“It must be so difficult for you, mon cher,” Clothilde said, her lavender eyes liquid with sympathy. “To have to stand aside as your wife takes part in such vulgarity. Believe me, Guy, I know how such a public embarrassment must distress you. What could she have been thinking, to drag your name through the mud for such a ridiculous reason. Women don’t need to vote, they assert their power behind the throne, as the saying goes. Why, a clever woman can make a man do anything she wishes him to do.”

“That’s true of you is it, my dear?” he inquired silkily, a strange smile on his lips.

Clothilde missed the tone and the smile. “Well, of course it is,” she said, looking up at him from beneath long, black lashes. “But I would never cause you such hideous embarrassment. Politics are so unfeminine and I know how much you appreciate delicacy in a woman. I do hope you have no regrets.” She touched his arm in a gesture of sympathy.

“Regrets about what, my dear?” he inquired in the same silky tone.

“Oh, I think you know,” she said with an arch smile. “I must say I was surprised that you would consider such a social nonentity as a wife, but maybe little Petra has some unseen tricks up her sleeve.” She gave a tinkling little laugh as if at some absurdity.

“So you consider an interest in politics to be unfeminine, Clothilde?” he inquired, still smiling.

“Of course it is. Such mundane, boring matters have nothing to do with the real business of women. We play our own games, mon cher, and men enjoy them.”

“As your playthings?” Guy inquired, his eyes dark slates.

“Oh, not exactly.” Clothilde’s laugh trilled again. “As our playmates, I think you would say. It is a partnership. We give you what you want and cause you no discomfort and in return you take care of our needs and desires. A perfect arrangement, don’t you agree?”

“Symbiosis, indeed,” Guy said. “If you’ll excuse me . . .” He offered a small bow and walked off across the lawn in the direction of his wife’s voice coming from the croquet lawn. He stood for a few minutes watching over the low hedge as she played, partnering her brother against two other pairs of guests. Petra enjoyed competitive games of the croquet variety, but manipulation, games of deceit, she wouldn’t know where to begin, he thought, smiling unconsciously as she hit her own and then her brother’s ball to strike the central finishing post and immediately danced a little jig of triumph.