“Zuzanna married into high Polish nobility when she was still very young. Back then, I’ve heard, she was as slim as a Silesian birch and a real beauty. Her husband, Count Szymon Zawadzki, owned gold, silver, and copper mines throughout Poland. But anyone who thinks Zuzanna married Szymon for money is mistaken. Her own family is immensely rich. It was true love for both of them.”
“You’re talking about the count in the past tense,” Clara said, suspecting the worst.
Lilo nodded. “Six or seven years ago, Szymon was killed in a mining accident. Ten men died with him. I don’t know the whole story, but it’s said that Countess Zuzanna was so deeply affected by her husband’s death that she wanted to take her own life. She drank poison . . .” Lilo looked meaningfully at Clara. “It was only because her dog would not stop barking—the same dog you rescued so heroically this morning—that the servants noticed that the countess was sleeping much later than usual. They managed to save her at the last minute. Then, in her grief, she started to eat. The finest food, more and more of it. I’ve been told that the countess never wants to fall in love again.”
Clara’s brow creased. “After my divorce, I can honestly say I’d had enough of men, but still, I find it terrifying to think that I might never again be held in a man’s arms.”
Lilo only shrugged. “Self-imposed celibacy . . . I would not like that, either. But every person is different. These days, Countess Zuzanna prefers to surround herself with pretty young women. They swarm around her like butterflies around a sweet-smelling flower. Zuzanna . . . in a way, she continues to take part in life through them.”
“The young women also seem to enjoy the countess’s company very much,” said Clara, but her mind was still on Lilo’s first words. So Lilo had no interest in celibacy, either? Not for the first time, Clara wondered whether her friend might have a secret lover, but she did not feel confident enough to ask her.
“Does that surprise you, considering the countess’s generosity? Before she bought the Villa Carese, she spent two summers living here in the Residenz. She and her hangers-on drank so much champagne every evening that I could hardly keep enough in stock.” She smiled openly at Clara. “I can tell you this—this coming Saturday evening will be unforgettable.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Villa Carese was a long two-story structure built among the vineyards above Meersburg. The architect had taken his inspiration from Italian mansions: small bay windows, a miniature tower, and several balconies graced the building. A wide staircase led from the forecourt up to a loggia that stretched across the width of the building. Pure-white marble columns lined the loggia; in between, lemon trees bloomed in white ceramic tubs.
“Ready?” Lilo whispered. She was wearing a magnificent ball gown of emerald taffeta. Like all the other guests, she had hired a carriage to drive them up the mountain. They joined the line of guests moving toward the entrance.
Clara nodded. She felt dizzy, but was not sure if it was because of her excitement or the smell of the lemon blossoms. “You’ll stay close, won’t you?” she whispered. She smoothed the skirt of her dress. Maybe she should have accepted Lilo’s offer of a dress after all, she thought, looking at the elegantly attired women around them.
“The countess is an exceptionally extravagant woman,” Lilo had told her, offering her the most eye-catching dresses she had in her collection.
“Cut so low? And isn’t the color a little overpowering? I’m sorry, but I’m much too modest for something like that.” Clara had laughed, turning down everything Lilo offered. She was wearing a dark-blue dress that she had sewn herself from heavy, expensive taffeta a few years earlier. It fit perfectly and had a timeless appeal. To give the dress a festive touch, Clara had added a lilac-colored lace collar around the décolletage and sewn the same lace around the cuffs. She used what she had left to spruce up her old evening bag, a black taffeta accessory from the days when Gerhard had taken her to the opera or theater. Her outfit was not exactly the latest fashion, but in it Clara felt true to herself. If the countess didn’t like it, that wasn’t in Clara’s power to change, she reminded herself when they reached the entrance at the top of the steps.
