“And you’d have plenty of room for all your paintings of flowers. The rooms on the lake side are perfect for the sun. That large still life of the sunflowers would really shine there.”
Clara sighed. “I can see just how it would be . . .”
“Behind the house, there’s also a large conservatory, completely glassed in. The palms they brought in especially for Margherita must still be housed in there.”
“A conservatory! How opulent. That was something my mother always dreamed of having. Sitting behind the glass in the cold months, drinking tea and enjoying the winter sunshine. Unfortunately, my parents had to make do with a small bay window on the second floor.” Clara did not miss her parents often anymore, and she had never forgiven her mother for constantly taking Gerhard’s side in all the years they were married. Still, sometimes she wished that her parents could see what had become of her.
“Your children would also love it here, I’m sure,” said Stefan. “And if we were to be blessed with a bambino of our own, we could put the cradle right by the lake.”
“Stefan, what are you talking about?” A bambino? What had come over her husband? They still shared the same bed, that much was true, but they had not slept together for more than six months. “All this with the house, it’s all daydreams, no more,” she said, avoiding the question of another child.
“Maybe the house isn’t so expensive after all? And maybe a child would bring us closer together again. Oh, Clara, let’s start a new life together. It would be possible here, in this house, I’m sure of it. And maybe I will even be able to show you that I’m still good for something.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel bad, then hear this: it isn’t working. But I do like the house, very much! The more I look at it, the more ideas I have.”
The house would be very useful for business purposes, too, she thought. A Bel Étage right on the lake. With rooms where her customers could spend the night as they would in a hotel. A beauty hotel, so to speak. She would be able to pamper the woman all day, starting with a champagne breakfast on the terrace to a nice cup of herbal tea at night to help them sleep. They could do calisthenics and other sports in the garden, out of sight of passersby. There would also be enough space to give the brush massages that she so enjoyed herself, and to do so in privacy. At the Villa Bel Étage, the women would finally have a place where they could be completely at ease, and simply be themselves.
“You look very happy all of a sudden. What are you thinking about?” Stefan looked at her expectantly.
“Counting chickens before they hatch. Maybe I should get in touch with the agent, though I expect the place will be horrendously expensive. But if business keeps up as it has been, then I can at least dream a little.”
When they met again that evening in their apartment, Clara was feeling better than she had in a long time.
Stefan had good news, too. The agent selling the Palazzo Margherita wanted to show them the house the following morning.
“Then it’s even better that we finished with our shipping boxes today, so I can take the time for a house visit tomorrow,” said Clara. She pulled off her boots, then sat beside Stefan on the sofa. He had opened a bottle of wine and set out two glasses and a plate of canapés.
“Here’s to you, Clara! And your new mail-order business,” Stefan said, and they clinked their glasses together.
While they had been out walking, she had told him about her plans. At first, he had seemed quite stunned, but he quickly became enthusiastic. Mail order? This would be her greatest success yet. He was sure of it and had said as much. Near to the customs house there were two empty warehouses. Perhaps one of those would be suitable storage for Clara’s products? Clara had liked the idea and promised to look at them as soon as she could.
“If you like, I can show you a finished sample of one of our shipping boxes. I’ve brought one home with me,” she said, looking at him over the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation.
He jumped to his feet. “Tell me where it is and I’ll get it!”
Stefan inspected the cream-colored box with Clara’s photograph on the lid. He looked up. “Very chic! Which printer are you using for them?”
Clara told him the name.
“I hope you negotiated a good price?”
“Yes, I did,” she said with a laugh. She watched excitedly as he opened the carton. Inside, it was padded with cream-colored tissue paper in which Clara’s products were bedded. The sample box held a face cream, a hand cream, and a bar of rose-scented soap. Since Laszlo had taken over her fragrances, everything smelled finer, fuller, more expressive. She inhaled deeply.
“‘Wash your face thoroughly, then stimulate your skin with a light massage. Only then should you gently massage in your Belle Époque cream.’” Stefan read the instructions aloud.
Clara smiled proudly.
“What this, then? You’ll soon turn every woman into a skin-care expert like this! Are you aware of that, Clara?” Stefan looked at her in disbelief.
“Of course I am,” she said, smiling. “That is exactly my intent. Now don’t you dare say that the women soon won’t need me at all. We are talking about a mail-order business and about women who, for whatever reason, will probably never find their way into one of my shops. Whether it’s because they don’t have the money or because they can’t get away from the house or because they’re not allowed to.”
“But with your instructions, the women can look after themselves with any old cream they choose. Why should any of them order from you a second time?”
Clara could not believe what she was hearing. “Because my products are good! Because most of the other creams smell like zinc and leave white marks on your skin. Because—” Angry now, she stopped. “If you don’t know by now why my customers remain loyal to me, then I am truly sorry.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Clara. Of course your products are the best. But the most important goal of selling is to make customers dependent on you, to turn them into regular customers. If your customers only order once from your catalog, what have you gained?”
