Either way, his day had certainly been interesting. Over coffee with the two women, he had learned that the first tourists of the season were already in town and that many more were expected through the season, which would last until late autumn. Therese Himmelsreich had added willingly that one could earn a lot of money from the tourists who came to visit.
He had been planning to head toward Friedrichshafen or Lindau and to look into opening a shop there. Or perhaps to go on as far as Munich or Frankfurt. But maybe this small town beside Lake Constance would be well suited to his business. He had asked the two women whether, by chance, there was a shop free in town, but neither knew of one.
It didn’t matter. He would find out everything he needed to know, he thought, as he drank a mouthful of Lake Constance white wine. He looked thoughtfully at the glass in his hand. The wine was fresh and fruity, similar to wines he had drunk back home. Was that an omen? A sign that Meersburg would become his new home? The small town was busy and vibrant, but there was nothing hectic about it. And because of the many tourists, he did not stand out, which, in his case, was not a bad thing. If he played his cards right, he would be safe here. Why would anybody in Italy ever think to come looking for him there?
The biggest question was what he was supposed to do with all the hair and wigs. He could not possibly try to sell them openly. If he were selling apricots or fabric, that would be no problem at all. But his line of trade was so exotic that word would spread quickly if he opened a shop there. What had made him give the hairdresser the wigs so impulsively? It would be better if no one connected him with the topic of hair in the future. Which meant that he had to come up with another plan to support himself, and soon.
They can certainly cook here, at least, he thought, pushing another forkful of the butter-fried fish into his mouth. It tasted delicious.
But his acquaintances that afternoon had been even more delicious, he thought next. Therese Himmelsreich and Clara Berg. The two women seemed to make a good team, as he and his brother once had.
Clara Berg. She was beautiful and, by all appearances, she was also a shrewd businesswoman. Earning money with the beauty of women—that she had even come up with the idea was astounding to him. It was not so far removed from what his own family did. Something told him that Clara Berg was only at the start of her success, and then it occurred to him that the hairdresser must also have recognized that Clara was destined to succeed, and that was why she had become her partner. But such partnerships were not written in stone. Every alliance had its weaknesses. Petty jealousies, different business perspectives . . .
An idea came to him abruptly. He set aside his cutlery, blinked, hastily gulped down a mouthful of wine. What if he were to join forces with Clara Berg?
His smile vanished when he suddenly heard Italian being spoken at the next table. He lowered his head instinctively and covertly looked over. Three older men. Faces he had never seen before. Stefano relaxed a little.
What are you afraid of? he chided himself. The famiglia couldn’t find him. Roberto Totosano no longer existed. Zurich and Elva were far away. His name was Stefano Santo. And as Stefano, he had nothing to fear.
He finished his wine and signaled to the waiter that he wanted to pay. It couldn’t hurt to be a little cautious while he sounded out his chances with Clara Berg. And there was something else he had to make sure of—what he had said to Clara and Therese could not be unsaid, but that was as far as it could go. He would never mention the hair trade to anyone else, because a trade so unusual would attract far too much attention.
He cast a final glance at the Italian men. Attention—that’s something I don’t need.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the weeks that followed, hardly a day passed without Stefano dropping in at the Bel Étage. His search for a suitable shop was proving more difficult than anticipated. Meersburg was small and the number of shops limited. He had something in mind, but good things took time, and he needed to be patient. For the time being, Stefano had more time on his hands than he wanted.
Sometimes, he brought fresh strawberries. Others times, roasted almonds or sweet pastries. Clara, Therese, and Sophie, who were so busy some days that they had no time even for lunch, descended on his gifts ravenously. He always had some cheerful quip at the ready and could make the three women and all their customers laugh.
“What a lovely man,” sighed Fabienne from the flower shop while Clara applied a facial mask. Stefano had just left the shop with a bright “Ciao, bellissime!” “If I weren’t married . . .”
