His words were greeted with silence, the only sound in the room the sobbing of Josephine as she clutched her arms around herself. Napoleon raised a hand to comfort her, then withdrew it, and made himself return to the throne. No one spoke, unsure how to react, and nervously watching for a cue from the Emperor, but Napoleon sat still and silent, staring straight ahead. Then he rose abruptly and left the chamber.

Early the following morning Napoleon was woken by his personal valet, Roustam, and he dressed and ate a hurried breakfast before making his way down into the courtyard of the palace. It was not quite eight o’clock and the light was thin and pale. A convoy of carriages and wagons waited to carry Josephine and her retinue and belongings to Malmaison, the country chateau that Napoleon had decided to grant her, amongst other gifts and riches, that would ensure that she lived comfortably for the rest of her life. The horses pawed at the cobbles and the servants stamped their boots and rubbed their hands to try to stay warm as they waited for their mistress. Napoleon saw that her carriage was empty and called one of her ladies-in-waiting over to him.

‘Where is your mistress? She is supposed to leave on the hour.’

‘I’m sorry, sire. She sent word that she would be here at the appointed time. I last saw her in her bedchamber.’

‘I see.’ Napoleon lowered his voice. ‘And how is her imperial majesty?’

‘Tired, sire, for weeping most of the night. She was sitting on her bed when I last saw her, looking at your portrait.’

‘You’d better get into your carriage. No sense in you getting cold while we wait.’

She backed away and turned towards the carriage, and Napoleon looked up at the clock above the arch of the courtyard. The large hand notched forward another minute and he suddenly felt a familiar irritation with Josephine, who had always contrived to be late for events, keeping him waiting. His mood continued to sour as the eighth hour approached. Then, as the clock struck, a door opened and Josephine emerged from the palace, wrapped in fur and coolly elegant as she strode gracefully across to her carriage. Her step did not falter as she recognised Napoleon and she held out her gloved hands to him. With only the slightest of reservation he took her hands, and leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks before drawing back. A pained look flickered across her face and he felt her hands gently attempt to draw him closer.

‘No, Josephine.’ He smiled softly. ‘That would not be a good idea.’

‘Is it so easy for you to resist my love?’

‘It is never easy.’

‘So?’ Her eyes invited him. ‘If you should ever want to visit me, I would not breathe a word of it to anyone else.’

‘That will not happen. We must both be strong in this.’