“I am firmly convinced that any woman who has once tried one of my creams will want to buy them again. And if not, then that is fine,” Clara said, louder than she wanted. “The days in which we women allow others to tell us what to do are over, Stefan. We can choose for ourselves. And if that doesn’t always work out like you men would like it to, then that’s just how it is.”
“Oh, I understood long ago that you won’t let anyone tell you what to do, Clara dear. But please allow me to express my opinion. I fear that, by handing out instructions like these, you are dooming your mail-order business before it even gets started.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll end up looking stupid. But I am happy to make an attempt,” Clara said, surprising herself with her firm belief that she was going in the right direction.
“Then let us drink to you being right,” said Stefan, and he raised his glass.
Clara, looking at Stefan, was puzzled. This was new. No angry outburst? No dramatic, door-slamming exit? It seemed as if Stefan was actually intent on them getting along better.
Chapter Forty-One
If Clara had harbored any doubts the previous year about whether the winds of change were blowing for her, too, they were swept away decisively at the start of 1911. No wind blew gently through her life; rather, it roared, it thundered, and it howled. And every day brought new adventures with it. Clara welcomed every one with a happy heart.
The mail-order business boomed from the very start, and revenues grew month by month. As wonderful as that was, Clara and her employees faced new challenges: the manufactory was bursting at the seams, workers to staff a second shift had to be hired and trained, and the raw-materials storage had to be rethought. Luck was on Clara’s side when, in March, the building beside the manufactory went up for sale. Clara knew immediately that she had to buy it. The purchase solved all her space and stora
ge headaches in a single blow. Nervously, she approached her local bank again. Would they give her another loan so soon after she had bought the Palazzo Margherita?
The bank did not let her down. Clara’s real estate portfolio was growing.
While Clara and Klaus Kohlwitz transferred part of the production to the new building and reorganized the warehouse, the season began at the lake. Tourists streamed through Meersburg’s cobblestoned streets and filled every table at the cafés along the esplanade. The lake was almost as busy as the town. Anyone who could call a sailboat, dinghy, or even a small rowboat their own was out on the water.
Clara’s beauty experts often worked overtime into the evenings to meet the demand for appointments. After the first month Clara gave each one a large bouquet of flowers and a generous raise.
In the middle of May, something Clara had been dreaming about for a long time finally happened. She could already count nobles from many states and countries among her clientele, and now a lady from the royal family of Stuttgart came to her shop: Princess Pauline, the only daughter of King Wilhelm II. The wife of Friedrich, Prince of Wied, was a mature woman with a resonant voice. “I don’t know whether all this about beauty is really anything for me,” she said in a Swabian accent so heavy that for a moment Clara thought she was speaking a foreign language. Evi Förster—one of Clara’s oldest employees and fluent in the Swabian dialect—replied: “Then we shall just have to surprise you!”
Pauline enjoyed the most comprehensive treatment the Bel Étage had to offer. After three hours, the princess’s formerly pallid face shone with a new radiance, and the princess herself was beaming, too. “Such a wonderful feeling. Every woman should experience this,” Pauline said to Clara when she came to inquire whether everything had been to Pauline’s satisfaction. Then the princess told her about her involvement in the German Red Cross, where she trained young women to look after others.
Clara was very impressed. “I will have my women put together a box of hand creams for you. Your Highness is welcome to distribute these as you like among your volunteers—such dedication should be appreciated,” she said, earning Pauline’s everlasting favor for the gesture.
In the midst of the busy season, Clara had no time to take care of her new house at the lake. Early in the morning, when she went swimming, the sight of the empty villa made her heart ache. She would have liked to wander around the overgrown garden and make plans for the future. There was some work to be done: some walls to demolish, others to be built, new wiring and plumbing to be installed. But she would have to postpone any talks with builders until the season was over. Stefan had offered his assistance more than once, but Clara was afraid that he would resume his domineering ways and scare off Meersburg’s experienced tradesmen. Aside from that concern, she had a deep need to take care of everything to do with the villa herself.
As much fun as her diverse life was, Clara did not want to neglect her work in the laboratory. Creating new products was still what she most wanted to do, so when Laszlo asked her one day if they shouldn’t perhaps develop a perfume together, she agreed enthusiastically. “It would be the high point of your products,” he said plainly. “We could even name it after you.”
Clara was tempted to agree to that, as well, but then she looked at him and said, “If we do this, my perfume can have only one name—Winds of Change.”
As she did every morning, Clara flipped through the morning’s mail, hoping for some news from the court in Berlin. Months had passed since she filed her application. Her attorney had told her the week before that the magistrates were close to reaching a decision in her case. She could receive a judgment any day. Finally, finally . . .
It surprised both Clara and her lawyer that there had been no interference at all from Gerhard in the previous months. She had long discarded the idea that the Italian who had spoken to her in the photographer’s studio might be a spy, and nothing else untoward had caught her attention.
“Well? Has it arrived?” Stefan asked, joining her at the breakfast table.
