The Champagne Queen (The Century Trilogy Book 2)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  Clara, still standing in the dim light of the hallway, nodded. “Adrian’s father gave them a villa on the edge of the city. He wanted his grandson to live in a house that befits his station.” There was more than a trace of mockery in her voice, but the next moment her shoulders slumped. She sounded as if she were in an abyss of despair as she continued: “Isabelle, I’m so sorry, but today is really not a good day for a visit. Gerhard is—” She broke off as if she had changed her mind about saying the words. “Isabelle, I beg of you, watch out for yourself and make the right decision! Once you’ve made your bed, you have to lie in it, no matter how hard it is. Raymond adores you; I saw that in Reims. You would be well off with him at your side!”

  Isabelle wanted to laugh to lift the weight off the moment, but the laugh stuck in her throat. “What’s going on, Clara? You’re being so strange!” She narrowed her eyes to get a better look at Clara’s face in the low light. Was she mistaken, or was there a blue shadow beneath Clara’s left eye? A terrible thought came to Isabelle.

  Clara immediately took a step back. “Everything is all right,” she said with a forced smile. “It’s just that I don’t have any time today for a gossip over coffee. Gerhard needs me at the practice.”

  “But I was so looking forward to talking to you. And I would love to see little Matthias again.” Isabelle was both disappointed and confused.

  Clara sighed. “Matthias is with my mother, and it is better if he stays there today. Now go, please!”

  Josephine skillfully screwed a small gas lamp onto an old bicycle. “There. Now Mr. Draber can ride safely through the city in the dark, too. Can you hand me that rag?”

  Isabelle, sitting on a stool in Josephine’s bicycle workshop, did as she was asked. “Almost like old times,” she said and smiled. “Do you remember? Just after you opened your old repair shop, I stopped in to visit you. Then someone knocked at the door and this self-important civil servant came in. He wanted to give you a friendly reminder that you had to pay your taxes.”

  Josephine, dusting the lamp, groaned. “I was so stupid and naïve! I’d thought of everything except actually registering my business. Thank God you were there; I wouldn’t have been able to deal with the man alone.”

  For a moment, they reveled in the old familiarity. Then, with a little difficulty, Josephine stood up and ran her hands over the swell of her belly.

  “I need a break. There’s a little restaurant just opened up down the street. They serve the best pea soup in Berlin. Shall we go?”

  “I’m worried about Clara,” said Isabelle, sitting with Josephine. Bowls of soup and large mugs of coffee were between them.

  Josephine chewed at her bottom lip, but said nothing.

  “Clara? What’s the matter?” asked Adrian, who had spontaneously decided to join them.

  Isabelle looked at her former fiancé. Marriage suited him: he gave an impression of satisfaction and happiness.

  Isabelle put her spoon aside and told them about her strange meeting with Clara at her front door. “Do you think that terrible Gerhard beats her?” Simply asking the question was bad enough for Isabelle; the thought was truly horrible.

  “If I ever see him try it . . . ,” said Adrian grimly.

  Josephine’s expression was less dire. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put anything past that man,” she said with disgust. “A while ago, I saw Clara and she looked out of sorts. Her right arm was red and swollen. She said she’d fallen awkwardly in the garden, but somehow I didn’t believe her at all. I wanted to get her to talk about it, but she closed up like a clam.”

  “That’s terrible,” Isabelle breathed.

  “It was embarrassing for her that you saw her in that condition. Nothing is supposed to muddy the image of the fine doctor and his dutiful wife,” said Adrian, topping up Josephine’s cup with fresh coffee. She thanked him with a smile, then remarked, “Clara is ashamed, and I understand that. But if she doesn’t confide in us, we can’t help her.”

  “Clara knows that the two of you will always be there for her. When she’s ready, she’ll turn to you for help,” said Adrian, and he stroked his wife’s cheek lovingly.

  They’re so close, and they understand each other so well, thought Isabelle. She felt a prick of envy in her chest.

