Page 103 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

He grinned at her and she climbed on top of him, undressing him with frantic fingers, until at last they joined together, both sighing with relief.

Twelve

Monsieur Bertrand

‘I read the cards,’ Madame Rosie said. ‘I read them, and I saw it again.’

‘What did you see?’ Michel sat with Frieda, eating dinner in her caravan the following night.

‘I saw the Tower, Death, the Lovers.’

‘They can mean different things,’ Frieda said, clearing the soup bowls, the bread and crumbs.

‘I know. Don’t you think I know that? But where are Serge and Odélie? They have been gone more than a day.’

‘They will be back soon.’

‘I don’t know. There is danger. I can feel it.’

‘Sit, Rosie. Please. Take this.’ Frieda handed her a small glass of wine. ‘We borrowed it from Henri’s basement. He’ll never know.’

Madame Rosie drank. ‘What if they are not back tomorrow? What then? Do we sit here and just wait?’

‘If they are not back tomorrow, then I will go to Paris myself and find them.’ Michel placed his hand on top of hers.

Madame Rosie visibly relaxed. ‘I’ll tell Hugo and Kacper, they will be so relieved.’

When she left, Frieda sat back down at the tiny fold-away table. Her hair was loose, and she wore a red sweater and black skirt. ‘You look beautiful,’ Michel said.

‘More beautiful than when I am wearing sequins? This sweater is so old.’ She plucked at the wool to make her point.

‘More beautiful than sequins,’ he said, and leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose.

‘You didn’t mean it, did you? That you would go to Paris?’

Michel shrugged. ‘They’ll be back. I won’t need to go.’

‘We should go and check on Papa, see how he is.’

‘You stay. You were with him most of the day. I will go and sit with him for a while.’

Michel kissed her goodbye and made his way to the house, up the carpeted staircase to Werner’s bedroom.

He opened the door slowly. Werner was tucked under crisp white sheets and a green bedspread, his face as pale as the pillows.

‘Werner?’ Michel whispered, as he sat on a chair next to the bed.

His eyelids fluttered, then opened just enough to see who had spoken. ‘Michel,’ his voice crackled.

‘Do you need anything?’

‘Water.’

Michel gently held a glass to his lips and allowed him to sip, then wiped his mouth with a cloth.

‘I hear one of Henri’s servants is looking after you? Frieda says he is driving you mad.’

Werner managed a weak smile.