Page 116 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘What do women like?’ He clipped the end of the fat brown cheroot.

‘Dancing?’ Michel ventured.

The brigadeführer nodded. ‘When she was a girl – I mean, of course, younger than she is now,’ he corrected himself, ‘she read books about Mexico, about the Maya people. Do you know them?’

Michel shook his head. Does he mean personally?

‘Black magic,’ Henri said.

‘Indeed. Bloody people, they were. Sacrifices of their own children, bloodletting… my dear wife Helga would tell me these gory stories in the evenings after dinner. Can you imagine? This pretty creature telling me about beheadings and stabbings and all sorts of things that would make most women faint. I believe that I fell in love with her when she told me these stories – I realised she was a woman like no other.’

There was a pause as Wolff lit his cigar and sucked on it until the end glowed red. Michel looked at the portrait of Helga above Wolff’s head. From a distance, she looked quite ordinary – slim, pretty, with her hair pulled up in a chignon. But as he looked closer, he saw that her smile was cunning, her eyes alert. She has the correct surname, he thought.

‘Anyway. That’s what she likes,’ Wolff said behind a cloud of his own smoke.

‘Hanal Pixán – the Day of the Dead!’ Henri clapped his hands together at his genius. ‘I read they believe that the dead come back to life and visit their families. They feed them to try and protect their children from evil spirits. It can be an evening of ghosts and spirits and the colours of the Maya.’

‘I believe she will like that.’ Wolff leaned forward. ‘Good. Make it happen. Five days.’

‘Thank you, Herr Brigadeführer.’ Henri stood. Michel followed suit.

‘We look forward to seeing you and your wife in five days’ time,’ Henri added politely.

‘And the townspeople.’

‘Pardon?’

‘The townspeople. They have been given permission to attend. And of course, some of my comrades.’

‘Indeed, of course! The more the merrier, as they say.’ Henri smiled, and they left the five-storey house and headed for the town square.

‘The whole town,’ Michel said.

‘It will be magnificent, Michel! A full house! Can you imagine?’

‘I’m ringmaster…’ he said, almost to himself.

‘And what a wonderful way to start your new job! A full house, people applauding. Oh, how I wish I were in your shoes.’

Michel was not sure whether Henri was joking or not.

The following two days passed in a blur; men appeared as if from nowhere and staked the Big Top, using the horses to drag and pull at the large ropes, shouting encouragement when they wanted to stop. Jean and Serge made two visits to the city and brought back with them a new troupe, all of them nervous about having to perform for Germans. Henri took care of the money, and Hugo got his hands on enough ingredients to refill his stock of génépy, which kept them mellow.

‘It’s really happening!’ Frieda was at Michel’s side, her face full of excitement. ‘I love this part – when everyone is working together, creating something from nothing.’

‘I wish I could enjoy it.’ Michel yawned a little.

‘You’ve barely slept. You need to rest.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

‘How is Werner?’ he asked.

‘He is a little brighter. The doctor says he is recovering, but it will take time.’

‘I’ve hardly had a chance to see him, with all this going on.’

‘Go now; just sit with him and talk. It will give you a chance to rest, and he’d love to know how it is all coming together.’

He kissed her forehead then stroked her hair. ‘I’ll go now. If anyone wants me, tell them I have disappeared.’ He walked slowly away from the hustle of the camp, his legs weighted with tiredness, his mind with nerves.