  “Raymond adores you . . . You would be well off with him at your side.” She suddenly heard Clara’s voice. It was true: with Raymond, she really did feel safe and appreciated. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if she pined for him whenever he left the room. Her thoughts were interrupted by Adrian saying good-bye. He had to go—work was waiting.

  He’d barely left when Josephine said, “Clara is pregnant again, you should know.”

  “She’s pregnant? But . . .” Isabelle tried in vain to come up with a connection between that piece of information and Clara’s state just now.

  “It looks to me like the good doctor did not particularly welcome the news of this second pregnancy,” said Josephine. “He’d like to invest every extra penny in his practice, but now that Clara is pregnant, he’ll have to fork out a few marks for a nanny.”

  “And so he hits her?”

  Josephine shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can promise you that I’ll keep an eye on Clara. Enough about that sad subject. I’d rather hear how love is treating you. You traveled here with that charming champagne dealer. Is there anything in that? The two of you . . . ?”

  Isabelle laughed. “What do you want to hear? That I’ve fallen head over heels in love with Raymond?”

  “Why not?” Josephine replied briskly. “Or do you have your heart set on your new cellar master, the good-looking—what was his name again?”

  At the thought of Daniel, Isabelle’s stomach immediately did a little somersault.

  “Oh, Jo,” she said, with torment in her voice. “I just don’t know anymore! Back then, when I ran off into the unknown with Leon, I let my emotions drive me. Not that I regret what I did,” she hurriedly added. “But a little more consideration wouldn’t have hurt. Times have changed; I just don’t want to make another mistake. Now and in the future I must let good sense be my guide.”

  “Getting fainthearted?” Josephine looked at her friend teasingly. “I would have believed anything but that.”

  “What does that have to do with a faint heart?” Isabelle replied, annoyed. Then her watch caught her eye. “So late already, my goodness! The hairdresser that Raymond ordered for me is coming to the hotel at three.” She quickly began to rummage in her handbag for money. “I have to go. Raymond and I have been invited to the Berlin Palace. Can you imagine? The invitation was signed by some high-ranking general, apparently an old customer of Raymond’s. When I think I might actually see the emperor, it makes me feel almost ill, I’m so excited! Raymond says that Kaiser Wilhelm only ever drinks German sparkling wine but that his generals are far more open to a glass of champagne. It would be a sensation if they actually bought my champagne, so cross your fingers for me, all right?” She kissed Josephine on both cheeks in farewell. “Good business and financial security—that’s what matters to me. And Marguerite, of course; in the end, she’s the reason I’m doing all this. Maybe I’m not cut out for love at all.”

  Instead of answering, Josephine only smiled.

  Half an hour before the start of the formal dinner at the palace, the guests streamed into the foyer of the Berlin City Palace, each couple competing in elegance with the others. How fortunate that I let Raymond talk me into a new evening dress in Vienna, Isabelle thought. In her emerald-green silk dress and matching accessories, she felt slim and beautiful and could hold her own with any of the women there. But not even her elegant dress could help her overcome her nerves, and with every step she felt less and less sure of herself. As she cautiously checked her pinned-up hair, she glanced covertly at her escort. In contrast to her, Raymond seemed entirely in his element in the German emperor’s home. And he was certainly among the best-looking men that evening—with his black tailcoat, white starched shirt, to
p hat, fine kid gloves, a gold pocket watch, and then his handsome face, which was accentuated by the silver streaks in his hair. Among the men present, Raymond looked the most aristocratic of all.

  “I’m so nervous,” she whispered to him.

  “What about?” he whispered back. He smiled and nodded a greeting to someone, exchanged a few words, paid a compliment here and there. As he had in Munich and Vienna, he seemed to know everyone there with any rank or reputation.

  “I have the feeling that everyone is looking at us,” said Isabelle with a pained smile. There—wasn’t that an old admirer of hers? Baron Gottlieb von . . . she could no longer remember his name, but she did have a clear memory of how he and his mother had always smelled terribly of mothballs. He was high on her father’s list of prospective marriage candidates. And over there, wasn’t that Irene Neumann, Adrian’s sister? Isabelle’s stomach roiled even more. Oh God, who else would she bump into tonight?

