Even as Clara spoke, the woman took out a small leather-clad book. “When can we start?”
When another woman objected strongly to using a generous amount of cream on her skin because of the smell, Clara nodded. “I don’t like the medicine smell of those old-fashioned creams, either. But try this one.” She held out one of her small jars and waited for the woman’s reaction. She was not disappointed.
“That smells like morning dew in spring!”
“You’ll see how good it is for your skin. Before I started using it, my skin got so tight that it hurt, especially in the evenings. Now that tension is gone completely,” said Clara, and patted her own cheeks to demonstrate.
The woman nodded admiringly. “You have the skin of a young girl. If that comes from the cream, then I’ll buy two jars here and now.”
“Well, try it first,” Clara laughed. “You can always come to me for more.”
“I will. I’ll also take the toner, and a few bars of soap. Presents for the ones who couldn’t come with me.”
Others were harder to win over.
“As young and lovely as you are, you’re the best advertising your products could have. But still, who’s to say they would work for me? And how is it that you know so much about these things?” one dubious customer asked.
“As a pharmacist’s daughter, I’ve always been interested in the skin’s needs,” Clara explained. “There’s no secret behind beautiful skin, just regular care with good products.”
The description “pharmacist’s daughter,” combined with Clara’s white laboratory coat, worked wonders, even with the skeptics.
By August, the Bel Étage was so busy that Clara could no longer take care of everything alone. Although it wasn’t easy for her, after much consideration she decided to take on an assistant. Sophie Bauer was Elisabeth Kaiser’s niece and had previously worked for free in her parents’ guesthouse. But in the next year, she and her fiancé planned to marry and set up a home of their own, and for that they needed money. For that reason, and several others, Sophie explained that working for Clara seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity: The lovely shop! All the fragrant creams! And no more scrubbing floors sticky with beer, as she had had to do working for her parents.
On her first day, Sophie Bauer turned up at the shop in a crisp white apron and with her hair pinned up tightly—just as Clara presented herself in the shop. Clara congratulated herself on her decision. She took it as a stroke of good fortune that her young assistant had the same name as her own daughter; every time she said Sophie’s name, she automatically thought of her daughter, and it made her feel a little closer.
At twenty-five, Sophie already had a lovely way with people, and she was very keen to learn. There was only one thing that Clara did not like about Sophie: she tried so desperately to hide her freckles with rice powder that it looked as if she was wearing a mask. On her first day, Clara forbade her to use the stuff again.
“It smells horrible, and it’s like a layer of dust on your skin that stops it from breathing properly. You have beautiful skin, but if you keep using that powder, all you’ll have is pimples and sores.”
“I just want to hide my freckles. Do you have a better powder?” she asked Clara hopefully.
“I don’t. Not yet. Although I do have an idea for a new kind of face powder, one made with mineral pigments. As soon as I have a little time, I’ll get to work on it in my laboratory. A powder that smells good and doesn’t make you look like you’re wearing a mask would almost sell itself, I’m sure.” She wanted nothing more than to get to work on it that minute, but she made herself be reasonable. “Meanwhile, don’t worry about your freckles. You’re pretty just as you are. Now let me show you what’s what before the customers start to arrive.
“When a woman comes in for a skin consultation, I bring her over here.” Clara walked toward the window, under which a small chair had been placed. “This is where I have the best light and can examine the customer’s skin properly.” She patted the magnifying glass that lay on a small table next to the chair.
“Now this place is even more like a doctor’s office, with two doctors!” said Therese, who just had entered the shop and was hanging up her coat.
“May I introduce Sophie Bauer, my new assistant?” said Clara with a smile.
After the two women greeted each other, Clara said to Therese, “You’ll just have to get used to the sight of two lab coats. Cleanliness is absolutely crucial for what we do. For our clothes, the laboratory, and the patient chair.” She looked over pointedly at Therese’s side of the shop, where hair from the previous day was still lying on the floor.
But Therese was immune to such criticisms. “Patient chair, pfff! It’s as I said—like visiting the doctor,” she said as she admired herself in the mirror. She was wearing an elaborate lacy dress that was better suited to a night at the opera than a day styling hair.
“Are you going out again?” said Clara when she saw that Therese did no more than straighten a few things that were lying around before pulling on her coat again.
“Terrible, isn’t it? But Thierry insists that I go over to Switzerland with him. He wants to show me his chalet.” She sighed rapturously. “Oh, the day is simply too nice to spend it in here! Only two customers have booked for today . . . They will just have to come back tomorrow.”
“Thierry?” Clara raised her eyebrows. “What does Hubert have to say about you going off with another man?” Once again she would have to tell Therese’s customers that the hairdresser wasn’t at work. She found the situation impossible. But Therese was who she was, and she did whatever she liked.
“Hubert!” Therese waved her hand dismissively. “In all the months we were together, he didn’t manage to get an invitation from Count Zeppelin even once. I’m fairly sure that Hubert was leading me up the garden path about his position. Thierry, on the other hand . . .” She sighed again. Then, with a sidelong glance at Sophie, she said, “I’ll tell you about him another time.”
