He laughed at that. “Now you’re flattering me. But you’re right about one thing: I feel at home in the Bel Étage. Enough about me. A toast to the here and now!” He raised his wine glass. “And to you, dear Clara. Or may I say, to us?”
With a trembling hand, Clara lifted her glass. She felt a warm tremor pass through her. “To the here and now,” she said quietly, feeling the cool wine run down her throat.
“So!” Stefano abruptly set his glass down. “Now it’s your turn. I want to know everything about you, every secret. I want to see into every corner of your beautiful soul.”
Clara’s heart began to race. Should she reveal her secrets? The truth, once spoken, could not be taken back. But he had revealed a lot about himself. Didn’t she owe him the same? And didn’t she need to know how he would react to her past and what she was working toward for the future? If he could not accept that, it was best to know sooner than later.
She began to speak, haltingly at first. About her marriage to Gerhard. About the beatings. About the many humiliations, large and small, he had heaped on her. About how she had been worn down, how she became fearful and small, just as he wanted her to be. She told him about her divorce and her children and her irrepressible desire to one day have them live with her again.
By the time Clara finished, most of the other tables were empty. “Now I really have let you into every corner of my soul,” she said. “I hope I haven’t shocked you.”
“You have,” Stefano replied, to Clara’s horror. “It shocks me to the bone to hear what a miserable hand life has dealt you. And how, apart from your friends, nobody helped. From now on, I want to be there for you! I want to lift every care from your shoulders and help you get your children back. Bambini belong with their mama.”
“Oh, Stefano,” said Clara, sad and happy at the same time. “I’m afraid only I can help myself. The business has to grow. I have to earn a lot of money to be able to afford a nice apartment and good lawyers. Of course the business is off to a good start, and an apartment is in the works. But I am a long way from leading a respectable, stable life, at least in the eyes of the court. And I would so much like to do more, today, here and now! But what?”
“Your love for your children, how much you miss them . . . these things are making you impatient. I know exactly what you’re feeling,” said Stefano. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. You have achieved so much already. Be proud of that.”
Clara nodded, but she said nothing, fighting back tears. She had rarely felt as understood as she did by Stefano. He had a way of seeing everything so clearly that it made her own heart feel lighter.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to put my nose in any more than I should, but maybe you will allow me a word about something I’ve observed in the last few weeks.” He paused. When Clara said nothing, he went on. “Is it true that most of the people who visit Bel Étage are guests in the hotels here in town?”
Clara looked at him in surprise. What made him think of that now? “Yes. Most of our customers are summer visitors. Hotel guests, or they’ve rented a villa by the lake.”
Stefano’s eyes were bright. “Have you ever considered opening a second beauty shop here in Lilo’s hotel? You’d be going to your customers rather than having them come to you. You’d have greater capacity. You could serve more women, and earn more money.”
Clara had to laugh. “A Bel Étage in Lilo’s hotel? How did you come up with that?”
He shrugged lightly. “To me, it seems a natural step. Your treatments make women happy, so if more of them had the opportunity, well, that would be a good thing.”
“A second Bel Étage . . .” The words tripped hesitantly over Clara’s lips. “When I think about it, I can already see the room I would want to use.” The storage room where she had found some of the furniture for her shop. It would do the job nicely. And surely Lilo would like the idea of earning rent for the room—it wasn’t being used for anything important, after all.
Clara eyed Stefano inquisitively. “A second business would mean twice as much work. I would have to hire and train another assistant, maybe even two. I would have to produce substantially more of my products. I’m the only one who knows the recipes, and I want to keep them secret, so I can’t contract that work out.” She shook her head. “As tempting as it sounds, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.”
“And if I help you? You and I would make such a good team, we could coax the moon from the sky,” Stefano said, looking so deeply into her eyes that she felt almost giddy.
Lilo was thrilled about the idea of a Bel Étage location in her hotel. “And you can use the old laundry next door, too. Ever since we added the catering wing, we haven’t used that laundry. There’s running water, two wash basins, and an old tub for washing your towels. But no daylight, I’m afraid. You’ll have to work by lamp.”
Clara could hardly believe her ears. “Oh, Lilo, thank you so much!” she said.
“Don’t thank me too soon, because I have one condition. Either you manage to get set up and moved in within four weeks, or you’ll have to postpone the entire project until the fall. A construction site is the last thing I need in the high season. It would unsettle my guests too much.”
Clara gulped. Four weeks to turn an old junk room into an elegant beauty shop? “And if I help you? You and I would make such a good team.” Stefano’s voice echoed in her ear. If she stayed in the shop and Sophie took over the treatments in the hotel, it could work.
She held out her right hand. “It’s a deal! Four weeks from today, we celebrate the opening of Bel Étage–Residenzia.”
“Residenzia?” Lilo raised her eyebrows. “That sounds very Italian.”
Clara laughed. “Do you think so? The name just came to me, and you know what? I think it sounds very chic.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Clara insisted on decorating the Bel Étage–Residenzia in the same colors as her shop in Unterstadtstrasse. She found the combination of the light lime green and the lavender both invigorating and calming; plus, it had become something of a trademark.
