The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  “You look very excited, I must say,” she said, after they had wished each other good morning.

  With a jug of Trinkhalle water and two glasses, they sat together on one of the benches. “I ran into the owner of the Hotel Marie-Eluise earlier. He’s come up with a completely crazy idea,” said Friedrich with a shake of his head. “If it were up to him, I would soon be buying his hotel.” Lady Lucretia seemed interested, so he told her briefly about the encounter with the hotelier.

  “The rooms are certainly a little run-down, but some paint would work wonders,” he said.

  Lady Lucretia emptied her glass in one draft. “With a little money and a measure of goodwill, one can move mountains. I’ve had that experience many times in my life. And your Mr. Körner rightly saw that you are a man who can get things done. Personally, I would trust you with an enterprise like that tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Friedrich was honestly surprised.

  The Englishwoman nodded. “How many rooms does the hotel have?”

  “Twenty, I believe.”

  Friedrich refilled her glass while she took out a leather-bound notebook and scribbled something.

  “And how many baths? Six. All in good condition? I see. And its own spring that flows beneath the hotel? How very interesting . . .” She pursed her lips, which made her chin appear even longer than usual.

  “The location is excellent. From the Marie-Eluise, you can reach the Conversationshaus on foot in less than five minutes. But it’s still doubtful that Gustav Körner will find a buyer. Men with vision are few and far between.”

  Lady Lucretia took a swig of her water.

  “Granted,” she said. “But let’s not forget that there are also women with vision.” She broke out in a braying laugh. “I think I have an idea, but . . . My God, it’s almost ten!” She stood up so quickly that the bench wobbled. “My treatments are waiting for me. I fear, my dear Mr. Sunshine, that we have to postpone our discussion. What about tomorrow morning, first thing? But no, I’m already meeting Ingrid to go for a walk in the woods. Dr. Green comes at twelve and, wait . . .”

  “What discussion? What idea? I didn’t know—”

  Lady Lucretia interrupted his objection with a wave of her hand. “Why don’t you just come to visit me this Sunday afternoon in my hotel? Sunday is the only day I have no baths or treatments scheduled. So I would have time for visions, you see.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  It had been a good idea to choose a different destination for the engagement party, thought Irina Komatschova, looking out the window. Meadows, floodplain, the trout ponds—all very attractive.

  In Baden-Baden, all the talk was about which rooms were the most exclusive, and Irina wanted no part of that game. She considered it a stroke of luck that the head waiter at her hotel had told her about his aunt’s inn, the Forellenhof. It was not far away, the man had said—one only had to travel along Lichtenthaler Allee to the nunnery, from where it was just a little farther to the newly opened inn, which was tucked away in a small hamlet called Gaisbach in the beautiful Oos Valley.

  Why not? Irina had thought, and she had moved her engagement party to the country. A farmhouse lunch, a little music to celebrate the day, returning to Baden-Baden proper in the evening. Her fiancé had agreed to the idea.

  Admittedly, the Forellenhof Inn was not the most elegant of destinations; the atmosphere, however, was intimate. The proprietress and her three daughters served the dishes and drinks. At Irina’s request, they had assembled a troupe of young women in colorful costumes who performed local dances. Irina smiled to herself. A good idea.

  In short, the party in the Forellenhof had been the right decision, and was affordable to boot.

  Unlike the flower arrangements! Flora Sonnenschein had charged a considerable fee for producing her baskets filled with sunflowers and all sorts of other bits and pieces that were supposed to look rustic, Irina thought with annoyance. Just then, two arms wrapped lovingly around her waist from behind.

  “Irinotschka, darling—are you happy?” a deep voice whispered in her ear, and Irina nodded.

  Happy? If I died today, would I die a happy woman? she wondered as she and her fiancé enjoyed an intimate moment at the window. Then his arms loosened again.

  “Darling, why don’t you go back to the ballroom? Our guests must be missing you by now. I’d like to practice my speech one more time.” He waved a handful of paper.

  “You and your speech,” said Irina with a smile as she left him alone in the room.

