasure to give what is appreciated.’

‘And you find him appreciative … enough?’ He regarded her lazily.

‘Who can ever have enough appreciation?’

Surely there was no mistaking her meaning? Women were of course eager to please the most important man in the principality, but he sensed this one was different. He would discover later what she wanted. At the moment there was no need to go beyond the obvious step.

He held out a hand and she took it. He drew her down so that she was forced to kneel before him.

‘You have come to offer me … advice?’ he asked smiling.

‘If you need it … it is yours.’

‘And if I do not?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All need the help of friends.’

‘The Bishop needs it from his minister’s wife?’ he asked.

‘He may at some time. He may need other things she has to offer.’

‘I think that very likely. And they will be given freely.’

She bowed her head.

‘But it must be remembered that she likes … appreciation?’ he asked.

‘She would be wise enough to know it is foolish to ask for what would not be freely given.’

He brought his face close to hers and looked into her eyes.

‘You are a strange woman,’ he said.

‘You have quickly discovered that.’

‘I would like to know more of you.’

‘And I of Your Highness.’

He put his hand on her shoulder; touching her skin, his fingers probed lightly; but in spite of the lightness he could not hide the fact he was excited.

‘Well?’ she said faintly mocking him, he fancied.

He answered with another question. ‘When?’

‘You are the lord and master.’ Again that hint of mockery.

‘Tonight. I shall be in my bedchamber … alone.’

‘It shall be my duty … my pleasant duty … to see that Your Highness is … not alone … for long.’

When Clara came out of the Bishop’s apartment, the first signs of dawn were in the sky; she walked lightly past the sleeping guards; they were aware of a passing figure but paid little heed. A woman coming from the Bishop’s bedchamber was not a very unusual occurrence. It was wiser not to look too closely; she might not like it; she might whisper a word into the Bishop’s ear one night – it was easy enough – and there would go the hope of promotion.

Clara was pleased with herself. There would be no going back now. She had startled him. Hers was a sensuality matching his own and she had given it full rein. It had been amusing. She would not waste her energies on a man like Platen – Ernest Augustus was different. She had been making love to Power and that had aroused all her ardour.

He had let her go reluctantly, but she had insisted. Yes, insisted. It was as well to set the pace from the start. Of course she was not such a fool as to imagine she could arrogantly command him. He had been having his own way too long to accept that. But she would govern – in her own subtle way; and it might well be that he would know and simply not care.

What a night! She wanted to laugh aloud. She had startled herself as much as Ernest Augustus. She had been born to be a courtesan. She knew it. She had all the tricks of the trade; and they were inherent. Louis did not know what he had missed. Poor Louis with his mincing French harlots who would never know the verve and vulgarity of a German whore.

She opened the door of the apartment she shared with Platen. Poor ineffectual Platen! His day was done. She would never share his bed again; and he might as well know it.

‘Clara!’

He was awake, waiting for her. Fool! He might have had the grace to pretend to be asleep. How ridiculous he looked with his thin hair sticking out in all directions from under his night cap, his eyes pale and bulging, his pasty face, his gaping mouth.

‘So I awakened you?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Employed in useful occupation,’ she said flippantly.

‘Clara, I insist …’

‘You insist. Now, Frank, don’t be foolish. You insist on nothing – nor shall you ever where I am concerned.’

‘I want to know where you have spent the night.’

‘So you shall. I have no intention of making a secret of it. Soon it will be known throughout this court. Soon everyone who wants the smallest favour will know it has to come through me.’

‘I don’t understand.’