matter what I say, I thought despondently. Perhaps I should just call the whole thing off? After all, there were plenty more unspoken doubts where that one had come from.
‘Around horses it’s a matter of acting,’ he continued. ‘Play a part, pretend you’re the finest horsewoman in all of Aachen, make something up.’
He could say what he liked, my imaginative powers had up and fled. The horse walked at the end of her rope and the rider stood in the sand with his legs apart. And there was I, the rag doll in the saddle, an afterthought. After four circuits I was ordered to tighten the reins and press my calves against Loubna’s flanks. Needless to say, she didn’t bat an eyelid. She wasn’t born yesterday.
‘Keep your legs still,’ said von Bötticher. ‘No need to spur her on. Just take her as she is.’
‘It doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘Don’t give up so easily. Focus on your posture, keep your breathing calm and steady. You are the finest horsewoman in Aachen and you’re about to trot. It’s your decision, and that’s final.’
Nothing happened. The horse remained singularly unimpressed. Von Bötticher tried to distract us with talk of the weather. True enough, it was a sweltering day. The trees stood motionless, the birds had been left speechless and sweat trickled from beneath my helmet—much too big for me, of course, just like the rest of my riding clobber. I felt like a simple-minded child treated to a ride around the circus ring while the audience look on with forced grins on their faces.
And then came a new sound. Loubna was first to hear it. The hum of an engine beyond the gates, growing steadily louder. Von Bötticher hastily rolled up the longe, unbuckled us and off he went.
‘No need to be afraid. You’re doing fine.’
He was talking to the horse. He couldn’t spare a word for me, not even the faintest of smiles. The hum continued. I shortened the reins, looked over my shoulder and saw von Bötticher duck under the fence with surprising suppleness. He broke into a run—well, more of a hop-skip-jump—as he headed down the drive. He pulled open the gate and in rolled a butter-yellow cabriolet. The gleam of the windscreen denied me a view of the driver. Once we had disappeared around the side of the house, I tried to spur Loubna on and she quickened her pace to an uneasy clip-clop. The sound of the engine died away and was replaced by a woman’s voice, birdlike. She stood next to the car. A platinum blonde in a veil and a cherry-red coat dress. Despite her high heels, she stood on tiptoe to kiss von Bötticher. Loubna tugged sharply at the reins.
‘Easy, girl,’ I whispered. ‘He’ll be back soon. He’ll always come back to you.’
We had already broken into a trot. I sat deeper in the saddle and tensed my calves. Von Bötticher said something that made the blonde laugh effusively as she circled the car. All this time two boys had been sitting inside. That’ll be them, I thought: the young sabreurs, the hot-headed swashbucklers. They sat motionless in the back seat while their mother chirped and twittered, wiggled her hips, lost her veil. Von Bötticher went down on his knees. That’s what veils were for, to bring men to their knees. He seemed very young all of a sudden. Why wasn’t he looking at us? Loubna lengthened her back, we were almost trotting on the spot. I hardly needed to do anything and when I relaxed the rocking motion continued of its own accord. Then Heinz came out of the house to park the car and Loubna was off like a shot. An immense power unfurled beneath me and I fought for some kind of grip as I was tossed like a frail boat on a tidal wave. I looked down in horror at the horse’s thrusting neck, the force that was whipping up the storm. The car’s engine sprang to life. Loubna thundered across the sandy enclosure, jumped sideways and thudded to a halt with four hooves at once. I lurched backward, clinging to whatever I could lay my hands on. Straightening up my riding helmet, I hoped no one would see us as I tried to recover from our breathtaking trot, but the horse began to whinny in loud fits and starts. Strolling arm in arm down the path, von Bötticher and the blonde stopped in their tracks. He looked at me with his twisted face. ‘Get off her, Janna. Take her to the pasture and wait for Heinz.’
I slid from Loubna’s back and led her away through the loose sand. Heinz turned the car around. The young sabreurs were still sitting in the back seat. I took a closer look and saw they were completely identical.
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6
The mother must have been stunningly beautiful once. Now she was less sure of her charms, though she fluttered her eyelashes as she sipped her wine and held her head like a porcelain trinket on her thin, bejewelled neck. Empty cigarette holder between her fingers, high heels abandoned in the grass, stocking feet resting on von Bötticher’s lap.
‘This heat just won’t let up,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I should take something off.’
Von Bötticher, a dominant presence in his riding boots, was smoking a cigar. He peered in the direction of the percussive crescendo of baking trays, pans and slamming cupboard doors that was coming from the kitchen. The sounds of someone cooking with a vengeance.
‘Why is Leni taking so long?’
‘Leave that poor woman alone for once.’ She stretched out in her garden chair and the skirts of her coat dress parted. She made no attempt to rearrange them. ‘Or are you utterly famished?’
Von Bötticher continued to stare morosely at a point somewhere above her head. She pressed her toes against his belly. ‘Is my big growly bear so very hungry?’
As if I wasn’t even there. Perhaps I’d have been better off playing on the lawn like the sabreurs, who were charging around in circles with the dogs at their heels. They were solidly built for twins, but they behaved like little children. I guessed their mother must be in her forties, perhaps even a little older than von Bötticher himself.
‘Egon, are you being sweet to this poor girl?’ She sized me up with her bright blue eyes. I was still wearing my hand-me-down riding togs—handed down by God knows who. Not by her, I hoped. What an indignity that would be, walking around in the skin shed by that serpent. I had taken a distinct dislike to her without really understanding why. Von Bötticher went as if to remove her feet from his lap, but then sat still with his hands cupped around her ankles. She smiled. Granted, her beauty was still intact.
‘Well? Are you sweet to her? You can be such a brute at times.’
I stood up. ‘May I be excused? I would very much like to get changed.’
‘Be quick about it,’ said von Bötticher, without turning his head. ‘Dinner is almost ready. If you run into Heinz, tell him to come too.’
From upstairs I could hear her chirping again. Clearly von Bötticher only turned jocular when I was out of earshot. I would not be gone for long, with all of two summer dresses to choose from. Strictly speaking, even this was an exaggeration: the gold-coloured satin option was actually a slip, meant to be worn under the other. Of course, I could always put on my fencing uniform and march downstairs to demand my afternoon training session. According to the schedule it should have started long ago, but clearly all appointments were off as soon as she showed her face, the woman who could make him laugh. Now they were laughing together. I closed the balcony doors. There was no way I could wear the slip on its own. Static made the satin cling to my thighs. In a flash I saw myself sitting down at the table as a gleaming Isis, clad in gold leaf. Open-mouthed astonishment: look how dazzling she is, our blessed virgin, how could we have been so blind? But no, on went the cotton dress over the top. Grit fell from my hair. That blasted desert mare had engulfed me in a cloud of sand. Would anyone notice if I undid my braids? I’d die if anyone thought