  Were reason and good sense important when it came to happiness? It was probably not a question one could answer with a yes or a no. All Irina knew was that she wanted to believe they were. Her wealth combining with Popo’s inexhaustible riches . . . Security could mean happiness, too.

  On the way back to the ballroom, she encountered two of the dancers. Püppi would have loved the colorful outfits, she was certain.

  Püppi . . . Her old companion seemed to have chosen that day of all days to appear in Irina’s mind. What would she have said about Irina’s engagement to Popo? Or about Konstantin’s dalliance with the flower girl?

  At one time, Irina had believed that Konstantin had felt something for her, Irina. Deep feelings, true feelings, like what she had felt for him. What people called love.

  Love! Irina sniffed at the thought. Konstantin Sokerov knew only one form of love, and that was for himself. And yet, how good his intimate embraces had felt.

  Now he was squandering his attention on Flora. And look there! Once again, he was with her, standing together by the back door.

  The way she drew closer to him, as if she wanted to creep inside him. How shameless it all was. Did they think the world around them was blind?

  “You ordered a room for us? Now? Are you out of your mind? What will Princess Irina say if I disappear? I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the flower arrangements.” Although Flora tried to sound stern, she could not hide her pleasure at his audacity.

  An hour of happiness, perhaps even two. She smiled in blissful anticipation.

  Konstantin took her hand and kissed her palm. “Come, let us not waste any time. I’m as hungry for your body as a starving man for bread.” He tried to lead her through the door to the back of the hotel, but Flora resisted.

  “Wait. The princess is coming.” She nodded toward the dining room, from which Irina Komatschova was heading in their direction, her expression stony.

  “Hmm, our fiancée does not look to be in a particularly happy mood,” Konstantin murmured. He smiled radiantly and waved to Irina, then turned quickly toward the back door. “I’m going!” he whispered breathlessly to Flora. “I do not have the energy for Irina’s mood. Room nine, the first door on the right, got it? And don’t wait too long, because I have quite a bit of energy for you.”

  “Rascal!” said Flora with a giggle. As soon as he was gone, she straightened her shoulders. “Princess Komatschova, I hope you like my flower baskets?”

  Irina flicked one hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, the flower baskets. But don’t try to distract me. Do you think I didn’t see how Kostia and you . . . how you’ve been acting? It’s worse than an Italian opera. All the flirting and fooling around. I’ve known for a long time that Konstantin possesses no decency whatsoever, but I would have expected more from you. As a businesswoman, you are normally so much smarter!”

  Flora felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. “I don’t understand—”

  “You understand perfectly well!” Irina looked at her furiously. “Did you think we were all so blind and stupid that we would not notice that Kostia had his eye on you? Konstantin Sokerov is arrogant, self-absorbed, and lazy—and those are his good qualities! On top of that, he’s a master at getting whatever he wants. What do you think you are to him? A tawdry little affair, that’s all.” The princess gathered her skirts, turned on her heel, and stalked off.

  Flora could only stand and stare. Konstantin was lazy and self-absorbed? How could t
he princess insult him like that? If she despised him that much, why did she invite him? She usually behaved as if she and Konstantin shared one heart and soul.

  A tawdry little affair—it sounded so dirty, and it had nothing to do with the great love she and Konstantin shared.

  She would not say a word about this to Konstantin, Flora decided, as she climbed on trembling legs to the first floor. The old princess was probably just jealous.

  Room nine. Flora shook her head as if trying to shake out Irina’s harsh words, then put on her best smile.

  “Flora, finally! I could not have stood another minute without you.”

  At the sight of Konstantin, Flora’s anger at Irina evaporated. She would not let Irina or anyone else in this world take away the magic of this day. She would enjoy herself and be happy.

  Resolved, she slammed the door behind her so hard that the topmost of the two tacks holding the brass “9” in place on the door came loose.

  “Now it’s just the two of us,” said Flora.

  Outside, on the front of the door, the “9” turned into a “6.”

  What had he gotten himself into? On a hot Sunday afternoon like this, he would have much rather been sitting in the shade in the garden at home.

