She reached out spontaneously and grasped the hand of the woman opposite. “Thank you! For your courage, your energy, and . . . well, for everything.”
Her companion screwed up her nose. “I don’t have the slightest idea what to expect when I get home again. We never had a fight like that before. And I have never known Gerhard to be so inflexible, although, until now, I’ve always been the one to back down if we could not agree. Sometimes it was easier, sometimes harder, but even if I knew I was right I was always the one to step back. But this time I simply could not. It is new for both of us that I did not give in,” she said quietly, leaning forward so that only Josephine could hear. “But after everything you told me, I could not do anything else.”
“You are a wonderful, strong woman. And I am sure your husband will recognize that in the time you’re away,” said Josephine with emotion, hoping fervently that she was right.
“Look at all the lovely houses!” the girl said. “That little one there looks like a pink cupcake and the big one over the road like a light-green peppermint. And that one makes me think of chocolate milk. Is this a town of confectioners?”
Josephine laughed out loud. “No, my darling, this is Meersburg.” She looked ahead happily. They had made it!
With trembling hands, Clara pinned the last strand of hair in place. She could hear the murmur of voices beyond the half-open window. The good weather had held, so they had decided to hold the mayor’s reception out on the terrace. Clara’s looked over at Laszlo, who was straightening his tie in front of a mirror. It was almost time to go down.
Clara felt her knees grow weak. A speech in front of so many people—would she even be able to get through it? Therese had told her that a few newspaper reporters had joined the crowd; everyone wanted to write about the beauty hotel beside Lake Constance.
“You look lovely,” said Laszlo, behind her, and he kissed the curve of her neck.
“I’m so excited I think I’m going to pass out,” Clara croaked, her mouth bone dry. “I don’t think I’ll get a word out.”
“I’ve got a cure for that.” Laszlo smiled as he produced a small golden bottle from his trouser pocket. “May I?” He pointed the bottle at Clara’s neckline.
She nodded, frowning a little. “I’ve completely forgotten perfume, I’m so on edge. What is that?” She felt the delicate spray against her bare skin, and an unfamiliar scent rose to her nose. But although she had never smelled it before, it seemed strangely familiar.
“Lavender, vanilla, peony . . .” She fanned the perfume, which was warming on her skin, toward her face, savoring the combination. “And a trace of ambergris? Mmm, it smells so good.” She looked at Laszlo in confusion. “This is not one of my products, and I have never smelled it on a woman. Laszlo, what in the world is it?”
“Clara.”
“I mean, what’s the name of the perfume?” she asked again. “It’s like something you just can’t get enough of.”
“Clara,” he repeated, and his eyes locked with hers. “That’s the name. I formulated this fragrance for you. Only one bottle of it exists anywhere on earth. It is meant to accompany you wherever you go, and wrap around you like a silken cloth. And who knows—maybe the scent will give you a magical power or two?” The folds around his eyes deepened as he grinned.
Clara accepted the golden bottle with a reverence befitting a precious gem. The five letters of her name had been hand-engraved artfully into the glass, which itself was permeated with gold. Such a treasure could only have been made by a highly skilled glass smith. Laszlo had put so much effort and love just into the container for his fragrance!
She was so moved by the gesture that she felt tears coming to her eyes, but she managed to keep her composure and said, “This is the loveliest gift I’ve ever received in my life.”
Laszlo held out his hand to her. “Let’s go down. Your guests are waiting for you to beguile them with your speech.”
“If I don’t manage to do it, then this perfume certainly will,” she laughed, and she sprayed it once more into her hair.
“I want to thank the craftsmen, my employees, and my very dear friends, all of whom have worked absolute wonders while I lay in the hospital with a broken ankle. Thank you especially to Sabine Weingarten for keeping a close eye on the finances all the way through this project, and now, as well. After all this work, I would probably be a poor woman now if it weren’t for you!”
Clara turned from Sabine to Lilo and Therese. “And thank you to my dear Lilo, for overseeing everything while I lazed around in my hospital bed. Without you, the annex would probably still be roofless. And a thousand thanks to you, dear Therese, for your beautiful brochures and advertisements—if the customers don’t come now, then I am the only one to blame!” Clara smiled broadly at the two women.
“And I would like to thank my chemist, Klaus Kohlwitz, and also . . .” While Clara continued with her thank-yous, she swept her eyes over the crowd yet again. Still no sign of Josephine.
After she had delivered her heartfelt appreciation, Clara looked out over her audience, and her tone grew more serious.
