The Glassblower by Petra Durst-Benning Read Free Book Online

made this quite clear when you were here last!”
    Johanna knew all too well the expression of scornful incredulity that went with that tone of voice—as though he could hardly believe the stupidity of the world. She had been in the shop often enough when one of the other suppliers was the target of such a dressing down. Every time this happened, she had felt sorry for whoever was on the receiving end.
    As Strobel spoke, he pulled over a wooden ladder and climbed three steps to open one of the drawers. “I’d like to know why I bothered to show you the sample piece at all if you’re not going to stick to the model. Look here, you managed to get the radius right but this bowl is much shallower!” He held up the pale blue glass bowl.
    The man took the bowl and looked at it closely. Strobel snorted impatiently. He glanced over at Johanna and tried to catch her eye, but she turned away. Surely he didn’t imagine that she would take sides with him against this poor fellow! The man spoke: “You didn’t make such a fuss about it last time. What happens now?” He looked worried.
    Strobel shrugged. “Is it my problem that you can’t listen? I have to supply what my clients order.”
    “But you must have some clients who want bowls this deep! What am I supposed to do with fifty of them?” A look of despair crossed his face. Johanna didn’t want to think what would happen if he returned home with his pack still full of the glass bowls he had been planning to sell.
    Strobel clapped his hand onto the man’s shoulder. “I’ll keep one here as a sample. Maybe I’ll find a use for it,” he said, steering him toward the door. “I’m sure we’ll do business again one of these days.” That was probably meant to reassure the poor soul, but the man was hardly out the door before Strobel put the bowl away in a drawer under his counter without a second glance.
    “Johanna!” He held out his arms toward her. “I just heard what a dreadful misfortune has befallen your household! My deepest sympathies!”
    Friedhelm Strobel’s handshake was bony and always just a little too firm. The skin around his fingernails was bitten to the quick, seeping blood and even pus in places. Johanna gave him her hand unwillingly and pulled it away as soon as she could.
    “I’ve come to sell the last jars that we have,” she said, pointing to the pack. She didn’t want to talk to this man about how Joost had died.
    Strobel didn’t seem to take the hint though. “He was such a hard worker, and an excellent glassblower. It’s quite a tragedy that he should have died so young!”
    He put a hand on Johanna’s arm, leading her to the table where he had his catalogs laid out for his customers. The polished red wood of the tabletop reflected the chandelier that hung above them. On either side of the table, comfortable armchairs were upholstered with gold and brown brocade. The furniture made the whole room look elegant and prosperous. Johanna had never been invited to sit there before, but today Strobel practically pushed her into a seat. He gazed at her intently.
    “We’ll have a look at your jars later,” he said offhandedly.
    Johanna had to make an effort not to roll her eyes. She really didn’t have time to listen to one of Strobel’s little speeches. She just wanted her money.
    “You barely even knew my father. I hardly think you can be much affected by his death,” she said sharply.
    Strobel’s gaze moved from her eyes to her cheeks, then settled on her lips.
    “Did I say that I was?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
    Without quite meaning to, Johanna pushed her chair back a little.
    Strobel leaned forward, propped up his elbows and folded his hands as if in prayer.
    “I was mostly thinking about what his death must mean for you and your sisters.”
    As she noted the look in his eyes, the great sigh he heaved, and the eagerness in his face, Johanna felt her hackles rise. She was ready to snap at him again, but she held back and