“Then a good-looking businessman like Stefano wouldn’t be after you,” Therese said, impudent as ever. “I think I could get used to him myself . . .”
“Ha! As if Stefano Santo would even look at a hairdresser,” the florist shot back. “Clara, a little more of that wonderful mask, please! And if it comes to that, I still look fabulous.”
Although Clara said nothing, she had wondered more than once why he came by so often.
One beautiful evening in May, Stefano came by just before closing time. He wanted to invite the three women to a glass of wine down on the esplanade. But Therese was already going out with Thierry, and Sophie had plans to visit her fiancé, which left only Clara.
“I don’t actually have the time right now. I need to make more creams tonight,” she said regretfully, for which she earned a sharp jab in the back from Therese.
“You can do that tomorrow evening,” said the hairdresser.
“Absolutely. And I’ll help you,” Stefano added. “Of course, only if you let me take you out now.”
And so it happened that Clara, for the first time in many weeks, did not spend the evening in the laboratory, but instead went for a glass of wine and then a walk alongside Lake Constance with Stefano. At ten o’clock, he escorted her back to the Hotel Residenz, said goodnight, and gallantly kissed her hand. Clara, almost remorseful, watched as he walked away. She had not enjoyed herself so much for quite a while.
“So I hear that Stefano Santo has his eye on you,” said Lilo when they set off to go swimming the next morning.
“What? Where did you hear that?” said Clara, aghast. “We just had a glass of wine.”
“Ah. I see,” said Lilo with a knowing look. “And a little bird has told me that he drops into your Bel Étage every day.”
“Lilo, there’s nothing there, believe me,” said Clara with a laugh. “Until his business takes off, he simply has too much free time. That’s all. And he doesn’t know very many people in Meersburg yet.”
“Oh, you’re mistaken there. A man like Stefano can make contacts very fast.” Lilo pushed aside some reeds crossing the path. “A few days ago he ate at the Residenz. He sat at a table with three other men, businessmen who were at the hotel for only one night.”
“Did he?” asked Clara, as casually as possible. Where had she been that evening? No doubt hard at work in her laboratory.
“And Estelle Morgan, the American actress living in the hotel right now, told me that she bumped into Stefano a few days ago down at the marina. It seems that she was on her way to a private party, and she asked him to go along.”
Clara furrowed her brow. “Did he go?”
Lilo let out a small laugh. “I don’t actually know. But what I’m trying to tell you is this: if a man like Stefano Santo is spending so much time with one woman—you, in this case—then it definitely means something.”
Clara’s heart beat a little faster, but she shook her head resolutely. “I think you must be wrong. You said it yourself—Stefano could have anyone he wants! What would he see in me? A woman my age, with children she can’t even see, a divorcée . . . if he knew all that, he’d run away as fast as he could.”
“A woman doesn’t have to reveal all her secrets at once, does she?” Lilo raised her eyebrows and said no more.
Two nights later, Clara was making a rose-scented facial toner when someone knocked on the glass front door. Was it Stefano? Was he going to keep h
is promise and help her in the laboratory? Clara smiled at the thought. She was a little confused by the nervous fluttering she felt in her heart as she unlocked the door and stood facing him.
“Clara, I apologize, but I would very much like to kidnap you again. I have rented a rowboat. The sunset out on the water is so beautiful—would you make me a happy man and come out onto the lake with me?” His eyes sparkled with anticipation.
“And here I thought you wanted to help me with my work,” Clara said with a smile as she untied her white apron. She could make the rosewater toner in the morning just as easily.
A short time later, they were gliding through the water in the rowboat. While Stefano pulled at the oars as if he had never done anything else, Clara dangled her hand in the water. It felt good not to do anything at all. Not to speak, not to think . . .
It surprised her to realize that apart from once or twice on a ferry, this was her first time out in a boat.
The sun was settling orange over the lake.
“Look at the houses. They look as if someone’s dipped them in gold and bronze,” said Clara, emotion in her words. “In all the time I’ve been here, I’ve never really looked at Meersburg from the water. It’s truly beautiful, and very different from walking through the narrow streets.”