  Friedrich took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and returned his handkerchief to his pocket. It was typical of Lady Lucretia to choose a place so far out of town to stay. The air was probably much fresher in the forest than in town. When he had asked her if the location of the Forellenhof Inn was perhaps less than ideal, she had said, “The daily walk into town is good for one’s physical fitness!”

  Physical fitness. That sounded more like a soldier’s lot than that of an English lady.

  He had briefly crossed paths with Lady Lucretia once more after their previous conversation, and instead of repeating her offer to continue their discussion, she said she wanted to meet him to discuss a “business proposal.” He had agreed only because Flora’s work meant she was also away from home, and Friedrich had had no great desire to spend a long Sunday afternoon with only his mother and baby Alexander for company.

  What did the Englishwoman want from him? He had asked her, but she had merely hemmed and hawed and asked him if he might possibly imagine some other line of work than what he did at the Trinkhalle.

  Did she think . . . ?

  He knew from Gustav Körner that she had, in fact, been to look at the Hotel Marie-Eluise. The hotelier had thanked Friedrich effusively for sending a potential buyer to him. So far, the lady was keeping her cards close to her chest, but he believed he would soon be in serious negotiations with her. The bath area, in particular, had appealed to her very much, and she had personally measured the cellar rooms to see if two additional tubs would fit.

  Potential buyer? Serious negotiations? More tubs? Friedrich had nodded, but in truth he thought he must have misheard. He knew that Lady Lucretia was a little . . . different from other women, that she had a serious interest in hydrotherapy, and that she loved Baden-Baden. But to buy a hotel because of that?

  “My dear Mr. Sunshine! Here you are at last!” The Englishwoman strode toward him, red-cheeked and energized. “Did you know there’s a celebration going on right now in the Forellenhof? A Russian princess is throwing quite a party, it seems—which is rather unfortunate for us, considering that we need peace and quiet for our deliberations.”

  “Should we simply ignore the party and find a place for ourselves here?” he asked in a hopeful voice. Although the terrace was busy, he would have enjoyed nothing more, just then, than a cool pitcher of beer, and the wonderful smell of smoked fish made his mouth water.

  The Englishwoman shook her head. “I’ve prepared documents, plans, drawings! Am I supposed to spread that out in the middle of all these people? No, that won’t do.” She looked away and seemed to be struggling inwardly. “I think I might have an idea, but please don’t misunderstand me . . . Do you think you might come to my room for our discussion? It has large windows, and we’d have the peace and quiet we need. I’ll order a pitcher of beer for us. A bracing drink has never done anyone any harm, has it?”

  Friedrich suppressed a smile. Misunderstand her? Lady Lucretia? He could imagine many things, but that she might want to lure him away to a lovers’ tryst was not one of them.

  “I’d be happy to,” he said. A serving girl walked past, carrying plates of golden fried trout to a table. “If it is not too much to ask, I wouldn’t say no to a bite to eat, either.”

  “Of course, of course. A decent meal certainly couldn’t hurt.” Lady Lucretia clapped him solidly on the shoulder and handed him a key. “Room six. You go ahead—I’ll go put our order in.”

  Whistling happily to himself, Friedrich climbed the stairs to the first floor of the hotel. He was, quite frankly, excited at the prospect of hearing Lady Lucretia’s revelations and looking over her documents and drawings. Her plans for the Hotel Marie-Eluise appeared to have moved along more rapidly than he’d thought.

  When he reached the landing, Friedrich paused for a moment to orient himself. There were four or five doors along each side of the corridor, with “6” right at the head of the stairs. Was he mistaken, or was that a male voice he heard coming from beyond the door? No, the man’s voice must have been coming from the next room.

  He swung the door open.

  The punch to his gut came without warning. A hand clenched painfully around his heart, and from one moment to the next, he could not catch his breath.

  He stared in disbelief at the scene before him.