  “They’re only looking because we make such a splendid couple. Try to relax a little,” said Raymond. He patted her hand where it rested on his sleeve.

  Isabelle breathed in and out deeply. Raymond was right. Her nervousness was silly. She forced herself to let her eyes roam around the room. The hundreds of candles burned beautifully! And all the lovely flowers, deep-red roses, and the scent of the most expensive perfumes—everything was so opulent, so magnificent! And no doubt that they would have interesting guests at their table, and the imperial kitchen would serve all kinds of wonderful dishes. An evening like this was a rare experience, and she was determined to try as hard as she could to enjoy every minute of it. And if, finally, a small order for her estate came out of it, then all the better.

  Fortified by her new resolution, Isabelle took Raymond’s arm, and they walked in the direction of the various dining rooms. They were halfway down the long hallway when she abruptly stopped walking.

  “What is it?” whispered Raymond.

  “Up ahead, at the doorway to the semicircular balcony.” Isabelle licked her lips, which had suddenly become so dry that she could hardly speak a word. “My parents.”

  Raymond followed her gaze. “How lovely,” he said with a smile. “Then let us wish them a good evening.” Gently but firmly, he began to walk fast.

  “Isabelle!” Jeanette Herrenhus stared at her daughter in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  Any other mother would have embraced her daughter without an instant’s hesitation, perhaps even planted a kiss on her cheek. But Jeanette Herrenhus did no more than stiffly hold out one gloved hand. Still the chilly beauty, I see, thought Isabelle, and she felt a spasm of deep sadness.

  “I heard that you had been widowed. My condolences,” said Moritz Herrenhus in place of a greeting; he sounded far from sympathetic. “But I see you have found a replacement,” he added, looking Raymond Dupont up and down. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  How could her father be so brutish and mean? Isabelle wanted to simply walk away without another word, but Raymond stood his ground as if rooted to the spot. He seemed determined to put this encounter behind him in a cultivated manner, and Isabelle was left with no choice but to follow his example.

  “May I introduce Monsieur Raymond Dupont. Jeanette and Moritz Herrenhus, my parents,” she said tightly. For a moment, she toyed with the notion of telling her parents about Marguerite, but then decided against it. A disabled child—she could imagine Moritz Herrenhus’s disparaging remarks about that.

  Raymond turned to Isabelle’s mother. He gave her a consummate kiss on her hand and said, “Until today, I thought that Isabelle’s beauty was a gift from God. Now I know better—it comes from an angel.”

  Were her eyes deceiving her, or did her mother actually blush? And the way she laughed . . . Isabelle found it embarrassing.

  The two men shook hands, and her father cleared his throat. “Who would have guessed that we would meet in the Berlin Palace? But now that we have, we should make the best of it and spend the evening together.” His expression was as single-minded as ever, and it was clear that he expected Isabelle to agree. Turning to Raymond, he said, “We’ll be dining in the yellow salon. I know the maître d’ well, and if you agree, I could ask him to modify the place settings so that we can sit together.”

  Isabelle’s heart skipped a beat. Anything but that! But the next moment, she felt Raymond’s soothing hand on hers.

  Raymond smiled. “A wonderful idea, but I hope you will understand that we have to decline your offer. We’re sitting in the main gold hall. At the emperor’s table.”

  “A wonderful idea, but . . . we’re sitting at the emperor’s table!” Isabelle mimicked Raymond’s grave tone of voice. Her eyes sparkled with mischievous glee. “I will never forget the look on my father’s face! As we walked away, I wanted to look back just to see it again. But leaving them standing there was certainly the most elegant move.” Isabelle giggled playfully. What an evening!

  “Let’s celebrate,” Raymond had suggested when the imperial dinner was over.

  “But what exactly would we be celebrating? There’s so much,” Isabelle had replied boldly. She followed Raymond into the elegant bar that, located so close to the Museum Island and the palace, had become a popular meeting place of the rich and beautiful of the city.

