At one minute after nine o’clock, Elfriede knocks on her husband’s door, bearing his breakfast tray. The room is radiant with autumn sunshine, and so is Gerhard’s hair. She pours his coffee and butters his toast. Before she lifts the newspaper and reads him the headlines, she tells him she’s ordered a carriage to convey them about the estate for an airing on this warm, beautiful morning, so exceptional for November.

Nurse and Johann accompany them, swathed in wool. Gerhard, gentleman as he is, tries to insist that the ladies face forward in the open landau, but he’s overruled. Herr Doktor’s instructions. Nurse and Johann take the backward seats, except Johann won’t sit, he’s too thrilled by the journey. He points out the lake, the fountains, the stables, the forest, the distant hills, the driver’s hat, the two smart bay horses. Once, Elfriede reaches out to touch his pale hair, and its softness entrances her. But then he notices the intrusion and bats her away. She slips her hand underneath the carriage blanket and finds Gerhard’s fingers.

Really, it’s not that warm, just by comparison to the gray chill of the previous fortnight. The leaves have all dropped and the trees are like skeletons. As they pass the fringes of the wood, Elfriede can see deep inside, and the number of fallen trees amazes her. She turns to Gerhard with this observation, but he’s scowling at Nurse. Some infraction of the rules. Nurse doesn’t seem to notice. She’s pointing out something to Johann. The breeze blows against them, bearing the true chill of November, and Johann climbs up on the seat next to Nurse and cuddles into her side.

Elfriede’s used to this. Day after day, she climbs up the stairs to the nursery and plays with her son. She knows better than to send Nurse away during these hours. She knows better than to push herself on a small boy of three years, who knows nothing of mothers, only of Nurse. She’s learned to bear the pain of his attachment to this woman, who has soothed all his hurts and hungers in Elfriede’s absence. But she doesn’t give up. Sometimes she brings sweets. Some new toy or game. Certain wars are best won by centimeters, stealing tiny parcels of ground from your opponent who looks elsewhere, until one day you’re in possession of the whole.

At the moment, however, Nurse still possesses just about all of Johann. She tucks the blanket over his tired little body and puts her arm around him. Once he’s secure in her embrace, she glances up and meets Gerhard’s scowl with a small, private smile, before turning to admire the woodland scenery. Already Johann’s long eyelashes brush his cheeks. Underneath the blanket, Gerhard’s hand gives hers a little squeeze, before it withdraws entirely.