“To stand here today in front of all of you means a great deal to me, and not only from the point of view of my business. Recent years taught me that it was best to do everything myself. For a long time, I did not trust anyone, and I felt best when I answered every question and made every decision on my own.” She looked from person to person and saw only understanding on their faces. Almost everybody there knew the unfortunate history of her second marriage. But instead of denigrating her for falling for the deceptions of a man like Roberto Totosano, the people of Meersburg and her customers—locals and tourists alike—had stood by her.
“The Villa Bel Étage means so much to me not least because, without the help of many, many people, it would never have existed at all. And I have to thank one man in particular for the circumstance that I was prepared to accept that help at all.” She waved to Laszlo to come to her. When he was standing beside her on the small podium, she felt the warmth he radiated, and the calmness that surrounded him like an aura. She squeezed his hand covertly, then picked up her thread again. “Laszlo Kovac has more than a nose for the finest fragrances in the world. He showed me how important it is to trust people again, and—” From the corner of her eye, she saw movement at the terrace door. But that was . . . She blinked. Then she blinked a second time and screamed, “Josephine!”
Joy and relief flooded through her, and she wanted to do nothing more than run to her friend and hug her, but she could not simply stop in the middle of her speech—and she could not run, in any case. A little abashed, she looked out at the audience, begging their forgiveness, and was about to go on when she realized that her friend from Berlin had not come alone. With her were a woman Clara vaguely recalled having seen before and a tall, young girl looking all around with wide eyes.
“Sophie . . .” A choked cry escaped Clara’s throat. Her legs gave way beneath her, but then she felt Laszlo’s arms supporting her and saw Therese running to her. Therese was grinning from ear to ear, and stroked her cheek for a moment.
“Did we manage to surprise you?” she whispered in Clara’s ear, then she turned to the gathered guests and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests—Mrs. Berg would like to invite you all to join her in a glass of champagne. If you have any questions, I know she will be happy to answer them for you later.”
With Laszlo’s help, and with her legs trembling, Clara stepped down from the podium. Therese picked up her crutches, but Clara hobbled forward without them. As if on cue, the crowd moved back to give her room. Most of the audience, indeed, had no idea who the new arrivals were, but they sensed the powerful emotions swirling through the air, like the wind rising off the lake. Anxiously, joyfully, Clara approached her new guests. She hardly dared take her eyes off her daughter, afraid she might be some sort of mirage. But a glance over her shoulder showed that Isabelle, Laszlo, and Lilo were behind her. Were they also afra
id that it could be no more than a bad joke?
When Clara reached Josephine, Sophie was still standing there. She was wearing a flowery summer dress, and she had long pigtails tied in red ribbons, like the ones that Clara had always tied in her daughter’s hair. With her head tilted down a little, she looked at Clara a little hesitantly, but also with curiosity.
“I brought someone else along, too. I hope that was all right,” said Josephine with a smile.
Clara could not hear her words. She only had eyes for Sophie. Laughing and crying at the same time, she took her daughter in her arms, pressed her to breast. She did not ever want to let her go again. “My child, my angel, my Sophie . . . finally. I missed you so much,” she sobbed in Sophie’s ear. She realized that her behavior might scare the twelve-year-old, but she could not do anything else.
Uncertainly, Sophie looked up to the woman that had come with her and Josephine.
Clara heard Josephine clear her throat. “May I introduce someone, Clara?”
Reluctantly, she let go of Sophie. But instead of turning to Josephine, she bent down to her daughter and said, “I’m sorry to have such an emotional outburst. I am just so endlessly happy.” And she was fighting back tears again. “I’ve got a lovely room already prepared for you. If you like, I can show it to you in a little while?”
Again, Sophie looked up to the unfamiliar woman, but before she could say anything, Sophie asked, “Can I see Lake Constance from my window?”
Clara nodded. “The lake, the boats, the beach . . .”
A smile spread slowly across Sophie’s face. “But how did you know I was coming? I thought our visit was going to be a surprise.”
“I didn’t know you were coming today. But it was what I wished for more than anything else in the world. And because of that, I prepared a room for you.”
Josephine cleared her throat again. “Clara . . . can I introduce Marianne Gropius? Without her, this reunion would not have been possible.”
Clara straightened up and looked at the young blond woman. So this was Gerhard’s second wife. Sophie’s stepmother. She had a pretty face and a friendly smile, and seemed very nice. But even if she were a hunchback with a permanent scowl, Clara would have been forever grateful to her.