  Raymond, of course, had ordered champagne for both of them. It must have been something special, Isabelle realized, because two waiters came to their table to serve it. One of them brought a wine bucket and glasses, while the headwaiter of the establishment, with a solemn expression, began to untwist the muselet surrounding the cork. He was about to remove the foil when Raymond took the bottle from him.

  “But, sir—” the headwaiter said, perplexed.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that,” said Raymond, waving the waiters away.

  Isabelle grinned. “You don’t like to give up the reins, do you?”

  Raymond smiled. “It is my great pleasure on our final evening in Berlin to open this bottle for you. This is an 1874 Pommery—in my opinion, it is the best champagne made in the last fifty years.”

  “The first time I entered your shop, you were talking about just this champagne. And you’re right: today is one of those days when only the very best will do,” said Isabelle, raising her glass exuberantly to Raymond. The two glasses clinked loudly, which drew looks of disapproval from several guests. Isabelle didn’t care. She felt better than she had in a long time! The elation she experienced when they simply walked away from her father . . . She beamed radiantly and said, “All my life, my father wanted only one thing: to be accepted by high society. Then along comes his good-for-nothing daughter and upstages him.” She shook her head. “And I still have no idea how you managed to engineer two places at the emperor’s table.”

  “Wouldn’t it be a terrible thing if I were unable to surprise you still, after the short time we’ve known each other?” With a secretive smile, he refilled her glass. “A toast to the new champagne supplier to the Imperial Court!”

  “An order from the court of the German emperor, oh my . . .” Isabelle let out a joyous squeal, which brought more condemning looks. She raised her glass to her lips and drank quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so terribly excited. If my father only knew. In all his years as a factory owner, he hasn’t delivered so much as a sheet to the palace. It would have been his greatest dream.” She set her glass down, her hand shaking slightly. She almost pinched herself to make sure all of it was true.

  “You know what they say: you reap what you sow,” said Raymond, then he lit a cigar.

  The first bottle of Pommery went down so quickly that Raymond hurriedly ordered a second. The ice-cold, foamy champagne tasted so delicious that Isabelle felt as if she could not get enough of it. The second bottle was soon empty, too.

  When they left the bar two hours later, everything was more than a little blurry. It was a warm night, and although it was well past midnight, many people were still out and about. Couples strolled across bri
dges, holding each other close. Men lurched drunkenly through the streets, and a few streetwalkers were on the lookout for customers. Isabelle glanced around, trying to think, but for the life of her she could not say in which direction their hotel lay. She held on to Raymond’s arm and let herself be led.

  “What would I do without you?” she whispered, and nestled closer to Raymond. He put one arm around her protectively, and they made their way slowly toward their hotel, surrounded by swarms of nocturnal insects and the quiet splashing of the Spree onto its banks.

  Arriving in the lobby, Isabelle stopped in her tracks, looking wide-eyed and disappointed at Raymond, and said, “If it were up to me, this night would last forever!” She lifted the hem of her dress a little and began to dance around the room, but on the second turn, she became dizzy and staggered.

  Raymond, who had just taken both of their room keys from the night porter, caught her before she could fall.

  “I think that’s enough for today. Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”

  With a blissful smile on her lips, Isabelle stumbled up the stairs to the first floor. Her head was still filled with the many conversations of the evening, and with the music, the tinkling of glasses, the carefree laughter. She hummed softly to herself while Raymond unlocked her door for her. “Madame,” he said, and held the door open theatrically. “If I may be of any further service?” he said, mimicking the deferential tone of the bellboys.

  “You should stop putting all these silly ideas in my head. Tonight I’m the champagne queen, and when I wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll be the housemaid again. That’s just how it is, isn’t it?” said Isabelle, and her laugh came out sounding a little too shrill. She quickly pressed a kiss to Raymond’s lips. “Thank you so much, so much. For everything!” she whispered drunkenly. “You put the world at my feet today.”