Page 115 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘You could get dogs and cats easily enough,’ Bertrand said, and Madame Rosie giggled.

‘Animals,’ Jean said, as he entered and sat down heavily on the sofa.

‘Are you all right?’

‘No.’

‘Henri said he will try and find Giordano,’ Michel said. ‘He will try.’

‘Animals,’ Jean said again.

‘Perhaps a tiger? An elephant?’

‘Shall I go to the zoo and steal them?’

‘Not a bad idea!’ Henri burst in. ‘I came to see if I could be of assistance.’

‘I thought you were looking for Giordano?’ Jean asked.

‘Already asked a few of my contacts, my friend. Give it a little time. If not, I will go and see our Nazi friend in town this evening. I believe he is back with his wife after his foray into the city and everything it can offer a fat middle-aged man.’ Henri tapped the side of his nose and winked.

‘OK. In that case, Jean is right – we need animals,’ Michel said.

‘Cannot our friends at the Cirque d’Hiver perhaps help us?’ Henri asked.

‘Hardly friends. Werner and that ringmaster have never seen eye to eye,’ said Jean.

‘I will speak with him.’

‘And what will you say? “Can we have your wild animals and a trainer or two for an evening?”’

‘I won’t have to talk. Other things speak clearly, my dear Jean.’

‘Money!’ Bertrand said, as if he had figured out a riddle.

‘We also need men to help with the Big Top. We need torches and food, stalls, more tents.’

‘More men I can find you – there are many in need of a few francs in town. Supplies… well, I suppose I must do some more talking with other friends. Jean, I will come with you to the city. We shall go now, yes?’

Bertrand stood. ‘I will drive you.’

‘Ah, yes. Your Citroën – I am surprised it got you here, if I am honest. We can pick up my car for the journey back.’ Henri smirked.

They left quickly, and Madame Rosie made Michel coffee as he sketched out a plan for their performance, losing himself in the colours, the music, the magic that would come back… if only for one night.

Fourteen

Brigadeführer Diederich Wolff

Brigadeführer Diederich Wolff eyed Michel from under heavy lids. ‘What is the theme of the evening?’ he asked.

Henri looked to Michel and smiled, as if willing him to answer. ‘Theme?’ Michel asked.

‘You know – a theme. My wife needs a theme.’

‘What does your wife like?’ Henri asked.

Wolff heaved himself up from the desk chair in his study and went to pick up a small cigar box from the bookcase, then sat back down, his weight making the chair creak, his stomach resting on his thighs.