“No word at all from Berlin, I’m afraid.” She still was in the dark about why the former late sleeper now joined her for breakfast every morning. It puzzled her just as much that he preferred to eat breakfast at home rather than out in the café where Clara still often went.
Stefan also had begun spending most evenings at home instead of going to parties. “Always the same faces, the same stories,” he had told her with a wave of his hand when she had asked him about it. “I’d rather spend the time with you.”
Clara did not find his company unpleasant. Sometimes, they even laughed together. But Clara was not about to give up her time with her friends. Lilo was back, and occasionally, Clara met her friend for a glass of champagne. After more than six months away, Lilo had reappeared in Meersburg without warning. “Mountains, mountains, mountains . . . that’s not for me. I missed our lake,” she said nonchalantly, though Clara was astonished. Lilo did not say a word about Jonathan Winter. Clara had embraced her old friend and said, “Welcome home.” Neither said a word about the tears Lilo shed on her shoulder.
Because Lilo had returned to Meersburg and her apartment, Therese was back to living in a room at the hotel. Therese and her son could not live in a hotel room for very long, but they hadn’t yet figured out the next move. Clara tried to spend one evening a week with Therese, and when they were together, they talked about this, and many other things, while Clara rocked little Christopher on her lap.
“I’ve had an inquiry from Munich,” said Clara, pouring more coffee for Stefan. “A large department store is interested in adding my products to their range. I think it’s fundamentally a good idea, but do you think I should take a look at the store before I sign a contract?”
“I could drive to Munich and let you know what I think about the location, the customers, the other products they sell,” Stefan offered. “I’d enjoy a drive to Munich. I’ve been closed up in the house too long.”
For a moment, Clara hesitated. If she gave Stefan an inch, would he take a mile? On the other hand, he was making such an effort to create a good feeling between them again that she was glad to have the opportunity to offer something in return. She would give him this one small task, but no more.
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “At midday today we should be getting the laboratory tests back for the Lake Constance water. If they turn out to be as good as I suspect, Klaus and I will probably have our hands full for the next few days. So I’d be grateful if you could take that on.”
“Products with Lake Constance water—it’s such a zany idea that I don’t know if I should be tapping my forehead about it or clapping my hands,” Stefan teased. “The things you come up with.”
Clara shrugged and smiled. When it came to their views on business, they would probably never see eye to eye, not like they once had. But since Stefan had stopped making a scene and yelling at her whenever his opinion differed from hers, their life together was bearable.
“Calcium, magnesium, potassium, iron—outstanding! Practically no trace of arsenic, no mercury, no cyanides—excellent!” Klaus Kohlwitz leaned over the laboratory report and studied it carefully. It had cost Clara a lot of money to have it done. To get the water samples she needed, she and Laszlo had gone out the week before in a rented sailboat. Too close to the shore was no good because of the danger of contamination, but farther out the lake water was crystal clear, as Clara well knew from her morning swims.
“The composition is flawless. It can stand up to any mineral water I’ve heard of, even from the most expensive springs.” Triumphantly, as if he were personally responsible for the quality of the water, Klaus turned and smiled broadly at Clara.
“That’s fantastic,” said Therese, who had come in just then. “If you help me with the wording a little, I’ll see if I can’t finish an article that sings the praises of our Lake Constance water today. Baden-Baden and Bad Kissingen might have their mineral springs, but it sounds like we don
’t have to play second fiddle to either of them. Clara, this is going to send even more customers your way!”
Clara smiled as she looked into the eager eyes of Klaus and Therese. Who would have expected to find such an advertising professional hidden inside the former hairdresser?
Klaus rubbed his hands together theatrically and stood up. “I’m off, too. I’m going to go and work out exactly how to introduce the lake water into our products in place of distilled water.”
“And I’m off to an appointment of my own,” said Therese. “The German Women’s Fashion Magazine wants to do a half-page report on ‘the latest thing: the beauty shop,’ if I can give them enough information. Their circulation is eighty-five thousand copies! I can add your photo to the article, can’t I?”
Clara nodded, and her friend left, obviously eager to get to work. Clara wondered when the last time was that Therese had felt such euphoria. Alone in the deserted laboratory, she looked around, suddenly feeling a little lost.
A knock at the door drew her out of her thoughts. It was Laszlo.
“Congratulations, Clara. Klaus just gave me the good news. So in the future we’ll be producing the Bel Étage products using pure Lake Constance water!”
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Clara said, forcing a smile. “We’ll not only be saving the cost of distilled water and the expensive mineral water we import from France, but we’ll be using the treasure at our doorstep.”
“Brilliant,” he replied. “But why do you seem less excited than I’d imagine you would be? What’s the matter?”
That took Clara by surprise. She had tried very hard not to let her slightly downcast mood show, but Laszlo recognized that something wasn’t right. “To be honest, I don’t really know.”
He sat down opposite her and looked at her expectantly. “Everything’s running like clockwork, but . . .”
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 41
