Isabelle’s brow creased. Clara and this Laszlo were speaking on very familiar terms, as if they had known each other for years.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s a perfume or a cream, do you know what the most important ingredient of a good product is?” Laszlo suddenly said.
Clara tilted her head to one side and waited for him to answer his question.
Now he’s going to babble about orange petals or something, Isabelle thought scornfully. So she was all the more taken aback when Laszlo said, “Love. When my grandmother would cook—she lived with us—she would always say, ‘Love is the most crucial ingredient.’ Indeed even the simplest dishes tasted special when she made them.” He smiled, but quickly grew serious again. “And today, when I work with my jars and test tubes and scents, I always think of my grandmother.”
“Love, yes.” Clara nodded. “But there’s another ingredient that’s part of every good recipe.” She paused, then said, “Hope.”
“Hope. How right you are, dear Mrs. Berg.” Laszlo grinned. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us, doesn’t it?”
The two of them exchanged a knowing look.
Isabelle frowned again. She was still puzzling about the unusually familiar relationship between them when Clara turned to her and said softly, “When I get home, I have something else to take care of. And that is far more important than all my beauty products put together.”
Isabelle, who knew immediately what Clara was referring to, took her friend’s hands and held them tightly.
“Everything will work out. The judge will have no choice but to give you visiting rights to your children. And if he doesn’t, I’ll drive to Berlin and personally slap his face.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Meersburg was wearing its prettiest spring dress when Clara and Laszlo arrived. The sun shone, the lake glittered, a light breeze blew, and foam-capped wavelets danced across the water. In the front gardens of houses, forsythias bloomed, tulips opened their fleshy flowers, and daffodils dipped their heads elegantly, swaying in the wind. Café terraces were open for business after the winter closings. The people smiled, and Clara met with many a friendly greeting on her way home. When she saw how Laszlo’s gaze swept admiringly across the beautiful Lake Constance town, a warm wave of happiness washed over her. She was so grateful to be able to live there. And she was sure that Laszlo would soon feel as at home as she did.
Her feeling of happiness lasted an hour before collapsing into the deepest desperation. Wherever she looked, all she saw was chaos and strife. The manufactory, where she went with Laszlo first, was empty. Klaus Kohlwitz met them in the production hall, and told them that not a single employee had come to work for three days. They were on strike. First, it was the cut in wages because of the broken bottles, and then the new rubber gloves that Clara had told them they had to wear. They were damaging their skin, the women claimed. One was suffering from a rash, another from blisters, and three of the women had open sores. Almost all the women were afflicted by an uncomfortable itching and scratched themselves in their sleep. They would not put the gloves on again! And until their hands healed, they would not come back to work.
Clara could not believe what she was hearing. Her manufactory was a place that produced creams that made the skin healthy, but her employees were suffering from a painful rash? And what was this about cutting their wages?
“Can rubber gloves be toxic?” she asked her chemist in horror. She glanced at Laszlo as she said it. What must he be thinking?
Klaus shrugged. “The gloves from our old supplier were fine. They were made of natural rubber, and that isn’t damaging to the skin at all. Unfortunately, I can’t work out what the new gloves your husband ordered are made of. They smell strange, though, I can tell you that much.”
“Then order the old gloves again, and fast,” Clara told him.
“It isn’t as easy as that,” the chemist said carefully. “Our previous supplier is no longer prepared to sell his gloves to us. Mr. Berg wants to pay him less than before, and he has withdrawn from our contract. I’m sad to say that he isn’t the only one. Several of our regular suppliers have left us. Just yesterday, we had a letter from Meinrad Kornbichler, our oil supplier—” He stopped talking when the mailman entered the room and handed Clara an envelope.
“Sign, please!” he said grimly, and held out a form and pen.
What was this? Clara opened the envelope with trepidation, while Klaus and Laszlo looked on.
We hereby advise that we are resigning, with immediate effect. I have enclosed the key for the Bel Étage–Baden-Baden with this letter. In the future, we will be working in the Belle de Jour Beauty Shop in Maria-Victoria-Strasse.
