this glorified car park. Several of the students were already occupying this eyrie, despite the cold. As I drew nearer, I realised why.
All of them were furtively smoking. Gilby had made it clear from the outset that the whole of the Manor was strictly a smoke-free zone. It was a sign of their dedication to their habit, I thought, that they were prepared to brave such cold to enjoy it.
The bitter wind whipped over the exposed terrace, dragging the smoke with it. The last vestiges blew over me, tainted my nostrils. I decided not to advance any further.
All the ground floor windows had deep external window ledges, and I settled myself onto one. At least it was partly shielded from the weather.
As I watched, Jan came out onto the terrace. She had the collar of her coat pulled up with one hand as a windbreak, trying unsuccessfully with the other to light the cigarette in her mouth. After she’d made a few failed attempts I saw Hofmann lever himself away from the balustrade and offer her his lighter.
There was what seemed to be a long pause while they just looked at each other, before Jan reached out and took it. From the little I’d got to know of her, I’d worked out that Jan was the kind of girl who didn’t like accepting help from anyone, but least of all from a man.
Whatever make of lighter Hofmann owned, though, it was designed for outdoor use. It sparked and flared first time. She gave it back to him quickly, with a reluctant nod of thanks, before hurrying away.
Elsa was the next person out onto the terrace. She arrived with the only Norwegian student on the course, a surprisingly small guy called Tor Romundstad. I’d always thought the Norwegians were all strapping individuals, descended from Vikings, but he was a good six inches shorter than Elsa. He’d attempted to compensate for his lack of stature by cultivating the most enormous bushy moustache, like a seventies porn star. Elsa must have come out for the conversation rather than the nicotine, because although Romundstad was smoking, she was not.
Elsa’s attention wasn’t completely on her companion, though. I noticed her head kept turning towards Hofmann, who was still standing by the edge of the terrace, staring out over the grounds. After a minute or two longer she excused herself and went over to him.
I was too far away to hear their voices. The wind brought occasional snatches, but too faint and few to piece any words together. I had to work on body language instead.
From that I got the impression that Elsa asked Hofmann a question. One that he either didn’t know the answer to, or didn’t want to give it. Whichever, he met her enquiry with a dismissive shake of his head. She persisted, and it was then that Hofmann’s manner changed. He bent his head, leaning in to her and speaking fast.
I saw Elsa’s body jerk with the shock of his reaction, her face blanking. No one else on the terrace seemed to have noticed what was happening. I started levering myself forwards, but as quickly as it had started, it was over.
Hofmann threw down his cigarette end, stamped it out, and headed back inside, leaving Elsa standing forlornly behind him on the mossy flags.
I hopped down from my window ledge and walked the rest of the distance onto the terrace, crossing to the German woman. She didn’t seem to notice my arrival until I was almost on top of her. I touched her arm.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
She nodded vaguely, then glanced at me and seemed to pull herself together. “Yes, Charlie, thank you. I am OK.”
“I saw you talking to Michael Hofmann, and he didn’t look happy about it,” I said. “What happened?”
“I thought I knew him,” Elsa murmured. Her glasses had darkened in the light so it was difficult to read her eyes, but her voice was off-kilter, almost a babble, and her face was too pale. “You know how it is, you think you recognise someone and then you feel
All of them were furtively smoking. Gilby had made it clear from the outset that the whole of the Manor was strictly a smoke-free zone. It was a sign of their dedication to their habit, I thought, that they were prepared to brave such cold to enjoy it.
The bitter wind whipped over the exposed terrace, dragging the smoke with it. The last vestiges blew over me, tainted my nostrils. I decided not to advance any further.
All the ground floor windows had deep external window ledges, and I settled myself onto one. At least it was partly shielded from the weather.
As I watched, Jan came out onto the terrace. She had the collar of her coat pulled up with one hand as a windbreak, trying unsuccessfully with the other to light the cigarette in her mouth. After she’d made a few failed attempts I saw Hofmann lever himself away from the balustrade and offer her his lighter.
There was what seemed to be a long pause while they just looked at each other, before Jan reached out and took it. From the little I’d got to know of her, I’d worked out that Jan was the kind of girl who didn’t like accepting help from anyone, but least of all from a man.
Whatever make of lighter Hofmann owned, though, it was designed for outdoor use. It sparked and flared first time. She gave it back to him quickly, with a reluctant nod of thanks, before hurrying away.
Elsa was the next person out onto the terrace. She arrived with the only Norwegian student on the course, a surprisingly small guy called Tor Romundstad. I’d always thought the Norwegians were all strapping individuals, descended from Vikings, but he was a good six inches shorter than Elsa. He’d attempted to compensate for his lack of stature by cultivating the most enormous bushy moustache, like a seventies porn star. Elsa must have come out for the conversation rather than the nicotine, because although Romundstad was smoking, she was not.
Elsa’s attention wasn’t completely on her companion, though. I noticed her head kept turning towards Hofmann, who was still standing by the edge of the terrace, staring out over the grounds. After a minute or two longer she excused herself and went over to him.
I was too far away to hear their voices. The wind brought occasional snatches, but too faint and few to piece any words together. I had to work on body language instead.
From that I got the impression that Elsa asked Hofmann a question. One that he either didn’t know the answer to, or didn’t want to give it. Whichever, he met her enquiry with a dismissive shake of his head. She persisted, and it was then that Hofmann’s manner changed. He bent his head, leaning in to her and speaking fast.
I saw Elsa’s body jerk with the shock of his reaction, her face blanking. No one else on the terrace seemed to have noticed what was happening. I started levering myself forwards, but as quickly as it had started, it was over.
Hofmann threw down his cigarette end, stamped it out, and headed back inside, leaving Elsa standing forlornly behind him on the mossy flags.
I hopped down from my window ledge and walked the rest of the distance onto the terrace, crossing to the German woman. She didn’t seem to notice my arrival until I was almost on top of her. I touched her arm.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
She nodded vaguely, then glanced at me and seemed to pull herself together. “Yes, Charlie, thank you. I am OK.”
“I saw you talking to Michael Hofmann, and he didn’t look happy about it,” I said. “What happened?”
“I thought I knew him,” Elsa murmured. Her glasses had darkened in the light so it was difficult to read her eyes, but her voice was off-kilter, almost a babble, and her face was too pale. “You know how it is, you think you recognise someone and then you feel
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