“Here.” Friedhelm Strobel stood up, and put a pile of coins into her hand. “That’s six marks for these first three days. It would have been ten, if the New Year’s holiday had not intervened. Ten marks a week, for forty marks a month as wages.” Seeing that she was dumbstruck, he added, “You’ll get a bit more after you’ve served your probation. Always assuming we still get on.” There was that curious smile again.
Johanna swallowed. Ten marks a week. Forty marks a month. More after the probation. Nobody at home would believe it! She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from squealing with delight. Strobel mustn’t imagine that she would fall at his feet from sheer gratitude just because she was a country girl. Although she very nearly felt like doing just that.
“How long am I on probation?” she asked instead.
Strobel went over to his shop counter and found the calendar for the coming year. “If we agree on half a year, then your probation will be over on the twenty-ninth of June exactly!” He pointed to the date.
Johanna nodded, feeling stupid. “I wish you a happy New Year,” she said, making sure her voice sounded friendly. She wanted to be absolutely sure that her first week ended on a harmonious note. She put her hand on the door handle, and then turned round once more. Strobel was just turning down the flame in the gas lamps, and she had trouble making out his figure in the darkness. “Thank you for taking me on,” she said quickly, and then vanished.
Smiling, Strobel watched her go.
Johanna Steinmann.
He would never have expected the old year to drop such a gift in his lap. A gift? No, it was a twist of fate.
Instead of locking up and going back to his own apartment, he sat down on the sofa reserved for clients. He didn’t usually see the room from this angle, but now he ran his eye around the place, feeling the pride of ownership. He had to admit it was impressive: not just planks on frames like most of his competitors had, but fitted shelving of mahogany and rosewood. And no shabby old floorboards squeaking at every step. Instead he had the finest parquet flooring, which he had ordered specially from southern Germany. He found himself thinking of the letter from B. and of all the spiteful thoughts he had had about his beautiful business when he read it. He’d called it a shackle on his freedom, a ball-and-chain around his leg. But no longer! Now that he was well on his way to training Johanna up to be a skilled shop assistant, it was only a matter of time. Perhaps he would even be able to travel for a couple of weeks in the spring, knowing that he’d left his business in good hands? Even if not, he would be able to take B. up on their invitation no later than the coming summer.
So far Johanna turned out to be a quick learner. He had never expected otherwise. She had a sharp mind and was a hard worker. Everything else—elegance, self-confidence, and a certain worldliness—would come with time, he would make sure of that. Once Johanna had learned what he had to teach her, she would be able to cope with any kind of customer whether arrogant, hesitant, or simply difficult. The fact that she knew no foreign languages would be a problem, but she would surely be able to learn a few words of English and French—enough at least to greet customers.
Johanna Steinmann.
She was simply not like the others. He moistened his lips. Perhaps he should train her up to be more than just his shop assistant. Lost in thought, he bit off a little scrap of skin. Johanna Steinmann was a diamond in the rough. Good raw material, perhaps the very best. But that was only the beginning. It was up to him to make of her what he could. He could cut and shape her to perfection. He giggled at the thought, and the sound filled the silent shop. He was a gem cutter, and Johanna was his diamond. The world might think he wanted to make her shine. But any street-corner jeweler could cut rhinestones to a high gleam. Friedhelm Strobel wanted something else; he wanted sharp edges, clean facets.
If he wanted it, Johanna would be a sweet little something on the side, in between his visits to B.
But was that what he wanted?
Like a connoisseur rolling a drop of wine across his tongue, testing the bouquet, he played with the thought, still unsure whether he could stick to whatever decision he made.
23
It was so good to be home.
Johanna found herself thinking of the parable of the Prodigal Son as Ruth brought dish after dish to the table and even conjured a bottle of wine from somewhere. Johanna had no idea when her sister had found time to cook all the food.
“I don’t want you to go to all this trouble just for me. You may not believe it, but we do have food in Sonneberg as well!”
“Yes, but you must be hungry after the long walk home, and cold as well. And Peter certainly is!” Ruth squeezed onto the bench next to Marie and held out the bread basket to their guest.