The painter, the carpenter, then a visit to Friedrichshafen to visit a man who dealt in used furniture—each day from early morning until late evening was filled with a breathless buzz of activity. But Clara was not alone. She had Stefano by her side.
“Go choose the fabric for the curtains. I’ll keep an eye on the painting,” he would say. Or “Let me come along to the furniture place. I’ll get a good price for you!” Clara kept all his help and suggestions in mind. They spent more and more time together, and grew more and more familiar with each other, but there were no more advances from Stefano, no declarations of love . . . perhaps because, when she thought their conversation might be moving in that direction, she quickly steered them another way.
Sometimes, late at night, with the day’s work finished, they sat together with a glass of wine, and Clara wanted nothing more than to have him put his arm around her. How would it feel to kiss him? His lips on hers . . . She felt her body begin to vibrate slightly whenever she was near him. Was it just her imagination, or was she more alive when she was with him? But would she say yes if he asked her to marry him? When she thought of that possibility, she still felt unsure, so she was thankful for the reserve he showed. Time would tell how things went between them. For now, it felt good just to be together.
It felt good, too, not to have to make every decision by herself. Stefano dealt with the craftsmen, paid invoices, kept track of deliveries—there were so many things he took care of that otherwise would have drained her time.
But even with Stefano’s help, there were days when Clara hardly knew which end was up. She was making do with five or maybe six hours of sleep each night, because when she was done with her appointments and everything needed for the new shop, there was still the daily work of making creams, soaps, and lotions.
When, late in the evening, Clara fell into bed exhausted, she often cast a glance at the stack of
books lying neglected on her bedside table. When was the last time that she had turned a page in Cleopatra’s Beauty Secrets? Or learned something new from the Atlas of Diseases of the Skin? She had always cherished reading.
And yet, Clara had rarely felt as good as she did these days. Slowly, she began to believe that she was no longer the little gray mouse that had crept out of her Berlin suburb, a little mouse only able to oblige her husband. Slowly, she grew used to the fact that she was a successful businesswoman, just like Isabelle, Lilo, and Josephine.
“Most important of all is to cleanse the face thoroughly. Unfortunately, the upper-class women still believe—quite wrongly—that washing with water is something only the lower classes do. Nothing cleans the skin as well as water does, but you really have to splash it on. Look.” Clara dipped both hands into the basin and demonstrated what she considered to be the best face-washing method.
Evi Förster, who was twenty years old, and Ruth Stein, who was a year older, watched closely. Clara was training them to be beauty assistants. They were supposed to start work the following week in Bel Étage–Residenzia, where Clara’s first assistant, Sophie, would take them under her wing.
It was Stefano who had suggested taking on the young and exceptionally attractive young women. Previously, they had worked as waitresses in the harbor restaurant. Stefano had noticed them when he was there for lunch.
“The prettier and younger your assistants are, the better. Customers will want to be just as young and pretty,” he had explained. When Clara had met with the two young women, she was sure they would work out well.
“Now try washing your face like that yourselves,” Clara encouraged them. “You have to know what it feels like before you can recommend it to a customer.”
Both assistants washed their faces as Clara had. Stefano smiled. Clara was good at training them.
Clara handed Evi and Ruth towels. “Once the face has been cleaned, we can start with the treatment. It’s best to recommend no more than one face cream and one facial toner. Anything more seems to confuse most women. Beauty care should be simple and fun.”
Stefano’s smile vanished. What was Clara telling them? Why sell just one or two products when women were prepared to buy several at once? He was about to interrupt, but he stopped himself.
“Any cream has to be massaged deep into the skin. This must be done with sensitivity, with small circular movements, like this,” said Clara, and demonstrated her technique. “The worst thing you can do is be rough. Never beat or pull. We’re not rubbing fat into a roast. We’re handling delicate female skin.”
The two young women laughed. Stefano, too, had to smile. Clara certainly had a vivid way of describing something.
“Show each customer how to do the massage themselves at home. Then they can get the most benefit out of my creams. So far so good?”
Clara’s assistants nodded enthusiastically, and Stefano’s eyes narrowed.
“Why is it actually so important to you to explain so much to your customers?” he asked Clara when she was finished with her lesson for the day. “All you’re doing is loading them down with knowledge unnecessarily. They should be the ones coming to you. They should be relying on your advice and your expertise. If you go turning them into experts, all you’ll do is lose their loyalty.”
“I see it differently. I would like every woman to be able to ensure her own well-being. Starting when we are very small, women are brought up to care for others. But when it comes to caring for ourselves, we hesitate. That is something I would like to change. If that means that my customers take my advice and, at the same time, use other creams and tinctures, then so be it. That’s something I have to accept.”
Stefano had rarely heard such nonsense! But again he managed to stop himself before he said too much. “It’s late, darling,” he said, as mildly as possible. “Let’s have a little to eat and a glass of wine.”
