The Boy at the Top of the Mountain by John Boyne

of the house, smoking cigarettes and gossiping as they watched him.
    ‘Look at the two of you just sitting there,’ she said angrily, ‘when the mirrors haven’t been polished, the fireplace in the living room is filthy and no one has brought the good rugs down from the attic yet.’
    ‘We were just taking a break,’ said Herta with a sigh. ‘We can’t work every minute of the day, you know.’
    ‘You don’t! Emma said you’ve been out here sunning yourselves for half an hour.’
    ‘Emma is a sneak,’ said Ute, folding her arms defiantly and staring off in the direction of the mountains.
    ‘We could tell you things about Emma,’ added Herta. ‘Such as where the extra eggs go and how bars of chocolate keep going missing from the pantry. Not to mention what she gets up to with Lothar the milkman.’
    ‘I’m not interested in tittle-tattle,’ said Beatrix. ‘I just need to make sure everything gets done before the master arrives. Honestly, the way you girls carry on, sometimes I feel like I’m in charge of a kindergarten.’
    ‘Well, you’re the one who brought a child into the house, not us,’ snapped Herta, and there was a long silence as Beatrix stared at her furiously.
    Pierrot came over, intrigued to see who would get the better of this exchange, but when his aunt saw him standing there she pointed towards the house.
    ‘Go inside, Pieter,’ she said. ‘Your room needs tidying.’
    ‘All right,’ he said, turning the corner but staying hidden out of sight so that he could overhear the rest of the conversation.
    ‘Now, what did you just say?’ Beatrix asked, turning back to Herta.
    ‘Nothing,’ said Herta, looking down at her feet.
    ‘Do you have any idea what that boy has been through?’ she asked. ‘First his father leaves and is killed beneath the wheels of a train. Then his mother dies of tuberculosis and the poor boy is sent to an orphanage. And has he caused even a moment of trouble since his arrival here? No! Has he been anything but friendly and polite, despite the fact that he must still be grieving? No! Really, Herta, I would have hoped for a little more compassion from you. It’s not as if you’ve had the easiest life either, is it? You should understand what he’s going through.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Herta.
    ‘Speak up.’
    ‘I said I’m sorry,’ said Herta a little louder.
    ‘She’s sorry,’ echoed Ute.
    Beatrix nodded. ‘All right,’ she said, her tone growing a little more conciliatory. ‘Well, let’s have no more of these nasty comments – and certainly no more idleness. You wouldn’t want the master to hear about any of this, would you?’
    Both girls jumped up in fright when she said that, and stamped their cigarettes out beneath their shoes before smoothing down their aprons.
    ‘I’ll polish the mirrors,’ said Herta.
    ‘And I’ll clean the fireplace,’ said Ute.
    ‘Fine,’ said Beatrix. ‘I’ll see to the rugs myself. Now hurry up – they’ll be here soon and I want everything to be perfect.’
    As she walked back towards the house, Pierrot ran inside and reached for the sweeping brush in the hallway to take to his room.
    ‘Pieter, dear,’ said Beatrix. ‘Be a darling and fetch my cardigan from my wardrobe, will you?’
    ‘All right,’ he said, leaning the broom back against the wall as he made his way to the end of the corridor. He had only been in his aunt’s room once before, when she gave him a tour of the house during his first week, and it had not been particularly interesting, containing much the same things as his own – a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a jug and bowl – although it was the biggest by far of the staff rooms.
    Opening the wardrobe, he retrieved the cardigan, but before leaving he noticed something he had not seen on his first visit. Hanging on the wall was a framed photograph of his mother and father, arm in arm, holding a small baby wrapped in blankets. Émilie was smiling widely, but Wilhelm