‘Mother?’ The voice came from directly behind her and Josephine’s heart leaped as she spun round. Hortense stood at the entrance to the kitchen. In the glow of the lamp Josephine could see that she had been crying.

‘My God, he hasn’t hurt you, has he?’

Hortense shook her head.

‘Where is he?’

‘Upstairs, in your bedroom.’ Hortense swallowed nervously. ‘He was in a wild rage when he arrived. Shouting and calling you all sorts of names when he discovered you weren’t here. He called you a . . . a whore, and smashed all the mirrors in your dressing room. Then he told his servant to pack all your belongings. He says he wants you out of his house for ever.’

‘Only when I’m good and ready,’ Josephine muttered and turned to the stairs, hurriedly climbing to the first floor where the main bedroom was at the rear of the house. Skirts rustling over the floorboards she strode to the door and turned the handle. The door did not yield and she realised that Napoleon had locked her out.

‘Napoleon. Open the door.’

‘Go away!’

She smiled.At least he had spared her the pretence of ignoring her.‘Go away? From my house, and from the side of my husband? Why would I want to do that?’

‘So you can be in the arms of your lover, you traitor!’

‘What lover?’

‘The one you were with when I reached Paris. When you should have been here.’

A wave of relief swept through Josephine. She took a breath to calm her nerves, and lowered her voice.‘I wasn’t in Paris. I was on the road looking for you. My coachman took a wrong turning and we must have missed you.’ It sounded false even as she said it, but it was true, and she could prove it easily enough.

‘Liar!’

‘It’s true!’ she called back. ‘I swear it on the lives of my children. As soon as I heard you had landed in France I set off to meet you. I could not wait to be back in your arms again. And if that damned coachman had known his business that’s where I would have been three days ago. Oh, Napoleon, my love, open the door. I beg you!’

‘No. Now go. Please.’

Please? She smiled to herself at the first sign of his weakening.

‘I cannot go. I love you. I would die if I could not be at your side.’

‘Then you can die for all I care.’

She felt anger rising inside at his words, but forced herself to maintain her pleading tone. ‘Very well, my love. I will go. But only if you let me see your face one last time. I will not say goodbye to a door, Napoleon. Open it and make your farewell face to face.’

There was a short pause, before he said suspiciously, ‘Why?’