Rieckert, annoyed at having to walk back to the station, called two taxi companies but there were no available cars. He suggested that they could get a car from the Grand Hoteclass="underline" It was not too far, if they wished he could walk with them.
Ruda refused his offer to accompany them, and turned to stare out of the grimy window. Grimaldi came to her side, whispered to her that she should have kept her mouth shut — now she would have to fork out for the little bastard even in death. She glared at him and, keeping her voice as low as his, she hissed that what he was pissed off about was her request for a rabbi. Then she whispered: "That little blond-haired Nazi prick will probably send us in the wrong direction anyway, now he knows I'm Jewish!"
Grimaldi gripped her elbow so tightly it hurt. "Shut up. Just keep it shut! Since when have you been a fuckin' Jew?"
Ruda smirked at him and shook her head. "Scared they may daub us on the way back to the trailer?"
Grimaldi glared back at her; he would never understand her. She was no more Jewish than he was, certainly not a practicing one. She had no religion, and he was a Catholic — not that he'd said a Hail Mary for more than twenty years.
The sergeant handed directions to Grimaldi, and left with a curt nod of his head. He'd heard what she had called him, and he smarted with impotent fury: Foreigners, they were all alike, and Detective Chief Inspector Heinz bowed and scraped like a wimp to that Jewish bitch! What kind of pervert was she to have been married to that animal on the morgue slab? She repelled him.
Ruda and Luis walked together, arm in arm. The walk was a lot longer than the sergeant had suggested. It took them over an hour to arrive at the newly refurbished Grand Hotel, and it was such a sight that Grimaldi decided they should order a taxi and have a martini while they waited. Ruda resisted at first, but then, having been told that the regular taxis were engaged at present and that there would be no taxi for another hour, she relented.
Ruda and Grimaldi walked into the foyer and headed for the comfortable lounge. They made a striking couple. Grimaldi began to enjoy himself. Guiding Ruda by the elbow, he inclined his head.
"Now, this is my style, and I think since we're here, we might as well order some lunch. The restaurant looks good, what do you say?"
Ruda looked at her wristwatch. She had to get back to rehearse and feed the cats, but still they had to wait for a taxi, so she suggested they just have a drink and order a sandwich.
Grimaldi decided this was as good a time as any to have a talk, away from the trailer, away from the circus. In the luxurious surroundings they might have a civilized conversation.
They sat in a small booth with red plush velvet seats and a marble-topped table. Ferns hid them from the rest of the hotel guests, mostly American as far as Grimaldi could tell.
They sipped their martinis in silence, and Ruda ate the entire bowl of peanuts, popping one at a time into her mouth. Grimaldi took an envelope from his pocket and opened it.
"I have been working out our financial situation, how much the act costs, living expenses, and what we will both need to live on. Maybe we should sell the trailer and each buy a smaller one."
She turned on him. "Your priority is to get back the old plinths! I can't work with the new ones."
"We've already discussed that, for chrissakes. Just go through this with me, we have to sort it out sometime."
Ruda snatched the sheet of paper, and looked over his haphazard scrawl. It was quite a shock to her that even after their closeness, he was still intent on leaving her.
"She's pregnant, Ruda, I want to get a divorce and marry her!" Ruda tore the paper into scraps. "I'll think about it." Grimaldi signaled for the waiter to bring more drinks. Ruda's foot was tapping against the table leg.
"I don't want to have an argument here, Ruda, okay?" She stared at him, telling herself to keep calm. She had to deal with things one at a time. She had dealt with Kellerman, Grimaldi would be next, but her priority now was to get the act ready for opening night. One thing at a time — this show was to be her biggest, and if she performed well she knew that with live coverage, there would be no more need for second-circuit dates; she would be an international star. Above all she wanted to get to the United States again, and win a contract at New York's Ringling Bros, and Barnum & Bailey circus.
"Ruda, we have to discuss this, Ruda!"
"I'll think about it, we'll work out something!" As the waiter came by their table, passing directly behind him was a very handsome man accompanied by an attractive blond woman. They were both in deep conversation, not giving Grimaldi or Ruda a glance. They seated themselves in the next booth, and the waiter, after taking Grimaldi's order, moved quickly to the elegant couple's booth.
"Good afternoon, Baron."
Helen Masters asked for a gin and tonic, and the baron a scotch on the rocks. He spoke German, then turned back to continue his conversation with Helen in French. They paid no attention to the big broad-shouldered man seated in the next booth. They could not see Ruda.
Grimaldi had ordered two more martinis. Ruda said she didn't want another, but he ignored her. He looked around the lounge, then noticed she was playing with the bread. It always used to infuriate him, the way she would pick at it, roll it into tiny little balls, twitch it, and pummel it with her fingers.
"Stop that, you know it gets on my nerves. We'll sort out the plinths when we get back. Now, can we just relax, Ruda?"
She nodded, but under the table her hands began to roll a small piece of bread tighter and tighter, until it became a dense hard ball — because she kept on seeing the boy, Mike, wearing Kellerman's hideous black leather trilby. Mike, Grimaldi and his bloody divorce... it was all descending on her like a dark blanket, and suddenly she felt as if her mind would explode. Her fingers pressed and rolled the tiny ball of bread mechanically, as if out of her control. She swallowed, her mouth was dry, her lips felt stiff, her tongue held to the roof of her mouth. It was seeping upward from her toes... She fought against it, refusing to allow it to dominate her — not here, not in public. "No... no!"
Grimaldi looked at her, was not sure what she had said. He leaned closer. "Ruda? You okay?"
She repeated the word "No!" like a low growl. He could see her body was rigid, and yet the table shook slightly as her fingers pressed and rolled the tiny ball of bread.
"Ruda!.. Ruda!"
She turned her head very slowly, her eyes seemed unfocused, staring through him. He slipped his hand beneath the table. "What's the matter with you? Are you sick?"
Grimaldi held her hand, crunched in a hard knot. She recoiled from him, pressing her back against the velvet booth.
"I have to go to the toilet." She rose to her feet. "I'll meet you outside, I need some fresh air."
Grimaldi made to stand, but she pushed past him and he slumped back down in the seat, watching as she walked stiffly toward the foyer, hands clenched tight at her side. She brushed past an elaborate display of ferns and then quickened her pace, almost running to the cloakrooms. There was only one other occupant, a tourist applying lipstick, examining her reflection in the mirror. Ruda knocked against her, but made no apology, hurrying into the vacant lavatory. She had no time to shut the door, but fell to her knees, clinging to the wooden toilet seat as she began to vomit. She felt an instant release, and sat back on her heels panting; again she felt the rush of bile, and leaned over the basin, the stench, the white bowl — she pushed away until she was hunched against the partition.
"Are you all right? Do you need me to call someone?" The tourist stood at a distance, but was very concerned.