“Believe it or not, apart from your Bel Étage, there are other commercial enterprises in the world,” he answered. “Mr. Martens has made me a very interesting offer.”
For a moment, Clara felt relieved to know that her first suspicion was wrong. But then a new threat entered her mind. “I thought the Martenses left ages ago. Is he trying to steal you away?” She gave him a pained smile. Why was he telling her this so casually? And at the last minute?
“Keep in mind that his wife is a customer of yours, and it is never wrong to stay on the good side of such influential people,” he said. “Besides, his latest enterprise sounds very interesting indeed.”
“How can you leave me alone with so many decisions to make? And then there’s everything that needs to be discussed with the carpenters and painters and . . . ,” Clara said. Distraught, she sank back onto the bed.
Stefan shrugged. “You can put the trip off, of course, until I have the time to go with you.”
Was it something in his voice? A small, almost imperceptible change in his eyes, as if they were no longer on the same level, as if he were looking down on her? Don’t be so sensitive. You’re imagining things. She tried to calm down. Cancel the trip—it was tempting. No more of this tightness in her belly, no more fear of the unknown. But would she really feel better? Or would she feel like a failure, forever a coward?
Abruptly, she stood up and smoothed her skirt. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll go to Baden-Baden by myself, and I’ll handle the decisions that have to be made as best I can,” she said with all the composure she could muster, listening to herself in disbelief.
Just as disbelieving was the look that Stefan gave her.
“Your room in the Villa Augusta is ready, of course. But perhaps madam would prefer to enjoy a glass of champagne on the terrace while the porter takes her baggage up to her room?” The concierge pointed out toward the inviting restaurant terrace.
Clara thought for a moment. Would she be comfortable sitting alone in an unknown town? She still had two hours until her appointment with the real estate agent, and she was planning to spend the time in her hotel room. But it was a lovely day . . .
“Please bring me a glass of champagne and a little something to eat, if you would,” she said, easily overcoming her reluctance.
The concierge smiled at her. “You will enjoy the view over Lichtentaler Allee. The chestnut trees are still in bloom, and they are rather breathtaking. Henry Ford and his wife are doing the same, by the way.” He nodded conspiratorially in the direction of an elegantly dressed couple drinking coffee at a white cast-iron table.
A bowl of strawberries, canapés with salmon and ham—the Brenners Hotel knew how to pamper its guests, Clara thought. The champagne cooled her throat. For a moment, she had to fight the urge to pinch herself. Was she really sitting a table away from one of the most famous men in America?
What a pity that Stefan isn’t here to share this lovely view, she thought as the sunshine tickled her nose. If he’d been trying to show her that she was helpless and stuck without him, then he’d cut off his nose to spite his face. Clara laughed to herself. Darling, I saw through you long ago, she thought, and it was a pleasant thought. And I have to disappoint you, I’m afraid, because I’m planning to be as successful in Baden-Baden as anywhere else!
Astonishingly, the thought that Stefan might have engaged in a power struggle with her did not worry her very much. Maybe it was in every man’s nature to want to establish his authority over women. In the past, she would have spent hours brooding over what she had done wrong and how she could placate Stefan. But those days were over. She’d spent enough years dancing to a man’s tune. Either she and Stefan danced together or . . . or . . . No appropriate threat occurred to her.
Clara took one of the canapés and bit into it.
The day was too beautiful for such unnecessary thoughts.
Chapter Thirty
Meersburg, August 1909
Dear Josephine,
I am writing today with the blackest of consciences, because I have not written to you in such a long time. And I must say right now that I am therefore all the more thankful for your regular letters and reports about my dear children. Almost every evening, before I go to sleep, I take out your letters from the drawer in my bedside table and read them over and over. Sophie’s pencil drawing is hanging on the wall in my laboratory so that I can admire it every day. My heart is so heavy when I think of my children! I miss them so much that it hurts.
Stefan believes it is best to wait a while longer before I hire a lawyer to represent me against Gerhard. We’ve only been married half a year, after all, and, as you’ve also told me, it is important to demonstrate stability to the judge who will make a decision about visitation rights. One step at a time—I have to remind myself of that every time my impatience threatens to get the upper hand.
Clara looked up with a frown and out through the open window into the summer evening, then she started a new paragraph.
We have been living in the new apartment since June. Two of the rooms are still empty because I want to set them up for the children. The marriage suits me well, and Stefan and I feel very comfortable together in the apartment. If you could see our lovely furniture! Stefan chose it all himself, and he has a very good sense of style. Oh, Josephine, it is so nice not to wake up alone. Stefan is a late sleeper and not much use for anything in the morning, but I even enjoy watching him sleep. That has to be true love, doesn’t it?
Apart from that, Stefan is a great help in the business. He works tirelessly to ensure we have excellent contacts among the high and mighty, and he’s brought in so many new customers. He is—
Clara stopped. Should she tell Josephine that Stefan was out practically every evening at dinners or parties while she stayed in her laboratory working? Would Josephine understand such an unconventional division of their labors? She and Adrian were always putting their heads together, and so were Isabelle and Daniel. Maybe it was better not to mention it, she decided, and struck out the last two words.
