Page 36 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘He kicks at it.’

‘He thinks he wants to run away again, but really he doesn’t know how good he has it.’

‘That’s very philosophical.’

Frieda’s head bobbed a little, so her lips were underwater for a moment before she resurfaced and spurted water at him, then laughed. ‘I’m not sure I am that deep, Michel – not a philosopher. I’m nothing but an act, a performer. We don’t think too much.’

‘I like the way you think,’ he offered, then watching her smile, he mirrored it.

Claudette snorted and pulled herself out of the water onto the bank. She drew herself along the trunk of a tree to scratch an itch. ‘It’s almost time for them to be fed. Claudette always knows the time,’ Michel said.

‘In that case, it is time for me to go too.’

Frieda swam away from him, this time a slow crawl that made her hair fan out over the water and glisten in the evening light. She reached the bank then stood, her naked back and then her behind and long legs. She quickly dressed in her baggy black trousers and a mustard-coloured shirt. As she tucked it into the waistband, she turned and grinned at Michel, then patted Claudette’s neck and disappeared into a thicket of trees.

Michel swam the same route back as her. As he reached the bank, he heard a rustle and the crackle of leaves. He looked to the bushes that edged the riverbank and was remined of Lucien’s cats from Vodable; how their eyes had watched him, their tails swishing in perfect unison – as if waiting to catch their prey.

Michel shook his head; he was tired, and his mind was full of Frieda. He climbed out of the water and dressed. Clicking his tongue, he motioned for Beau and Claudette to follow him.

Back at the camp, Werner was arguing with a local gendarme who was shouting at the ringmaster that he was not welcome in town.

Michel led the horses to their carriages and then doubled back towards the group encircling the two.

‘I beg to differ,’ Werner said. ‘The Captain himself said we were welcome! I spoke with him. We have permission to use this land, permission to put on the show.’

‘He never said this to me.’

‘And why would he?’

‘Things are a little different now, from before. You have to understand that.’

‘I see no Germans here.’

‘Not yet. Not quite.’

‘Are they coming?’ Madame Geneviève wailed.

‘No, Madame, no.’ The gendarme had beads of sweat on his brow. ‘But we are to exact certain rules now that Paris has fallen and the government is in the control of the Germans.’

A collective gasp was heard throughout the group.

‘You did not know?’ the gendarme asked.

‘No. So it is certain.’

‘Monsieur, yes. Certainment. France has fallen. We are to follow their rules now.’

‘Well… all I can tell you is I have permission.’ Werner produced some papers.

The gendarme looked perplexed for a moment, then said, ‘Let me see your identification.’

Werner handed it over.

‘Surname Neumann. German,’ he said.

‘And French,’ Werner replied.

‘But it is a German name, Neumann.’