Stefano grinned. “Sometimes looking at things differently pays off.” He steered toward a small bay. “If you like, we can stop here. I had a small picnic prepared for us.”
“A picnic by the lake—you really are spoiling me,” Clara said. “I’m going to start feeling like a rich tourist any minute.”
“Forget the tourists,” said Stefano dismissively. “I want you to feel like a queen.”
A blanket, bread and cheese, and a cold bottle of champagne—Stefano had thought of everything.
“I’m starting to feel downright royal,” said Clara, sipping cautiously at her glass of bubbly. The next moment, she laughed out loud. “Oh, if my friend Isabelle had seen me doing that! She always says that champagne should be drunk in large gulps, because that’s when its aromas really shine.”
“Then let’s give it a try.” Stefano raised his glass and clinked it with hers. Then he drank a large mouthful and said, “Your friend knows about champagne?”
Clara nodded. “Oh, more than knows about it. She owns a very important winery in the Champagne region, and she and her husband are always winning prizes for their champagnes. And as if that’s not enough, my other best friend, Josephine, is just as successful, maybe even more so.” She shrugged, a staged look of concern on her face. “Compared to them, I feel almost pathetic.”
“You can’t think anything of the sort, Clara,” Stefano said vehemently. “Your Bel Étage is something very special. In all my travels, I’ve never seen another shop like it. You’ll go far, I’m sure of it.” He spoke the last words quietly, then looked out silently over the lake.
What is going on inside him? Clara wondered, and she felt her stomach tighten nervously. When they had taken a walk a few nights previous, Stefano had told her that he still hadn’t found suitable premises. But every day, he was making new contacts, and he hoped that something would appear on the horizon soon. His family in Italy was counting on him, after all, and he had said he couldn’t even contemplate being unable to accomplish what they wanted of him.
The mood had been light and easy just a moment before, but then she’d started showing off with her oh-so-successful friends, and that had set him thinking. How stupid of her! Maybe Gerhard hadn’t been wrong when he used to accuse of her speaking without thinking.
“Signor Santo has rented his room indefinitely,” said Sophie when Clara told her that, the day before, he had picked her up from work once again.
“Indefinitely?” Clara repeated, her voice trembling a little. What did that mean?
She would really have preferred to talk with Therese about Stefano and how she feared that if he didn’t find the right place in Meersburg soon, he would move on. But the hairdresser was spending less and less time there—very much to Clara’s chagrin, not to mention that of Therese’s customers. And Clara would just have to make do with Sophie. The young assistant was clearly enjoying her role as Clara’s earpiece. She leaned forward and said, “He seems to have enough money, at least. Mother says he always chooses one of the more expensive dishes on the menu, and that he drinks a glass of our good wine every day.”
Clara smiled wistfully. “I can believe it. Stefano Santo is the kind of man who can enjoy life to the fullest. I’ve never met anyone like him. I find him simply refreshing. In everything he does. Just imagine, when we went walking yesterday, he insisted on taking me to the Brettschneider Café. You know, Fabienne had just canceled her appointment at short notice, so I had a free hour. But if I’d known what he was planning . . .” Clara shook her head, but she was practically beaming.
“What?” Sophie almost screamed.
Although the shop was empty and no one could overhear them, Clara lowered her voice. “Stefano asked if I would like cake. And I said yes, but you can’t imagine what happened. The waiters brought out more and more plates of cake. Chocolate éclairs, cream-meringue pie, tarts, fruit cake—the table was covered in cake! Sabine Weingarten passed by just then, would you believe, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head at the extravagance.” Clara smiled. No man had ever spoiled her like Stefano.
