The Glassblower(115)

Steven reached his hand across the table to stroke her head, the way he might comfort a sorrowful child.

Ruth had to fight an urge to grab his hand and hold it tight. She looked at him.

“I . . . pardon me for telling you all this. I’m really not like this most of the time. Not even my sisters know that Thomas used to hit me.”

“But why did you keep your misery to yourself?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head, uncomprehending. “Did you want to protect your husband by keeping silent?”

Ruth shrugged.

“I was so horribly ashamed. You can hardly go around telling people that your own husband beats you. And anyway, it happens in a lot of families. Besides, it’s not as though Johanna and Marie only had me to think of. They have enough to be getting on with in their own lives. Johanna more than either of us, even. She used to work for one of the wholesalers until recently, but he treated her very poorly.” She blinked at him. “But that’s another story. A very sad story, in fact, and rather horrible. But not even I am so much of a blabbermouth that I’d tell you that one as well.”

He grinned. “That’s the second time today you’ve refused to tell me someone else’s secret.”

“It’s a matter of trust,” Ruth replied flatly. “I think you would do exactly the same thing if you were in my position. You wouldn’t abuse someone else’s trust in you.” As she spoke she realized that she could just as well have posed that as a question.

Steven nodded without saying a word. He scanned her face, gazing at her gently.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?” Ruth asked, unsettled.

Before he could answer, the waiter appeared and lackadaisically served them their goulash. The brown gravy dribbled down the sides of both plates, staining the threadbare tablecloth. He put a dish in the middle of the table holding six potato dumplings and a puddle of the water they had been boiled in.

Ruth caught Steven’s eye over the meal. They both laughed.

“I daresay that you have spent more pleasant evenings!” Ruth said, frowning apologetically.

“I have to agree with you there,” Steven replied as he speared a dumpling with his fork. “Well, let’s enjoy the meal! Did you know that Thuringian potato dumplings are world famous?”

In fact Ruth hadn’t known, but she thought it was very kind of him to mention it.





17

Though the food had no taste, Ruth discovered after her first bite that she was terribly hungry. She ate the first dumpling almost without noticing and was already fishing for another one when she caught Steven’s eye.

“Finally a woman who doesn’t pick at her food like a sparrow!” he said appreciatively. “I’m afraid that back in New York eating has practically fallen out of fashion among the fair sex.” He shook his head.

Instead of feeling flattered, Ruth stared at her plate in dismay. “I’m a real country bumpkin, aren’t I?”

“Not in the least!” He leaned forward. “And you needn’t feel ashamed of your tears, either. To be honest I even envy you a little that you can show your feelings that way. We businessmen are expected to have the emotional range of a cold fish,” he said, grinning broadly. “I can’t remember ever having enjoyed a mealtime so much!” His eyes were as dark and hot as coals.

Ruth felt her cheeks flush as he looked at her. He wasn’t anything like a cold fish—quite the opposite.

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better. How am I supposed to measure up against those fine ladies in New York?”

“Why on earth would you want to? There’s really no need, you’re a quite extraordinary woman in your own right.”

She laughed. “You should try telling my husband that! ‘Ruth and her crazy ideas!’ ” she scoffed. Though she had been tense and miserable just a few minutes before, she suddenly felt happy again. She didn’t know why her mood was swinging so erratically. Had they not finished the contract yet because she was behaving so strangely? Or was it because of the way Steven Miles’s eyes kept catching hers?

After they finished dinner, Steven produced the documents again. They decided that the suppliers should be named as “the Steinmann family,” and then they worked through the contract point by point. When he quoted a quantity for delivery, Ruth felt dizzy for a moment.

“You really want three hundred of each of the baubles I brought?”

He nodded. “Can you deliver in those quantities? Or is it a problem if we order so much?”

“No!” she replied hastily. She couldn’t actually say whether it was a problem; her brain was still racing to add up the numbers. “So . . . given that I brought twenty different styles today, that means our contract is for . . . six thousand globes?”