Page 41 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Michel saw that Frieda had not left. Instead she was running her hand down Claudette’s rear leg before lifting it to inspect the hoof.

‘Anything wrong?’ Michel walked over to her.

‘I thought I noticed her kicking it out in rehearsals. She injured it not long ago. I told Odélie but she said she rode fine. I just wanted to check though.’

Michel crouched next to her – she smelled of lemons. He snatched a glance at her face as she inspected Claudette’s hoof, her eyes quick, her lips pursed as she concentrated. A wisp of hair had escaped her red polka-dot headband and it took all his concentration not to tuck it behind her ear.

‘See anything?’ he asked, just so she would turn her face to his.

‘Looks OK. I think I am just overprotective. Werner says I am like a mother without a baby sometimes – always wanting to care for something.’

‘Surely that’s a good thing?’

‘Maybe.’ She stood and brushed her hands on her white summer dress.

‘Here, wash your hands, you’ll get it dirty.’

Frieda followed him to the riverbank and dipped her hands in the cool water. ‘It’s an old dress anyway. I made it out of some material that Madame Rosie had left over.’ She flicked the excess drops off her hands then sat down. ‘Join me?’ She patted the damp grass next to her.

‘You’ll get grass stains now.’

‘Doesn’t bother me, a bit of dirt here and there. Werner would rather have me cooped up, all pretty and clean at home. But it’s boring, isn’t it, trying to be so perfect all the time?’ She looked at Michel, her eyes unblinking and serious.

‘I’m not sure I have ever been perfect.’

‘I’m sure your mother thought you were perfect.’

‘Maybe, when I was young.’

‘I’m sure she still thinks you are.’

‘She died, some years ago. I think if she was here now she’d cuff me behind the ear and tell me to get myself a proper job.’

‘I’m sorry you lost her.’ Frieda laid her hand on his.

Michel looked at her hand, then at her. She held his gaze, then took her hand away. They both turned to watch as a dragonfly hummed on the surface of the water.

‘Anton says he found a radio channel that comes from England. He says the war is moving on, that things are getting worse.’ Frieda pulled at a blade of grass and wrapped it around her finger.

‘Did you hear it? What they said?’

‘No, Anton just tells me what he hears. Says there are warships in the Channel, bombs dropping.’

‘It feels unreal to me,’ Michel said.

‘I know. We are sitting here whilst fish are leaving small bubbles on the water as they eat their breakfast, the birds are flying in the clear blue sky, the trees are swaying in the breeze – all of it seems so normal.’

‘I feel guilty. Like I should be doing something, but I’m not sure what.’

‘You are doing something, Michel; you are caring for the horses. It’s a kindness and a help. What more could you do?’

‘I—’ Michel began.

‘I have to go.’ Frieda suddenly jumped up and looked around as if someone had been watching. ‘I was only meant to be five minutes or so. Must get back, costumes to be fitted!’ Her voice was high, but her expression was serious.

‘Frieda…’ Michel stood. ‘I’ll walk you back.’

‘No! I’ll go. You stay here and take care of this lot.’ She touched his hand again. ‘I’ll see you later, though?’