The Glassblower(113)

As the assistant approached her, Ruth noticed that his dimples deepened when he smiled.

“Mr. Woolworth is very interested in these baubles. However, since he has other business appointments all evening, he suggests that the two of us sit down and work out the details of prices and delivery.”

Ruth looked from one to the other and back again, then fixed her gaze on Woolworth. She took a deep breath and held out her hand toward him.

And Ruth heard her own voice say, “A pleasure doing business with you,” as though she closed deals every day of the week.

Woolworth answered in English. “Here’s to glass,” he said. She understood that much, at least.

Ruth had to fight to stifle a smile. When the others back home heard about this . . .

“May I accompany you downstairs?” The assistant took her gently by the arm and gestured to the door with his other hand.

Ruth beamed at him. Johanna had never told her that business negotiations could be this thrilling.





16

When Woolworth’s assistant handed Ruth’s basket to the reception desk to look after, the hotelier’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Then they went into the dining room.

Her head held high, Ruth sat down on the chair that he held out for her. She had never dreamed that she would get to go out to dinner with a man like him. By now, she hardly cared that she looked worn and disheveled; she simply enjoyed the curious glances that the other diners cast their way.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” Ruth’s companion said as soon as they were seated. “My name is Steven Miles.” He held his hand out over the table. He had a warm, firm handshake.

“My name’s Ruth . . . Heimer. How do you happen to speak such good German, Mr. Miles?”

He laughed and brushed a short strand of black hair back from his forehead. “Well, you speak quite good German too. No, in all seriousness, my parents are from Germany. They emigrated to America just before I was born.”

“So you’re American.”

He nodded. “Born and bred. And proud to be!”

A waiter appeared. He had a grubby dishcloth tucked into his waistband and black rims to his fingernails.

“Would the lady and gentleman care to dine?” he asked, handing Steven the menu and giving Ruth a disdainful glance.

“Bring us two glasses of sherry first. You do drink sherry?” he asked Ruth.

Not knowing what sherry was, she smiled apologetically and said, “I’d rather have a glass of lemonade.”

Steven ordered her a lemonade without hesitating even a moment.

“That fellow was none too polite,” he muttered as the waiter left the table. “What a day. Full of surprises!” he went on. His voice had been cool and distant as he spoke to the waiter, but now it was friendly again. He gave Ruth a boyish grin. “I never really thought I would enjoy a meal in this hotel.”

Hoping that he meant that as a compliment, Ruth smiled at him. “We’ve a saying that you should always expect pleasant surprises. The unpleasant surprises will come anyway.”

“Nicely put and sweetly said . . .” His gaze dropped to her lips for a moment, and then he looked up again. “And while we’re speaking of surprises, the food here could be better, I’m afraid. A great deal better. If you don’t mind, I’ll choose for both of us.”

Ruth nodded. Ever since they had entered the dining room, she had had the strangest feeling that everything she saw was magnified as if by a glass: the room with its tall, narrow windows that were badly in need of cleaning; the other guests—all five of them—at the tables along the wall.

And Steven Miles. More than anything else, Steven Miles.

He was of medium build, not especially big but not reedy like so many of the village boys, who never had enough to eat. He had thick hair that would probably stick out wildly in all directions if he didn’t keep it down with pomade. Like Woolworth, he had a moustache, though his was not as bushy.

He had dark, intelligent eyes that were set ever so slightly too close together but that were lively and curious in a way that most men’s were not.

“Your eyes remind me of a neighbor of ours,” Ruth heard herself say. She felt mortified as soon as she spoke.

Steven Miles lowered the menu and looked at her attentively.

“Given that I don’t know your neighbor, I can’t tell whether that’s a good or a bad thing.”

Ruth had to laugh. “Don’t worry! Peter Maienbaum is a very good man. He’s a glassblower, and he’s in love with my sister Johanna.” As she spoke, she tried to work out just where the warm glow in her belly was coming from. Why did she feel so safe and happy with this man she had only just met?