Signed: Senta Schmauder, Emma Maier, Luise Wagenström
Thunderstruck, Clara lowered the letter. All three had resigned at once?
“There has to be some misunderstanding,” she said, breaking into a hysterical laugh. She looked around helplessly.
“Where is Stefan?” He’d gone to Baden-Baden to check on things there. If there had been any problems, he would surely have sorted them out, she thought.
Klaus shrugged.
Clara was suddenly so dizzy that everything began to spin before her eyes. The two men were at her side in an instant and helped her to one of the chairs otherwise used by the workers. Klaus hurried away, reappearing almost immediately with a glass of water that Clara drank greedily.
“I’m afraid I have more bad news,” he said, when Clara was back on her feet again. “Because of the stop in production, we are running out of products in the Bel Étage–Residenzia as well as in your first shop. In the Residenzia, the face-cleansing lotion ran out the day before yesterday, and the foot cream today. And both places have been out of dry-skin facial cream since yesterday, too. I don’t know how the Baden-Baden shop is doing, but your women here are complaining that they can’t carry out a proper treatment anymore.”
Clara stared at the chemist in disbelief.
“This is a nightmare,” she murmured. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “When I left, everything was running perfectly!”
“Sometimes—” Klaus began, but he stopped when the door was thrown open so forcefully that the windows vibrated in their frames.
“Clara! Finally!” Therese literally ran to her and, before Clara knew what was happening, threw herself on Clara’s breast, sobbing.
“You would not believe what I’ve been through in the last few days. I—”
“Therese,” Clara whispered. “Therese! We’re not alone.” She freed herself, rather roughly, from Therese’s grasp.
“Oh.” Therese blinked when she realized Klaus and Laszlo were standing there. “You’re in a meeting, I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. But I—”
Gently but firmly, Clara guided her friend toward the exit. “We’ll talk soon, all right?”
The last thing Clara needed now was one of Therese’s boyfriend stories!
When she returned to the two men, she said, “Excuse me, but in the midst of all this, I completely neglected to introduce you. Klaus, this is Laszlo Kovac, our new parfumier from Grasse. Laszlo, this is Klaus Kohlwitz, our chemist. He runs the manufactory. The three of us will be working together very closely.
The men shook hands and exchanged a few words. For the first time since her arrival, Clara exhaled properly. At least here the chemistry seemed to work. She turned to Laszlo and said, “I’m sorry that such chaos is the first thing you see. I can’t begin to imagine what is going through your head right now. Everything was running like clockwork, which is why I’m utterly stupefied to find it like this.” She sighed. “I had planned to take you to the Star guesthouse. You’ll feel at home with the Bauer family until we’ve found an apartment for you. And then I wanted to introduce you to your new job. But I fear I have some fires to put out first.”
“It’s very nice of you to want to get me settled, but it isn’t necessary. I’d much rather help you exting
uish at least one of the fires,” Laszlo said. “If you and Mr. Kohlwitz have no objection, I can speak with the women. I will have to work side by side with them in any case, so it will be an opportunity to get to know them. And perhaps it isn’t a bad thing if someone from outside mediates. I imagine you won’t ask the women to use the damaging gloves?”
Clara looked at him in consternation. “Lord, no! I don’t want to hurt the women! The gloves were only there for the hygiene.”
Klaus cleared his throat. “I assumed you would approve and went ahead and ordered two dozen pairs of rubber gloves through Weingarten Pharmacy. They should be delivered today. The price is certainly higher than those your husband bought, but—”
“As if the price is of any interest,” Clara scoffed. “Thank you, Mr. Kohlwitz, you’ve done well. And yes, I would be happy to have you talk to the women,” she said to Laszlo. “The sooner we can start production again, the better. Mr. Kohlwitz can give you the address of Justine Kaiser. She’s the forewoman. If you can get her to return to work, the others will follow her example, I’m sure. I’ll go to both of the Meersburg shops today and deal with Baden-Baden tomorrow.” She smiled apologetically at Laszlo. “I fear it will be a few days before we can start working together properly.”
