Page 2 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘If I’m going to go, I’m going with a beer in my hand and a full stomach,’ one man shouted to the people at the tables.

A joyous cheer rose up. ‘Best get the drinks in then!’ another retorted.

Michel noticed a few familiar faces but continued on, before stopping outside Arnoud’s boucherie, where the carcasses of cows and pigs hung from weighty hooks in a window that had been taped and secured, and where two stray dogs sat outside, waiting patiently for Arnoud to give them their daily scraps.

Michel patted one of the dogs on the head, but the animal took no notice, his eyes transfixed on the meaty shell of a cow. ‘Ah, not long now,’ he told the dogs. ‘Almost closing. I’ll get mine first, then it will be your turn.’

‘Is that you, Michel?’ Arnoud’s roar sailed out to Michel from inside the shop.

Michel walked inside and pulled his money from his breast pocket; a thin roll, barely a weight at all.

‘Ah, bonjour. Has it been a month already?’ Arnoud asked.

‘Not quite, but I got paid today.’ Michel handed over a few francs to cover the cost of some mutton and a couple of slices of ham.

‘Is that all you can afford? That gypsy does not pay you enough.’

‘He is gone.’

‘I’m not surprised. I told you he would leave. Not one to stick around – you shouldn’t either.’

‘You said the same thing last month.’

‘And I’ll say it again. He treated you like an old blind woman; made you depend on him but left your purse almost empty. You have been taking care of those horses, training them, feeding them, and what does he pay you? A pittance, that’s all. And now look. He’s gone.’

Arnoud’s moustache twitched and he fell silent as the thick, shining blade sliced down into the ham, cutting it so thinly that Michel swore he could see through it. ‘And I’ll keep saying it until you come to your senses.’

Suddenly the back door flew open and Estelle, Arnoud’s teenage daughter, appeared, her perfect young skin flushed from racing downstairs.

‘Michel!’ she greeted him, barely hiding her breathlessness.

Michel saw Arnoud turn to look at his daughter, shake his head, then move to wrap up the ham in paper.

‘Estelle. How are you?’ Michel asked.

‘I’m fine, thank you. You know, as fine as I can be. Every day I must come back here to help my father, but I am fine.’

‘You torment me every day, when you are not at that art school,’ Arnoud said. ‘That one that costs me money, yet I see nothing in return.’

‘Oh, Papa,’ Estelle kissed Arnoud on the cheek, ‘one day it will.’

‘She’s right, Arnoud. You just have to be patient,’ Michel said.

‘See! Michel understands. And, Michel, I am patient. As patient as…’ Estelle trailed off as she gazed out of the shop’s large window. ‘As patient as those stray dogs!’ She laughed. ‘I will wait just like them to get what I want.’

Michel took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the back of his neck again.

‘Estelle, go and do something useful. For a seventeen-year-old girl you are always under my feet, like a small child!’

Estelle ignored Arnoud. ‘Did you walk home again, Michel? Is that why you are so hot? I can get you water.’

‘No, no, I’m fine.’ Michel tucked his handkerchief away. ‘It’s the weather, that’s all.’

‘You know, you shouldn’t have to walk all that way. It’s not safe. What if a bomb had dropped right on top of you?’

‘Estelle,’ Arnoud said wearily, ‘are you still here? I said, go and do something useful. Go and practise your art or help your mother prepare dinner – just, something.’

‘Did you see the planes, Michel? I sit and watch them. We were given a letter today at school, telling us that the Germans are getting closer to Paris every day – not just planes, but actual German men, with guns and tanks. Do you believe that, Michel? That they will come?’