The ballroom was on the second floor, and its many windows looked out toward the lake. Spring flowers tied in lavish garlands surrounded every window like expensive picture frames. Industrialists with their beautiful wives, artists in dramatic outfits, actors, and a host of other colorful characters. Clara could not remember ever seeing such a dazzling crowd, not even at the glamorous birthday party thrown by the famous champagne dealer Raymond Dupont to which Isabelle had taken her. Guests greeted each other merrily and talked animatedly, a trio of violinists played along, and the tinkling of champagne glasses heightened the convivial melody.
Clara clenched her glass and acted as if she were on her way to greet someone she knew on the other side of the room. But she knew nobody. She had not even seen the countess. And Lilo had disappeared five minutes after they arrived when she spotted an old friend. So much for Lilo’s support, thought Clara, a little annoyed. She found a spot by one of the bay windows and felt more comfortable in that half-hidden niche than in the open ballroom. She had just set her glass down on the windowsill when three young women stopped beside her. Like everyone else, they were elegantly dressed.
“Next week I’ll be starting at the university. I’m a little worried, certainly, but I’m not the first woman to venture into that male bastion, after all.” She lifted her glass and took a good swig, as if drinking in some courage.
“Never fear, dear, you’ll show the men how it’s done,” said the young woman beside her.
“And if you need any encouragement, come to me. Winterthur is a stone’s throw from Zurich. I can’t leave my new gallery alone for days on end, but I can always find time for a cup of coffee with a friend,” said the third.
They laughed then, each obviously familiar with the others. And suddenly, Clara felt more alone than before. If only Isabelle and Josephine were there.
“Jean-Luc wants me to learn to drive an automobile. What do you think? Should I?” the first young woman said.
“Oh, absolutely! I’ve been thinking about it myself . . .”
Women studying, running galleries, driving automobiles. Women who dared to do things!
My God, thought Clara. Our turn-of-the-century wind isn’t just blowing here; it’s whistling through the room! She had to write to Isabelle and Josephine about it soon.
At the thought of her friends and all they’d accomplished, Clara straightened up, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and smiled. She had no need to hide from this colorful assemblage of strangers. Wasn’t she herself one of those women who dared to do something?
“Oh, my dearest Clara Berg, here you are! I’ve had people looking all over for you!” Countess Zuzanna bore down on Clara, and the guests standing around quickly cleared her path.
Before Clara knew what was happening, she found herself crushed to the countess’s ample bosom. “Thank you, and thank you again! I will never forget what you’ve done for me. Bijou was the last present my beloved husband ever gave me. I would never have gotten over it if I lost him before his time, too,” she whispered in Clara’s ear. The next moment, she let Clara go, then turned and called so loudly that the entire room could hear, “My dear friends, this woman is a true lifesaver! When it really mattered, Clara Berg was more intent on the welfare of my little Bijou than her own. A toast! A toast to a dauntless woman!”
Suddenly, waiters were moving through the ballroom, delivering fresh glasses of champagne on silver trays.
“To Bijou’s savior, Clara Berg!” Countess Zuzanna raised her glass so energetically that Clara was momentarily afraid that she would toss it behind her in the Russian fashion. Instead, she drank it all in one draft.
“To Clara Berg!” everyone else called.
Clara was so embarrassed by the attention that she wanted to crawl away. With a pained smile, she sipped at h
er own champagne to complete the toast.
Before Clara could put her glass down, the countess took her by the arm. “Now tell me, my dear Mrs. Berg, what your little shop is all about. Bel Étage—that sounds so mysterious.”
“Well, what I do really is a little mysterious,” Clara said. “I make beauty creams, lotions, and toners. And soaps that smell wonderful—the soaps are one of my specialties.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said a young woman who had linked arms with the countess on the other side. The gesture showed familiarity, but the young woman was also clearly staking her claim. “Most soaps smell sour and unpleasant. What is it that makes your soaps smell so nice?”