But Clara waved off the offer. “I’m running out of my orange blossom water. I have to make more, urgently. I also want to do a couple of experiments with bath oils so I can add them to my line. After all that, I really have to write the invitations to the grand opening next week.” Her forehead creased with concern. “I had been hoping so much that Countess Zuzanna would come to Lake Constance this summer after all. I’m sure that I could have won some new customers among the nobles through her. Now that I have the second business, having more customers is more important than ever.”
“It is just as important to keep your existing customers as loyal as possible, darling!” said Stefano, and he kissed her hand to take the edge off his words.
A short time later, Stefano was eating soup at the restaurant by the harbor, which the tourists, a little pretentiously, called the marina. But for the local people it was simply the harbor, and the so-called yacht club was not a private club but a small, modest restaurant with a few tables and fewer dishes on the menu. Still, it remained a popular meeting point not only for locals, but also for rich tourists, who could tie up their elegant boats right outside the windows. Stefano, too, liked the place. He enjoyed the banter with the rich and beautiful, and he enjoyed buying a bottle of champagne or sparkling wine. As long as he still had money from selling the hair and wigs, he could be generous.
The previous week, he had managed to sell all the hair and wigs for a good price across the lake in Switzerland. He had left his two horses there, too, but had made the brewery owner who bought them promise to take good care of the animals. He had been a little sad to see the man lead the brown away. But in his new life he needed neither wigs nor horses. Because from that day forth, he was banking everything on a different horse.
Clara Berg.
When his own money began to run low, he would be able to draw from the deep well called the Bel Étage. At least, that was his plan. But his plan had developed a small crack that day.
Had he been mistaken about Clara’s talents as a businesswoman? What if the well ran dry faster than he thought? If things went south with his source of funds, then he would be married to a woman who he did, indeed, hold in high regard, but did not love. And he would have a business that was far less profitable than he hoped, a millstone around his neck. He imagined a far different future for himself than that!
Clara had to make her customers loyal to her. All those fine ladies were supposed to come back hungry for more of Clara’s expensive products. But if Clara kept handing out her selfless advice, and if she trained her assistants to do the same, the women would pursue their beauty care themselves—no matter what Clara believed.
While he grumbled to himself about all of this, he looked around to see who was at the restaurant that evening. Estelle Morgan was sitting at one of the tables along the side. As usual, the actress was surrounded by a group of young admirers. They laughed at all her jokes, sighed when she sighed, groaned when Estelle told them to. Stefano sniffed contemptuously. Lapdogs, all of them.
The next moment, the American actress looked in his direction. Stefano smiled and nodded, then he withdrew a notebook from his vest pocket and pretended to write something down. Funny coincidence that Estelle was there. He had been planning to invite her to the opening of Bel Étage–Residenzia, but right now he preferred to keep his own company. He had to think some things through.
Clara was simply too good-natured. That was the problem. He pushed his empty soup bowl away. All those years at the side of her despotic husband had made her soft and weak, though the image she showed to the outside world was that of the strong businesswoman.
But what did that mean for him, for their future together? Did his big chance lie precisely in her weakness?
If he succeeded in winning her heart, and if, after that, he managed to keep her as far away from her customers as possible, and away from the meddlesome Therese . . . and as long as Clara stayed in her laboratory stirring her pots of cream . . . then she couldn’t start babbling the kind of nonsense she had that afternoon.
He glanced over again at
Estelle’s table, where everyone was laughing affectedly. A shudder ran through him. Was he even one notch better than Estelle’s lapdogs? He, too, thought carefully about every word, every sentence, that he said to Clara. Don’t push too hard. Move with caution.
The previous week, he had tried to steer their conversation to the topic of getting engaged. But before he could even get the words in his mouth, Clara had hurriedly changed the subject. Like a horse shying at an obstacle.
“Because I can!” Suddenly, he had those words in his ear. When and where had he heard them? It took him a moment to remember the mountain climber that he and Michele had met on their last journey into the mountains together. Michele had asked the young man why in the world he wanted to climb Chersogno. “Because I can,” the climber had replied. As simple as that.
And what could he do? Stefano wondered as the whir of voices around him grew louder. In the past, he had always believed that he had a way with women—he was not the most successful caviè for nothing. Had he overestimated himself and his talents? There was still no engagement, no promise of marriage. And what he had to say carried no weight in the Bel Étage without Clara’s backing, as much as he might like it otherwise. Now and then, Clara pressed some cash into his hand so that he could settle the invoices from the carpenters and other craftsmen. When he skimmed a little of that for himself, no one noticed. But should he be satisfied with that?
Piano, he chided himself. Go slowly. It wasn’t as if he were just marking time. In most things, Clara already took his advice. He resolved to have a tighter grip on the reins by the end of the year. His good looks, his charm, and the perfect manners his father had beaten into him—women appreciated all of it. He had the rich wives of Meersburg and the smug young dames and duchesses eating out of his hand just as he had with the farm girls whose hair he’d cut off. It was ridiculous to think that his charm would fail him with Clara.
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 24