  “Flora . . . ?”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Her nightdresses and undergarments. A whore’s laundry! Handkerchiefs. Blouses. Wool vests. And what was this? Friedrich dragged a roll of fabric out of the cupboard. Ha, as if Flora would ever have found the time to make anything with it. His wife preferred other entertainments.

  He threw the fabric into a linen sack along with everything else. Flora’s smell soon penetrated the linen, a mixture of seeds, rosewater, and sun-warmed apples. And it made Friedrich choke.

  “Friedrich, my one-and-only. Talk to me. Why are you packing Flora’s clothes?” A tear-soaked handkerchief in her hand, Ernestine tugged at his arm. “Where is she? What’s happened? I don’t understand what’s going on . . .”

  Her words were swallowed by a tremendous thunderclap. Alexander’s heartrending cries pealed from the next room, and he heard Sabine running up the stairs.

  Friedrich glared at his mother. “See to the boy and leave me alone!”

  “What’s the matter?” said Sabine, appearing at the door with Alexander in her arms. The infant’s eyes were wide with fear.

  “Get out of here before I throw you out, too!” Friedrich screamed at her, hating himself for it as he said it. Blind with anger, he turned to his mother again. “Flora this and Flora that—the way you toadied up to her was disgusting. You backed every stupid word she ever said!” Friedrich shook off his mother’s hand like an annoying fly, then jerked open the next cupboard door. The shoes. “All I was for both of you was the simpleton with his water. Look at this!” He held up a flowered scarf. “This is not from me. And there, the fan! See the Russian inscription on it? Oh, look closely, take your time! She took gifts like a whore, your wonderful Flora.”

  “Friedrich, for heaven’s sake!” With one hand at her throat, Ernestine stared at him as if she had the devil himself in front of her. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, but no words—no sound at all—came out.

  Her damned flower books—away with them! The amber necklace. Her hair bands. And this . . . Friedrich gazed at the glittering F in his hand.

  The brooch he had given Flora on their wedding day.

  Again and again, he had the feeling that an abyss had opened beneath him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then tossed the brooch aside in disgust.

  No. It could not be. A nightmare. A case of mistaken identity! Someone who looked like Flora. Who
laughed like her. It was not his wife at all who he had seen in that room.

  His feelings were racing ahead of any understanding of what he’d seen. Hot, salty tears came to his eyes, ran down his cheeks, and gathered at the corners of his mouth. He tasted something foul, like spoiled food. He gagged and swallowed, closed his eyes, groped blindly for the water bowl on the chest of drawers. Then he vomited.

  “Friedrich . . .” He felt his mother’s hands, clopping him helplessly on the back as if he’d choked on a fish bone and had to get it out.

  Fish bones. Fish. Smoked fish. As long as he lived, he would never forget the smell of smoked fish. He would always connect it with this day, with the Forellenhof Inn. With the laughter and gaiety he’d heard coming from the ballroom. With the corridor, the doors left and right, all dark and gloomy. The door to the room. And on the other side, Flora and—

  And the man, that Bulgarian . . .

  He threw himself onto the bed and beat at the pillow with his fists with all his strength, until the seams burst and clouds of feathers flew into the air.

  Outside, it had begun to rain.

  Flora had never dressed so quickly in her life. Underwear, underskirt, bodice, her lilac-colored dress. She slipped her shoes onto her bare feet and flew down the stairs.

  “Friedrich!” she cried. Over and over: “Friedrich!”

  At the bottom of the stairs, she ran past Lady Lucretia. What was the Englishwoman doing there? Flora ran past her and outside without a word of greeting.

  A cloud of dust hung over the road. Flora could make out the vague form of a carriage through the haze, driving off as if Satan himself were after it. “Friedrich!”

  Flora ran. The sky, earlier a magnificent blue marred by only a few wispy clouds, was now gray and blotchy. Soon, the breeze strengthened and grew gusty, swirling the first tired leaves from the trees. The chill of it made Flora shudder, and gooseflesh crept over her sweaty back and breasts.

  Why had he suddenly been standing in the doorway? Who had told him that she—no! Don’t think. Just go. Run! Don’t think about it.