Laszlo smiled back. “There’s something to be said for putting out fires together.”
And Clara, for the first time since her arrival, laughed.
They agreed to meet the following morning in the manufactory to see where things stood, then Laszlo and Klaus left. Clara stayed behind, pensive. Wasn’t someone missing from this firefighting team? Where was Stefan?
“How could you let things get so far?” was the first question Clara threw at her husband when he finally appeared in their apartment late that afternoon.
“Can’t I at least welcome you home properly? Such trifles aren’t worth all this uproar, are they?” he said, going to Clara. He leaned to kiss her, but she turned her face away.
Then she planted her hands on her hips and said, “Stefan! What’s going on here? The women are striking, suppliers have deserted us, the day-to-day work in the shops is falling apart. And then this!” She held the letter with the calamitous news from Baden-Baden under his nose.
“What of it? That’s good!” he cried, when he had scanned the few lines. He looked at Clara seriously. “I wanted to toss Senta Schmauder and her colleagues out on their ear when I was there. Drinking coffee and lazing around at our expense—that was their idea of hard work! Empty chairs mean no income, but that made no difference to them, oh no! And I fear their accounting has been, let’s say, less than accurate. When I dropped in unannounced, I found the register all but empty. Be happy that you’re rid of them, drive to Baden-Baden tomorrow, and hire new ones. Simple.”
“Simple!” Clara almost choked. “It’s anything but simple. I trained all three of them with care, and after that I left Sophie in Baden-Baden for a long time to make sure that everything was running smoothly. It will be weeks before I have any new women up to that level. And besides, a trip to Baden-Baden right now does not fit well at all, not now that I’ve hired a new parfumier.” Her thoughts turned longingly to the crate of essences, herbs, and other fragrant ingredients she had bought in Grasse. She found it hard to believe what Stefan was telling her. She had come to know Senta Schmauder as an exceptionally reliable person. Could she really have been so mistaken about someone? She would probably only find the real answer to that question in Baden-Baden. Clara decided not to pursue the point for the time being.
“What’s going on at the manufactory? And why are the suppliers deserting us? Klaus Kohlwitz says you’ve been trying to pay them unfair prices.”
“Kohlwitz! As a chemist, I’m sure he knows all about business matters! He should stick to making sure the women do as they’re told,” Stefan spat back. “And what is this inquisition about?” A deep, indignant crease appeared on his forehead, and his eyes flashed angrily. “I was slaving away while you were off having a wonderful time in France, and all I hear when you get back are unfounded accusations. The old suppliers didn’t desert us. I exchanged them for wholesalers who can supply the same products for a lower price. There is no reason for you to get upset about that. And as far as the women in the manufactory are concerned, if they were my responsibility, this strike would not be happening, I can tell you that! Today they whine about the gloves, tomorrow it will be some ingredient that’s making their eyes water, and the day after that it’ll be something else. All of it is because they want more money, but they’re not having their way with me!”
“I’m hearing all this for the first time,” said Clara, suddenly a little unsure of herself. “If they want more money, they can just say so, can’t they?”
Stefan laughed. “Clara, Clara . . . When it comes to others, you are a picture of benevolence. But with me, all you do is look for mistakes. You disparage what I do! Am I supposed to cringe around like a beaten dog? I did enough of that when I was a child. Are you trying to take over my father’s role?” He looked at her intently, and for a moment Clara was afraid that he would burst into tears.
“Stefan, please, I didn’t mean it like that,” she began. “I’m just amazed that you—”
“Ah, you’re amazed. How would it be if, for once, you admired me, as a man might expect from his loving wife!” He laughed bitterly. “It’s really sad. You have all the time in the world for your business, you’re constantly applauding Klaus Kohlwitz, and I guess you’ll soon be singing the praises of the man from Grasse. But have you ever stopped to think how much your behavior hurts me?” He snatched his hat and stepped past her to the door. “I have an appointment. If I’d known you were coming back today, I would have postponed it. But you don’t fill me in on your plans. All that counts around here is your word, and everyone else has to toe the line.”