“That varies,” Clara said. “In winter, I like to mix rose perfume with cinnamon and vanilla. Now that spring is here, I love the scent of flowers like lilac and honeysuckle, and a hint of lavender.” She paused. “Just yesterday, I tried something brand new—peppermint with a touch of lemon.”
With every word Clara spoke, the countess’s deep-blue eyes grew more covetous. “I don’t know of any soaps like that. Do you?”
The young woman shook her head. “Peppermint and lemon . . .” She sighed rapturously. “Does the perfume stay on your skin?”
“Of course,” said Clara. “I also have lily of the valley–scented soaps in stock at the moment.”
“I would like these soaps. All of them!” the countess said.
“What is it you’d like, darling?” asked an elderly woman who joined them just then, and the countess told her about Clara and her profession.
“A beauty shop? They have that sort of place in Paris and on Fifth Avenue in New York, but I’ve never been inside one. To be honest, I’m skeptical. Isn’t beauty God-given? And fleeting, besides?” said the newcomer.
“Oh, not at all,” said Clara. “I believe that any woman can be beautiful, at any age. She only has to take the time to look after herself. She needs a good cream, one that suits her skin—and also the circumstances of her life—and a little nurture. Half an hour a day can make a huge difference. But so many women lack just that, half an hour for themselves.”
As Clara spoke, more and more women gathered around. They were mesmerized. A shop dedicated to beauty . . . they thought it sounded wonderful and very tempting.
A woman in a showy dress and hat said, “How right you are. The children, the staff, the house, and, of course, the husband—there’s always something demanding a woman’s attention. Sometimes I get to the end of a day and I find myself wondering how I’ve managed to get through it at all.”
“Maybe it would be worth it to find the right moment to think only of yourself?” Clara replied.
“Absolutely right!” the countess rumbled. “You only get to live this life once.”
“What did you mean when you said that a cream has to suit a woman’s skin?” asked one of the women.
“Well, the air and wind here at the lake, for example, are different than in a city. It’s important to take that into consideration when choosing a skin cream and—” Clara broke off when she felt a small jab in her back.
“Mrs. Berg’s products are the best I have ever tried. Personally, I never want to be without them again! She is a pharmacist’s daughter, and she has spent years building her knowledge to the point where she is now a true expert in beauty matters.” Lilo paused dramatically to let her words sink in.
Embarrassed by all the attention, Clara smiled and lowered her eyes. “My customers have to decide that for themselves. But I do believe that the very best is only just good enough for the women who come to me,” she said. “That’s why I start every consultation with a thorough examination of the skin.”
“Sounds almost like a visit to the doctor,” a young woman said, giggling.
“It sounds sincere and rigorous to me, and I like that,” said Countess Zuzanna. “Too often, we women are not taken seriously at all.”
“Wise words, Countess, and true,” said Lilo, then she turned to the women around them. “Ladies, I am sure you will understand that Mrs. Berg can only pass on a fraction of her knowledge just now. Why don’t you visit her at Bel Étage? That would be best, wouldn’t it, my dear Clara?” She put her arm around Clara’s shoulders as a sign of their closeness.
Clara stiffened at Lilo’s touch. Suddenly, she felt as if she were back in earlier times. With Gerhard at a reception or party. For Clara, there never had been anything fun about such events—only anguish, with Gerhard’s right arm clamped around her shoulder. He would speak to someone, saying, “An invitation to your country place? We’d love to! Best if you give it directly to me. My wife is a little scattered. She might forget about your party altogether . . .” Or “Clara? Supporting the fine arts? My wife can barely handle a pen and ink. She’s a messy little writer, aren’t you, Clara?” And he would squeeze her shoulder tighter and smile as if he were her best friend.
He had belittled her like that so many times that he had worn down and crushed the last bit of self-confidence she had possessed.
“Clara?” Lilo said, when she didn’t reply right away.
Clara blinked, forcing away the images from the past. Damn it, the old days were over! The people here were on her side, and they valued what she had to say. “You are all welcome to pay me a visit, any time you like,” she said to the women around her.