Stefan does the accounts, too. And I am so happy not to have to think about all the numbers! Delivery notes, bills, contracts here, cancellations there—every day, there’s more and more of it. And is that any surprise now that I have three shops to run? The new place in Baden-Baden was booked out for skin consultations and treatments for weeks within a few days of opening, can you believe it? The three women I hired and trained are turning out to be very skillful and capable. At least that’s what my first assistant, Sophie, tells me. She volunteered to spend the rest of the summer in Baden-Baden to see that everything runs as it should. When I finished training the new assistants, I returned to Meersburg with the good feeling that I was leaving my new shop in the best of hands.
Content with what she’d written, Clara set her pen aside and drank some of the cool white wine Stefan had brought her before he had gone off to the summer festival.
How is the automobile business going? Here at the lake, we see more of them every week, and Stefan goes on and on about them. Speaking of automobiles, while I was in Baden-Baden, I met Henry Ford and his wife. They were staying in the same hotel, and we got into a conversation the very first evening. Of course, I had to show off a little by saying that I knew automobile importers, and we all had to laugh when Henry Ford told me that Adrian was his biggest importer in the entire empire! The world is very small sometimes. His wife promised that she would come to Bel Étage on her next visit to Baden-Baden. And I was able to meet with Countess Zuzanna there, as well. Her influence opened many doors for me in the town beside the Oos. She is such a good soul . . .
It had been a strange encounter, Clara recalled. An invitation to the countess’s townhouse! She had wanted the chance to talk privately with the countess, but Pawel, the countess’s young lover, circled around them. He whined about this and moaned about that, finding everything tedious and bleak—the town, the summer visitors, the parties, everything, simply everything! A
nd he kept staring resentfully at Clara, as if she were disturbing his circling. Only when the countess pressed a few bills into his hand did he finally disappear.
Zuzanna had sighed as he left. “Isn’t he a magnificent, wild young colt? You have to give him a lot of sugar to keep him tame,” she had said with an apologetic shrug.
Clara had smiled but said nothing. She guessed that the young man was on his way to one of the private gaming rooms, of which there were many in Baden-Baden. Gamble away Zuzanna’s money, well, he could certainly do that! The countess was such a warmhearted, generous woman. She deserved to find the great love of her life and not some freeloader who only had his eye on her money! Thinking these things, a strange sense of uneasiness had come over Clara, and she chose not to follow the feeling. Everyone was different. Everyone had their own ways of living life. End of story.
Not another word to Josephine about her meeting with Zuzanna, she decided, and turned to another topic.
When will you visit me again here at Lake Constance? The lake is becoming more and more popular as a vacation destination. The royal court of Württemberg moved into the castle in Friedrichshafen weeks ago, and there are nobles in from Italy and Baden and a lot of French visitors. I’m having terrible trouble trying to meet all the requests for appointments from the summer guests, but I will always find time for you and Isabelle!
Clara smiled. Even though no plans had been made, the simple thought of a reunion with her friends was enough to lighten her mood.
As happy as my success makes me, I still haven’t solved some of the problems. My biggest concern is that I simply cannot keep up with the production anymore! Sometimes I am up half the night making products in the laboratory, and the next day I still run out of a cream or a facial toner. You can imagine how my customers react to that . . . Stefan is pressuring me to stop giving treatments in the shop and dedicate myself completely to production. After all, I’m the only one who knows the recipes. It would give me more time, but I love the contact with my customers, and I simply can’t bring myself to hide myself away in the lab. I’m sure you understand that, dearest Jo, don’t you?
Clara yawned. She was so tired that she actually felt a little dizzy. She longed for her bed, but it wasn’t even completely dark outside.
She ended the letter with best wishes to Berlin, then took a fresh sheet of notepaper. Would it be all right to simply copy Josephine’s letter and send the copy off to Isabelle? As tired as she was, writing an entirely new letter was beyond her.
Berlin, September 1909
Dear Clara,
When so much time passes without hearing from a friend, it can mean that things are going either exceptionally well or quite poorly, so I was elated to read that you have become something like the “beauty queen” of Lake Constance! I’ve always known you were capable of a great deal, but I honestly did not count on your undertaking being such a runaway success.
A smile crept across Josephine’s face. So all three of them had amounted to something.
As I write to you, I am in the office, waiting for a telephone to be installed. Admittedly, I don’t know many people who already own a telephone, but Adrian says that is changing quickly and that they will soon be commonplace. Wouldn’t that be something for you, too, dear Clara? A telephone? Or perhaps you already have one? Or maybe Lilo does at the hotel? Then we could actually talk to each other instead of just writing letters. And I could hear with my own ears all about what you are doing in your free time. Are you able to enjoy the lake, at least a little? Do you still go swimming with Lilo? Or is the business eating up all your time? Because that’s what I read between the lines of your last missive.