“You’ve got it good,” said Sophie, sounding a little envious. “I’d be happy just to have Ernst treat me to a cup of coffee now and then. But he thinks anything like that is a waste of money. It’s not like we can’t eat and drink in my parents’ guesthouse for free,” she added ironically. She gestured tragically. “Free? We’re there for two heartbeats, and my mother suddenly discovers a hundred things for me to do. Before I know it, I’m standing at the sink in the kitchen, and Ernst is putting his heels up at his usual table. He’s my sweetheart, but he doesn’t understand that I would like to be the one getting served occasionally.”
“Then I wonder if he’s the right man for you?” Clara said, only half joking.
Sophie sighed. “I’d like a Stefano of my own. Doesn’t help, though; he’s only got eyes for you.”
“Nonsense,” Clara said. “Our outings are just a way for him to pass the time while nothing’s happening with his business. He still doesn’t know many people here.”
Sophie Bauer glanced sidelong at her boss.
On her way home that evening, Sophie could not stop thinking about what Clara had told her earlier. As clever as Clara was in some things, in others she seemed utterly naive. Anybody could see that the good-looking Italian was trying to win her for himself. And who could miss that Clara had fallen head over heels for him, too?
Chapter Twenty-Five
What a morning! It was nine thirty as Clara hurried from the Hotel Residenz toward her shop. First, she overslept and was late meeting Lilo for their early-morning swim. Lilo was already far out in the lake when Clara stepped into the water. But the lake was magnificent and the water deliciously warm! Afterward, though they both had a busy day ahead, they sat on the sun-warmed gravel shore and let the sun and the breeze dry them. Sunshine, the gentle rippling of the water, the whispering of the undulating reeds—Clara could not remember the last time she had felt so good.
“Did I tell you? Isabelle sent a letter. She’s planning to visit sometime this summer,” said Lilo. “She’s going to see a specialist in Munich with her daughter, then bring her to spend a little time with us. She promised to book a room as soon as she knows when she’s coming.”
Clara, who had her eyes closed and was enjoying the sun’s warmth, was on her feet in a second. “Isabelle is coming here? Then we have to get Josephine to come down, too. We must!”
“The four of us together again, just like the old days? How fantastic! We could . . .” And they had gotten so caught up with talk and plans that they had completely forgotten the time.
Before Clara met Stefano, she would never have been late for
work. But now she was less strict with herself. He had awakened a lightness in her that she never knew existed. Cause for concern? Or something to celebrate? Clara wondered as she looked longingly toward the Esplanade Café. She was so late that she would have to get by without breakfast. Her first appointment—with Baroness von Böttinger—should actually have started at nine thirty, so Clara would be at least ten minutes late. She knew, though, that Sophie would have had the presence of mind to apply a cleansing mask for the baroness.
She had just passed through the gate that marked the entrance to Unterstadtstrasse when she saw the small crowd gathered in front of the shop, Sophie and Stefano among them. Oh, what now? she wondered, and her good mood evaporated.
“Mrs. Berg, finally!” Sophie cried. “Therese hasn’t come, and I don’t know where she is. And I don’t have my key. Therese borrowed it yesterday because she forgot her own.”
“Unheard of! Forgotten like the dead, that’s what we are!” grumbled Baroness Viola von Böttinger.
“Oh, a few minutes is neither here nor there, is it?” said a second woman, who had an appointment with Sophie. “Mr. Santo has been showing us some excellent breathing exercises while we have been waiting. Very good for cultivating one’s beauty, he says.”
“Not that you would need that, dear lady,” Stefano demurred. “Nor you, Baroness. But I’m sure you could teach them to your less attractive friends, couldn’t you?”
“Aren’t you the charmer!” the baroness laughed, and she whacked him playfully on his arm with her fan.
Clara’s hand trembled with suppressed anger as she inserted the key in the lock. It was the second time that month that Therese had failed to open up as agreed.
“Sophie, please light the stove so we can warm water quickly.”
“I can do that,” said Stefano, and he strode off toward the back room before Clara could stop him. But she was grateful, and relieved to have him there. She turned her attention to Baroness von Böttinger.
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 22