“You already have one new customer in me!” said Countess Zuzanna. “My days as any kind of beauty are long past, but I would love to sample all your fragrant lotions and potions.”
Clara’s heart instantly beat faster. The countess, in her shop! When Therese found out about that, she would burst with envy!
“A beauty shop . . . I think I’d find a place like that interesting, but what if someone saw me there?” said the woman wearing the hat.
“What of it?” the countess rumbled. “Why shouldn’t they see that you think something of yourself?”
“There’s nothing disgraceful about it,” said the elderly woman. “All the best people visit the Paris place that I mentioned. It’s very much en vogue to be seen there!”
“And it’s just the same for us,” said Lilo.
“In that case . . .” The woman with the hat took a deep breath. “I would like to make an appointment with you.”
“So would I!”
“But my dears, I am first in line!” boomed the countess.
Clara looked helplessly from one woman to the next. She was about to say, “Don’t worry, I can make appointments for all of you,” when she suddenly stopped herself. Clara remembered something from the trip she had gone on with Isabelle to try to sell her champagne. Isabelle’s business had been on the verge of going under, but when she met her American customers, she acted as if her stock were very limited indeed, and as if she would be doing the men a favor if she were to sell them anything at all. It made the Americans want Isabelle’s champagne even more.
“The season has just begun, but my appointment book is already rather full. Before I can say yes to anyone, I will need to take a close look at my calendar,” she said, and the women around her responded with looks of dismay, almost shock.
Clara smiled to herself.
The very next day, Countess Zuzanna came to Bel Étage with half a dozen young women. Within an hour, she bought up all of Clara’s stock and ordered three dozen bars of lavender soap as gifts for guests to her upcoming soirees. In the nights that followed, Clara hardly slept at all. Hour after hour, fatigued but happy, she stood in her laboratory and replenished her supply of soaps, creams, and lotions. Long hours aside, she still swam every morning without fail: it refreshed her and prepared her for the day.
Word soon circulated among high-society circles—and the summer tourists as well—that the Polish countess had fallen for Clara Berg’s products. Hardly fifteen minutes could pass without the bell over the front door ringing, and Clara’s calendar was booked with “skin consultations.” As popular as her services and products had become, there were still w
omen who did not want to be seen in a beauty shop, and they went to great lengths to arrive stealthily. To Clara’s relief, though, there were also many women who had no such concerns. “I’ve heard that a visit to your place here is very much en mode,” said one, while the next openly stated why she was there: “My husband is very . . . demanding. I want to look young and pretty for him, to make sure he doesn’t go looking for a younger lover.”
Many clients combined their visit to Clara with an appointment with Therese, who also had her hands full keeping up with demand. While the hairdresser kept her customers entertained with stories from her own life, Clara instead listened patiently to the needs of her clients and offered at least one solution to nearly every problem. But many of her skin-care recommendations were so new that, at first, her customers resisted her advice.
“You want me to splash water on my face like a farmer’s wife? How vulgar!” The woman who had been wearing the hat at Countess Zuzanna’s spring ball was clearly shocked by Clara’s recommendation that cold water would improve the circulation in her skin. Clara, who had heard this objection before, demonstrated what she had in mind at her washbasin. She formed her hands into a bowl, dipped them in the water, and splashed it onto her face. She repeated the process several times, then asked the woman to try it. The woman needed some coaxing at first, and she shrieked at the shock when the cold water splashed against her skin, but Clara insisted that she keep going.
Finally, after sloshing the chilly water on her face half a dozen times, the woman said, “That isn’t too bad. Actually . . . it feels wonderful.” She looked in amazement at her rosy cheeks in the mirror. She hadn’t looked so healthy in years.
Clara smiled and recommended her rose-scented cream. “Of course, it would be best if you came to me regularly during your stay here. I could pamper your skin with steam baths, herbal wraps, and face massages.”
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 15