Clara nodded. Her eye was drawn unconsciously to the permanent-wave apparatus that took up an entire corner of Therese’s side of their shop. It had taken three men to unload it from the wagon and drag it inside, where it stood in its corner like a torture instrument. Hubert had paid for it—for that, at least, he was still good enough.
Chapter Nineteen
Berlin, September 1907
Dearest Clara,
I hope this letter finds you well. Before I write another word, I must thank you for the wonderful package you sent! Your creams are getting better and better all the time. I found the verbena skin cream especially good, and I use the verbena facial cleanser every day now. You remember how I always had a few ugly little spots on my forehead? Well, now they are gone. Thank you!
Clara smiled. Josephine had never bothered much about her appearance. She was a natural beauty, but it made Clara happy to know that her friend, who was always so busy, was finding at least a little time to pamper herself.
Nothing much has changed here in Berlin. The weather this summer has been miserable, raining all the time, and Amelie and her friends have been spending all day inside and going mad with boredom. And we had been looking forward so very much to going cycling and going on outings to Wannsee lake.
As she read, Clara felt the familiar stab in her heart. It happened every time anyone she knew so much as mentioned their children.
The bad weather is also the reason that I can’t tell you as much about your children as you would probably like. Amelie and Sophie spent a lot of time playing together in the park in spring before the weather turned, but all through this wet summer, they have not seen much of each other. A few days ago, out of sheer desperation, I went for a walk along your old street. As discreetly as I could, of course.
Clara smiled, but the pain in her heart grew. Dear Josephine.
It was one of the rare sunny days we’ve had. And in your front garden, I saw a young woman sitting on a blanket playing with Sophie and her doll
s. No sign of the old nanny Stumpfe at all! I was so surprised that all I could do was stand there and stare and wonder who she was. Oh, Clara, Sophie has grown so much this year! She has legs as long as a foal’s, and she moves with a natural grace that my Amelie could only dream about.
A tear splashed onto the stationery. Clara blinked.
I didn’t feel comfortable watching like that, but I stayed anyway and hoped that Gerhard was at his office and not at home. Then Sophie spotted me. She came running over to me holding the young woman’s hand. I introduced myself and discovered that the young woman is the new nanny. Old Mrs. Stumpfe has moved in with her son down in Märkische Schweiz. “She even lives in the house with us!” Sophie said about the new nanny, and she smiled from ear to ear. The nanny’s name is Marianne Klein, and I must say she made a very good impression on me. She was very nice with Sophie, who really seemed to like her, too. I didn’t see Matthias, however. When I asked about him, Miss Klein said that he was away at a summer camp and that he was apparently having a wonderful time.
Matthias? At camp? Clara imagined tents standing in water, children wrapped up in sodden blankets. Tin plates half-filled with watery soup. Rough manners and a rougher atmosphere. Wild games in the woods and on the field. Clara could not imagine her delicate son being very happy there at all. It must have been one of Gerhard’s attempts to “make a man out of the boy,” Clara thought, simultaneously angry and helpless. Her hands shaking, she went on reading Josephine’s letter.
Dear Clara, I thought for a long time about whether I should write all this to you at all. I’m sure my few lines offer you some consolation but that they are also very painful. Still, I think that anything to do with your children must be of great interest to you. I am convinced that children never forget their mother! Sophie, of course, asked after you immediately. I gave her a kiss on her forehead and told her it was from you. I hope it was all right to do that? Oh, Clara . . .
Clara let the letter sink onto her lap. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and there was a lump in her throat so big it was hard for her to breathe. As wonderful as her new life might be—her days so self-determined and fulfilling—her longing for her children was like a thorn that dug deeply into her skin.
“Do you know that it’s been exactly a year since you arrived in Meersburg?” said Lilo one morning as they undressed in their private swimming area.
“A year ago? Today?” Clara stretched her arms in the air to loosen up. “I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself.” She shook her head. “It’s strange. On the one hand, it feels like yesterday. On the other, it’s like I’ve lived here all my life.”
“That just proves that you feel good here,” said Lilo, and she splashed water onto her legs. Clara followed her example. The water already had become quite cool. They would not be able to continue their daily swims too much longer.
“It’s true. I’ve never been happier anywhere in my life than I am here,” Clara said, and she meant it. Then she added, “As long as I don’t think about giving up my children.”
“You haven’t given them up. Not forever,” said Lilo. “You must remember this is only temporary. You are doing everything you can to ensure that is the case.”
“That’s true. I never would have thought that I’d be running my own business one day.” Everything about the Bel Étage still felt like a dream. Neither her parents nor her husband had ever thought she would amount to much, and now she was completely responsible for the fate of her successful company!
“Anything is possible here at Lake Constance.” Lilo smiled. “On three . . . ,” she said, and took a deep breath. “One, two, three!”
And both women dove, slipping gracefully into the water.
It was midday when Clara spontaneously decided not to let her one-year anniversary slip by uncelebrated, but to enjoy it with friends instead. Elisabeth Kaiser, Lilo, the Weingartens, and Therese—they all had contributed to her finding her feet in Meersburg, and now it was time to thank them. A fine dinner, a few bottles of local wine . . . What a wonderful idea!