Dismayed and hurt, Clara watched him leave. His last words cut like a whip. Had she really turned into such a domineering person? Did she have to have the final word in everything? Then she wouldn’t be one bit better than Gerhard, under whose despotic rule she had once suffered so long. And that would be terrible.
The next morning, when Clara packed her bag again, this time for the journey to Baden-Baden, Stefan was still asleep. She was almost glad of that. She had had trouble getting to sleep herself, thinking about his accusations and the whole mess. What could she say to him? She had no idea even how to begin. No, she would let him sleep and leave a note for him. Forgive me. I love you. We’ll talk when I get back.
She already had the pen in her hand, but the words wouldn’t come. Slowly, she set her pen down again.
The next cut of the whip came in Baden-Baden. A new beauty shop had opened, not even a hundred yards from her Bel Étage, which looked gloomy and abandoned. Belle de Jour was operated by a Baden-Baden hotelier, and it was there that her three beauty experts now worked.
Clara had never given any thought to competition, but to have it appear now that she was in such a difficult position unsettled her so much that she felt like fleeing. No backing down! she said sternly to herself. Then, gritting her teeth, she opened the door of the new shop.
The bell rang melodically as she entered. The treatment room was spacious, well lit, and painted pale yellow. The space was brightened by women’s laughter, and there was a penetrating smell of violets in the air. Clara immediately saw three treatment stations, but before she could look around any more, Emma appeared, smiling and wearing a pale-yellow apron.
“Good afternoon, what—” Emma’s smile froze when she recognized Clara. Startled, she took a step back, then looked around to her colleagues for support.
“Is Senta here?” Clara asked quietly.
The young woman dashed away to get Senta.
“I’m really so terribly sorry,” said Senta, and Clara could hear the true regret in her voice. “I would gladly have continued, but your husband . . .”
When Clara stepped outside again ten minutes later, sh
e felt so angry and so let down that she was blind and deaf to all around her. She did not even react when someone called her name. She walked to Lichtentaler Allee, where she sank as if numb onto the first bench she reached.
Could it be true that Stefan had behaved so unfairly? Had he really helped himself to the contents of the register as Senta had claimed? He had accused the women of taking money, and whenever she spoke to him, others were always at fault, never he. His overbearing father. The ill-willed suppliers. The insolent employees . . .
Clara bit her bottom lip so hard that it hurt. She had accepted every word he said as unvarnished truth and never probed deeper. But in recent weeks, the picture she had of him had transformed, had become overlaid with scratches, cracks, and dark shadows.
Was he the man she thought him to be at all?
The question was there before Clara could hide from it. And as if it had been waiting in ambush all along came another frightening thought: Had she chosen the wrong man a second time? And if she had, what would that mean for her? She suddenly felt very hot. Fragments of images appeared in her mind’s eye. The court in Berlin. The judge in his black robes. The patchwork of voices . . . “There! The tramp!” “A divorced woman. Disgusting!” Fingers pointing at her . . .
Clara began to breathe faster, and her heart was pounding. She would not go through something like that again.
“Mrs. Berg! Hello! Can you hear me, Mrs. Berg?”
She looked up. It was like peering through fog. Her heart was still racing as she made out the well-to-do couple standing in front of her, looking at her expectantly.
It took a moment for Clara to realize who it was. “Mr. and Mrs. Loblein!” she exclaimed with relief. She stood up and shook hands with the industrialist from Stuttgart and his wife, who was a customer at the Bel Étage–Baden-Baden. “Excuse me, I’m afraid I was lost in thought. The business, you know. We’re going through some changes . . .” Clara was certain Mrs. Loblein was going to complain about a missed appointment.
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 34
