Page 45 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘Michel! Is he ready?’ Werner’s stern voice broke through Michel’s thoughts.

‘Yes…’

‘Good.’

‘Frieda.’ Anton appeared next, dressed in a similar sequinned costume. He bowed slightly and took Frieda by the elbow, guiding her away.

‘Now. Let us get Beau, shall we? Did you change the saddle for my old one? I don’t like that new leather, it irritates me.’ Werner smoothed his trousers over his ample behind as he spoke. ‘You like it here, don’t you, Michel?’ he continued unexpectedly.

‘Most of the time I do…’ Michel replied, his eyes still on Frieda as she was led away by Anton.

‘Felix tells me you were asking him questions, on your first night with us.’

Michel looked at Werner with surprise.

‘Some of my workers don’t like strangers asking them questions. In fact, none of us do.’

‘I’m not sure I know what you mean…’

‘I mean that I gave you a week to prove yourself, and I am in doubt as to whether you have succeeded.’

‘I did as you asked. I have trained Beau. He’s not perfect, not yet. But he has the potential.’

‘I also asked you to work and nothing else.’

Michel thought of Frieda, of their swim, of their talks. Then he thought of Odélie.

‘Your tongue fallen out of that thick head of yours? I wish it would.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I just tried to fit in,’ Michel said.

They reached the horses and Werner looked at Beau, then held his hand out to him. The stallion sniffed it then allowed his master to pet him. The tiniest of smiles appeared on Werner’s face – so briefly Michel thought he might have imagined it.

‘Don’t try to fit in. No one can. Keep to yourself, Michel.’

‘I can stay?’

‘We’ll see.’

Werner clambered aboard Beau and, heartened by his dignified stallion, trotted out into the crowd, laughing and joking with the customers.

Michel spent the evening sitting on a chair next to the horses’ enclosure, ready to bring out each one when required. Around six, he heard the band start up with a trombone – umpah pah, umpah pah – as the crowds milled into the tent. Hugo, in his thick clown’s make-up, stood on stilts, ruffling children’s hair and honking his bright red nose as they passed.

Soon, it was quiet outside the candy-cane canvas. Still, Michel sat and waited. Suddenly the band slid into their next number, which meant only one thing. Werner’s voice boomed around the tent and floated out towards Michel. The ringmaster welcomed the crowds, promised them an evening of amazement, and introduced the first act – the flying trapeze. The audience cheered and clapped, and Michel stood up, ready to deliver Claudette. His palms were so sweaty as he took the mare’s reins that he dropped them twice. Claudette sensed Michel’s lack of confidence and pulled away from him a little, stamping her hoof on the dusty floor, as if demanding an explanation for this change in behaviour.

‘I’m sorry, ma chérie.’ Michel kissed her nose, held the reins tighter and walked her out of the tent to the Big Top, where Eliáš waited. He accepted the reins from Michel, who took the opportunity to snatch a glimpse of the show happening on the other side of the curtain.

‘You need to move out of the way,’ a stagehand said, pushing past Michel and grumbling at his uselessness.

But Michel did not hear him. He did not hear the crowd cheering, clapping, laughing – he did not even see them. All he saw was Frieda, tumbling down to earth. He gasped when she bounced into the net alongside Anton, but then they stood, held their hands high and took their bow. They turned and did the same for the audience behind them, and for a moment Michel caught her gaze; in that instant he felt incredibly powerful, and for that brief second, he knew he could not leave the circus – leave her, even though he could not have her.

‘Take Beau,’ the stagehand prompted, handing Michel the stallion’s reins. ‘The boss is done with him.’

He did not move.

‘Take Beau! He’s finished for tonight.’

‘I’ll wait for Claudette after the acrobats are done,’ Michel said, as Frieda and Anton climbed out of the landing net.