“Do me a favor and deliver a few messages for me, would you?” she asked Sophie, who was wiping nonexistent dust from the shelves. As the season drew to a close, the daily rush of tourists visiting the Bel Étage had fallen off. “Start at the Residenz and ask Lilo to reserve a table for me. Then . . .”
Thankful for any distraction, Sophie whipped out a small notebook and made a list of her errands.
Sophie had hardly left when Clara went into her laboratory, where large quantities of fresh raw materials were waiting to be put to use. Clara had spent the summer listening carefully to what her customers wanted: an avid skier wanted an oil-rich facial cream to protect her skin against the cold; another woman wanted a cream that would lighten age spots. Countess Zuzanna had raved about the scent of damask roses and believed it would be ideal for a facial toner.
Clara had kept copious notes, and she wanted to use the quiet months to try out her new ideas and surprise her customers the following spring. She would not, however, be able to fulfill every wish, because although Mr. Weingarten, from whom she continued to buy all her ingredients, did all he could to obtain everything she wanted, he was not always successful. An essence distilled from old damask roses? Something like that would only be available in Grasse directly. Grasse, in France, was the town when it came to special fragrances, he told her.
“A trip to Provence, where the real lavender grows. Or to Grasse on the Côte d’Azur . . .” The pharmacist had sighed, gazing into space at the idea. When he saw Clara’s look of surprise, he added, “A man can dream.”
She was mixing rose and orange blossom water together for a facial toner when the doorbell rang. Clara, with a small, frustrated sigh, pushed everything to one side, straightened her apron, and went out.
“Ah, the good woman at work in her witch’s kitchen, I see?”
“Mr. Schrott,” said Clara, as politely as possible. Her constant flow of customers had protected from her landlord for most of the summer, but now that things were quieter, he kept finding reasons to come by more often. Therese and Clara were normally able to get rid of him quickly, but Sophie downright feared the man. Clara was glad her assistant was not there at that moment.
“So the season’s over, is it? And the golden well’s run dry again?” As always, he stood uncomfortably close to her. She hated how he formulated almost everything as a question, and the way he always brought up her earnings was only slightly less annoying.
“My next customer is due any minute. I’m just getting everything ready for her,” she said, patting her apron.
The man looked at her doubtfully. “And your pretty little assistant is out? Not everyone can afford a salary for a helper . . .”
“Miss Bauer will be back later,” said Clara. “Is it something urgent, Mr. Schrott? If not, my time is tight.” She pointed at the round clock hanging on the wall between the two halves of the shop.
“Oh, but you will have to take a little time for this.” He extracted a crushed envelope from his pants pocket. “It is a written notice that I am raising the rent. Now that you count so many prominent people among your clientele, the minimal rent I charge you is laughable, wouldn’t you say? The shop’s worth a lot more now.”
Clara had to laugh. “And why is it worth a lot more? Because I’m running it!” She did not know herself where she found the audacity, but she did not stop. “And before we talk about raising the rent, would it be too much to ask you to fix all the problems?” She stepped over to the front window. “The rain practically pours in here, and you can feel the draft coming through these cracks from across the room! The plaster is peeling off the walls in the back storeroom. And—”
“Easy, young lady, easy, all right?” Alfred Schrott raised his hands appeasingly. “Why don’t we go around and you can show me everything that needs plugging or oiling? You might not know it yet, but I’m very good with my hands.” He gave Clara a lewd grin and waggled his hands
playfully in the air. Clara mentally rolled her eyes. Oh, nicely done!
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to postpone that tour. Like I said, my next customer will be here any minute.” If only the doorbell really would ring and a customer would step inside.
“If that’s how it is.” Mr. Schrott frowned, but his expression brightened again instantly. “I might be prepared to forego a rent increase altogether. You only have to be a little nice to me.”
Before Clara could reply, the man wrapped his arms around her. She felt his hot breath on her face, his hungry kisses on her cheeks, her mouth, her nose, and his hands grabbing painfully at her breasts. “Let go of me, right now!” Clara screamed, writhing frantically, trying to free herself from the man’s grip. The man had taken leave of his senses!
“Now don’t be like that. You want it, too, a woman like you, without a man; it’s only natural you would want this . . .”
Neither Alfred nor Clara had noticed Lydia Schrott standing at the front window with her forehead pressed against the glass.
So she’d been right! Clara did have her eye on her husband, but it was something else to see for herself the minx seducing Alfred now.
There! They were embracing! And look at that Clara Berg, snuggling against Alfred. Shameless it was, shameless! Lydia knew that men were helpless against a trollop like that, and her kindhearted Alfred more than most. Oh, yes, that ointment-mixer from the north was a hussy, through and through. Making eyes at her Alfred in the hope that he would get rid of Lydia for her. Wanted to get her oily fingers on the house and the shop, no doubt.
Oh, she could barge in and take the slut to task there and then, but she would probably just try to blame Alfred. No, she had a better idea. Just wait, missy. I’ll show you who’s in charge here, thought Lydia as she marched away. Inside the shop, Clara stomped on Mr. Schrott’s foot as hard as she could, and he abruptly stopped pawing his shocked and disheveled tenant.
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 16
