Page 34 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Eliáš rode Claudette around the ring to warm her up, her head pulled high, her strides short and clipped.

Michel stepped back, just one step, and tripped over something soft.

‘Ouch!’ A woman’s voice.

Michel turned to apologise and there was Frieda.

‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’

She smiled at him. ‘It’s all right.’

‘You look…’ Michel lost his words.

Gone were the men’s trousers and shirt; now she was in a navy-blue leotard bedecked with sequins and silver thread, her long legs encased in transparent tights.

‘Better than my workman clothes? Not my best costume, this one, but it will do for rehearsals.’

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Only a little. It’s nothing compared to the injuries I’ve had over the years. Trapeze isn’t for the faint of heart.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Are you going to watch?’

‘I want to.’

‘Frieda! And you, why are you still here?’ Werner stalked towards them. He grabbed hold of Frieda’s arm, pulling her away from him. ‘You damage her foot, you damage my show!’

‘It was an accident. It doesn’t hurt. Not even a bruise, see?’ She turned her ankle left, then right. ‘See?’

‘Are you still here?’ Werner looked at Michel.

‘No. I’ll go.’

‘Better get to it, then.’ Werner dragged Frieda across to the others, who all stared after Michel as he walked out.

The next morning, Michel woke tangled in his sheet, his forehead slick with sweat as if he had a fever. With the mercury steadily rising each day – it never stayed still long enough for someone to record the exact temperature – the inside of the tent was growing stuffy.

Michel went to see Beau and Claudette, who were lethargic and lay on the ground to cool themselves. He could not train Beau in this heat – he would have to wait until early evening.

He spent the day grooming the horses instead, picking their hoofs and checking them all over for summer ticks. He even read to them from his book, feeling strangely at home – as if he were back in Paris, back at his job, and soon would be dining with Bertrand.

He finished fixing the door to Beau’s carriage and wished Frieda were there to help him once more, but she was not at breakfast nor at lunch – he wondered where she went when she disappeared.

‘You look busy.’ Odélie wandered over and sat on the edge of the carriage as Michel was finishing brushing Beau’s tail.

‘Almost done.’

‘You need a break. This heat is unbearable.’

Michel sat down next to her and took the water she offered him.

‘See, I’m thinking of you. Don’t you think I look nice?’

He looked at her, her sunshine-yellow dress and bare feet, the toenails painted red. ‘You look like summer.’

‘I try. You’ve been hiding today.’