Distracted by her thoughts, Josephine looked around the crowded office that had become her and Adrian’s second home. And not just theirs—their ten-year-old daughter, Amelie, now preferred to come to the office than to go home, where only the maid and the cook would be waiting for her. She even had her own small desk set up in a quiet corner apart from the two large, solid oak desks that Josephine and Adrian used. And here Josephine was, casting a critical eye on Clara’s workload, when she herself spent more time in the office than at home? Clara would know what was good for her.
Your children are doing splendidly. Matthias and Sophie came back just last week from their summer vacation by the Baltic Sea. Gerhard rented a house there. I heard about it from their stepmother when I happened to bump into her in the city.
Josephine swallowed. Happened to bump into her in the city? Why was she lying to Clara? Why didn’t she simply tell her that Marianne Gropius and she had become friends? Or that they sometimes went out cycling together? Once, Matthias had even joined them, and he’d been in such high spirits that he rode so far ahead they lost sight of him. “How is it that Gerhard lets you go out riding?” she had asked Marianne. “He would never, ever have allowed his previous wife to do it. He used to be vehemently opposed to women riding bicycles.”
Marianne only smirked. “I don’t ask him for permission, that’s all. I just do what I feel like doing. Gerhard knew from the start that I could think for myself.”
Josephine, who could still clearly remember how Gerhard had tormented, humiliated, and demeaned Clara, could hardly believe how well his second wife was able to stand up to him. More than that, Marianne Gropius seemed happy with Gerhard. But she could not write that in a letter to Clara! Josephine was sure Clara would resent her friendship with her children’s stepmother. The same applied to Marianne, to whom Josephine rarely mentioned her friendship with Clara. Some things are probably better kept to oneself, Josephine thought a little sadly.
Meersburg, September 1909
Dear Josephine,
It is a beautiful time of year here at the lake, with the September sun dousing everything in golden light. The smell of the ripening grapes wafts down from the hillsides and spreads a light sweetness all through the town.
Perhaps I really should consider getting a telephone. It would be very nice to be able to chat with you right now.
Instead, I find myself writing about a small incident that happened two weeks ago. You will like it, my dear, because it shows that there really is more to my life than work.
Stefan came to the shop and told me that he wanted to go on a little excursion with me. Just like that! He can be so spontaneous sometimes, my beautiful Italian! We drove up to the top of the lake—our first time together in an automobile!—to attend the private opening of an exhibition by a young painter. Don’t ask me what kind of automobile it was. I was far too excited to take in details like that. Dearest Josephine, you can’t imagine how much I enjoyed that drive. With the lake air whistling around my ears, the sun in my face, Stefan beside me, I could have driven to the end of the world. At the same time, I was acutely aware of how little time I had spent enjoying the lake this summer. And yes, I admit that all the work has meant that I haven’t been swimming even once since returning from Baden-Baden. But in the weeks ahead I plan to change that, as long as the water is still warm enough.
Stefan met the painter, a young woman, not long ago at a reception in Meersburg. She creates wonderful paintings of flowers. I could have stood and gazed at them for hours, and I honestly believe I discovered my love of art that day. In the future, I want to go to more exhibitions. Then I bought five of the paintings, a treat for myself. They depict lush bouquets, all the flowers in full bloom. The paintings are now hanging in our living room and in the shop. Whenever I look at them, it seems to me that I can see the three of us in the pictures. You, Isabelle, and me. Because aren’t we, too, in the bloom of our lives?
Clara suddenly thought how one of them was blooming more than the others. In her last letter to Clara, Isabelle had revealed, with the use of a great many exclamation points, that she was pregnant again: My belly is so big that I’m starting to look like a wine barrel! What if it’s twins again? Two more wild things like the two I’ve already got?! That would be the end of me! Clara had immediately put together a
package of rich skin cream and body oil and sent it off.
If you rub this into your skin around your belly regularly, you won’t get the stretch marks like you did with the twins, she had written on the accompanying card. Would Isabelle take the time to look after her skin? Or would she use the time to trim a few more vines?
Clara put such distracting thoughts aside. In half an hour her next customer would walk through the door, and she wanted to have the letter to Josephine finished by then.
How times have changed, Josephine. Before, I couldn’t so much as buy fresh flowers without asking Gerhard first. And today, I can go out and buy expensive flowers on canvas as if it were the most normal thing in the world—
Clara jumped as the doorbell rang. Hadn’t she locked it? But to her relief it was only Therese.
“What’s the matter? You look like it’s been raining for a week,” said Clara with a frown.
“I got stood up! I sat and waited in the café at the market square for two hours. I’ve drunk so much coffee I feel sick,” she said, obviously outraged. She threw her key onto the table, then pulled a chair over next to Clara.
Well, that’s that with the letter, Clara thought, and she put the lid on her ink bottle. “Who stood you up? Thierry?” she asked, standing up to put fresh water on the stove. Therese might have had enough coffee, but she needed a pick-me-up. The previous night, she had crawled into bed at one thirty in the morning. Her first batch of rose cream curdled, so she had to throw it all away and start again.
“Thierry!” Therese sniffed dismissively. “I split with Thierry weeks ago. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”
Clara shrugged. “I thought—” She broke off. When it came to Therese’s male friends, she hadn’t thought much at all for a long time.
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 29
