Page 6 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘And where shall we go?’ Michel asked, a smile at his lips, feeling the alcohol numb his brain. It was like the games he used to play when he was little.

‘Away, Michel, just away. You cannot stay here because there will be nothing here for you. Soon, there will be nothing here for any of us. They will take our jobs, our homes. They will take whatever they want.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

Bertrand leaned over and scuffed the back of Michel’s head. ‘Is there anything in that brain of yours? Anything? You think it will all be the same as before? You weren’t here the first time; no food, no jobs. So many dead, so many wounded. It will be the same again. You heard the bombs fall – you saw the fires.’

Michel rubbed the back of his head.

‘Checking if anything has fallen out, hey? Perhaps there’s some common sense you can put back in.’

‘Arnoud says he won’t leave.’

‘Arnoud is stupid.’

‘He’s sending Estelle away to her grandparents.’

‘Ah! Arnoud is a smart man. He’d be smarter if he went with her, though. She still has eyes for you?’

Michel shrugged.

‘Come now, don’t be bashful. You like her too. I’ve seen the way you look at her.’

‘She’s too young.’

‘Ah, yes. True. You prefer the mademoiselles at Odette’s café. The ones with long legs and expensive tastes. No wonder you have no money!’

‘They weren’t all like that. There was Juliette, and Vivienne.’

‘And where are they now?’

‘I don’t know.’ Michel grinned then took a sip of his brandy.

‘See! What a charmer. He says, “I don’t know.” You know – you got tired of them, bored. Of course you did. If I had looked like you at your age, I would get bored quickly too.’

‘It’s not like that. Not all the time.’

‘My thoughts are getting jumbled with your nonsense. What was I saying? Yes, we leave. Tomorrow. And there’s no more argument about it.’

‘So where will we go?’

‘Your grand-mère, is she alive still?’

‘Dead. Her neighbour, Monsieur Dubois, wrote to me and told me. That was… what, three years ago? I told you.’

‘I am old. My memory is failing.’

‘You are sixty.’

‘And that is old.’

‘Where did she live?’

‘Saint-Émilion.’

‘Ah, yes. I remember now. That should do well enough.’

‘For what?’