“Welcome. And thank you for bring Sophie here,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion as she reached out her hand.
Marianne clasped Clara’s hand. “I would have liked to have brought Matthias, too, but he . . .” She lowered her eyes, and she left her sentence unfinished.
Clara swallowed. Her son probably had not wanted to see her. Or Gerhard had forbidden it. But now was not the time to be sad about her son; the joy of seeing her daughter again was too overwhelming for that.
“Matthias is well,” said Marianne reassuringly. “If time allows, I would be glad to tell you about him.”
“That would be—” Clara had been about to say wonderful, but just then she felt a gust of wind at her back that was so strong that she could not help rocking forward a little. The others were caught in the gust as well, and here and there she heard a shocked squeal or an embarrassed giggle as a woman’s skirt flapped up in the wind. The afternoon wind had picked up considerably in recent days. Unusual for this time of year, people said.
“What kind of wind was that?” Sophie asked curiously.
Clara, Isabelle, and Josephine looked at one another. Each could see in the eyes of the other what she herself felt: gratitude for the great gift of a friendship that was not carried away on the first gust of wind, but which had withstood its share of storms over the decades. They had been through so much together, and there was so much yet to come. Whatever came, though, their friendship would help them stand up to any storm.
“One that comes just once every hundred years: a turn-of-the-century wind,” said Clara, and laughed.
And Isabelle, Josephine, and Lilo—and Marianne and Sophie, too—laughed with her.
Afterword
This novel is an homage to those queens of beauty like Elizabeth Arden, who opened her first beauty shop in 1910, and Estée Lauder, who began with just four products in 1946 and created a global company. It is also a tribute to German beauty experts like cosmetician Margarethe Sendler and Dr. Bertha Roeber, who together founded the Marbert brand. And then there was Gertraud Gruber, who in 1955 established the first destination spa in Germany at Tegernsee Lake. So Clara was actually ahead of her time!
Until the rise of these beauty pioneers, nobody had dared believe that women could do something purely for their own well-being. Instead, a woman always had to be there for her husband, her family, and the society around her. She had to function, no more, and with the minimum possible input. The cows in the stall were looked after, but not the woman. The idea of finding “some time for herself” had not yet been born. But in this, too, a different wind began to blow after 1900—a turn-of-the-century wind.
In the novel, Stefano manages to trick his way into using Clara’s name. At the time, legally speaking, that would not have been possible. For a man to take his wife’s name has only been permitted since Germany’s matrimonial laws were reformed in 1976. Before that, the husband’s name was invariably used as the married name. Having said that, it has been possible since 1957 for a woman to attach her own surname to the married name.
A few words about the setting of this novel—Meersburg, the town I love so much. Around 1900, the Lake Constance region was already very popular with tourists, although there were probably not quite as many strolling through the streets of Meersburg as I have described in this book.
One piece of advice for those who, having finished this book, are inspired to visit Meersburg: please don’t waste your time going in search of Lilo’s hotel. You will also hunt for the yacht club in vain. As I always do, I have taken a few small creative liberties with real-life locations whenever required by the story.
However, if you walk along Unterstadtstrasse, you can certainly consider which building I used to house Clara’s Bel Étage. If you are close to the old castle, you might also notice a building that matches the description of Weingarten Pharmacy.
And you should certainly treat yourself to a glass of Meersburg secco and enjoy, like Clara, the fantastic views over the vineyards and the Swabian Sea.
About the Author
Photo © Privat
Petra Durst-Benning is one of Germany’s most successful and prominent authors. For more than twenty years, her historical novels have been inviting readers to go adventuring with courageous female characters and experience their emotions for themselves. The Queen of Beauty is the third book in the Century Trilogy, following While the World Is Still Asleep and The Champagne Queen. Her books and their television adaptations have enjoyed great international success. Petra Durst-Benning lives with her husband in Stuttgart.
About the Translator
Photo © 2012 Ronald Biallas
Australian-born and widely traveled, Edwin Miles has been working as a translator for fifteen years.
After studying in his hometown of Perth, Western Australia, Edwin completed an MFA in fiction writing at the University of Oregon in 1995. While there, he spent a year working as a fiction editor on the literary magazine Northwest Review. In 1996, he was shortlisted for the prestigious Australian/Vogel Award for young writers for a collection of short stories.
After many years living and working in Australia, Japan, and the United States, he currently resides in his “second home” in Cologne, Germany, with his wife, Dagmar, and two very clever children.
er: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 47
