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‘You should go now, Henri, I can manage without you,’ said Marianne. ‘It’s quieter now, with the new year.’
‘Not that quiet, you still need help, I’ll be fine, it’s better if I’m busy.’
Marianne looked at Busch for support, touching his arm. ‘You lost your father, when you were young, Herr Busch, tell him he needs to spend this time with his mother.’
Busch looked at her curiously for a moment, a frown on his face.
Marianne didn’t notice, she only had eyes for the boy, ‘Trust me, Henri, one day you’ll have wished you had spent every moment with her.’
‘Don’t force the boy if he doesn’t want to,’ snapped Busch, ‘not everyone feels the same things.’
Marianne frowned.
Henri looked up at Busch and then he nodded.
Later that evening, Busch was drinking beer, and he was barely engaging in conversation with his other men who were playing cards. When she came in, he called for her to bring another bottle.
‘I don’t recall telling you that my father died,’ he whispered, when she put it near his elbow.
She looked at him, and her heart began to thud.
‘Oh, I’m sure you did. Perhaps when we were speaking about my grandmother…’
He took the bottle of beer and held it between his hands, his brows gathering into a deep contemplative frown as he stared at the label.
‘No, no, I don’t think that was it.’
‘It must have been at some point, I forget when. I mean, we have spent a lot of time together over the past year,’ she said, touching his arm and giving it a squeeze.
His hand clamped onto hers tightly. Much more so than was necessary. She swallowed.
He looked up from the bottle, his voice low. ‘I recall exactly when I mentioned that my father had died. It was right here,’ he said, tapping the table with the index finger of his other hand, the other still clamping hers in a vice-grip.
‘Oh, um… yes,’ said Marianne. ‘I must have just overheard you.’
Her heart was starting to roar in her ears.
He nodded slowly, then took a sip from the bottle, releasing her hand at last, his eyes once more on the bottle in front of him. Usually, he always made sure to decant it into a glass.
Marianne snatched her hand back, too afraid to move.
‘I also recall that that was a conversation I had in private, and in German.’ He looked up at her. ‘All this time, I didn’t know you could speak it.’
Marianne’s mouth was dry.
‘I – just a little, you know, over time.’
He nodded. Then shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose that makes sense.’ Then he gave her a tight smile, ‘Thank you, madame, that will be all,’ and he dismissed her
When Marianne went back to the kitchen she found it hard to breathe.
Was he onto her?
Or just surprised?
She didn’t like how this felt. It would be safer, all around, if Henri stayed away from now on, despite how much he wanted to escape his mother’s sick bed. He was still playing cards with the men, so she wrote a message for him on a slip, telling him to spend tomorrow with his mother, and that it was an order.
He might listen to Busch but she was his employer.
