The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  “Please, take a seat,” Clara said, indicating her gilded armchair. “My assistant, Sophie, will pamper you with a hand massage while I prepare everything for the skin consultation.” She smiled at the second customer and offered her Therese’s empty hairdressing chair. “Madam, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, Miss Sophie will be with you in a moment and—” She was interrupted by the tinkling of the doorbell as three women entered. They came hand in hand and seemed to be the best of friends. New customers.

  Normally, Clara would have been thrilled to have three new customers, but now she felt a touch of panic. And she hadn’t even begun to deal with the three women when the doorbell jangled again and one of Therese’s regular customers came in to have her hair curled, as she did every Friday.

  Perfect chaos. For a moment, Clara didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She glanced outside frantically. Where was Therese?

  “Che belle signore! How can I help you this morning?” Stefano said, addressing the three women before Clara had even had a chance to greet them properly. The women giggled while Stefano opened a sample jar of hand cream for them to try and misted some facial toner on their faces.

  He seems so knowledgeable, thought Clara, surprised and a little in awe. It was as if he had never done anything else. She looked back to Therese’s customer.

  “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, Miss Himmelsreich will be coming soon, and I’ll be happy to wash your hair before that.”

  “Pardon my interruption, but Miss Himmelsreich is ill,” Stefano contradicted her. “I fear that we will have to arrange a new appointment for you.”

  “Which is it?” the woman asked, looking from Clara to Stefano in annoyance. “Is Therese coming or isn’t she?”

  Stefano held up his arm gallantly for the woman. She accepted his offer and he accompanied her to the door. “Isn’t it a glorious day? On a day like today, why spend hours at the hairdresser? There are so many other things you could be doing. Your hair won’t mind; it looks beautiful just as it is.”

  Clara could only look on speechlessly as the woman gave Stefano a happy smile and strolled away. He had the women all but eating out of his hand. How did he do that?

  “Mrs. Berg, you should attend to Baroness von Böttinger!” Sophie whispered beside her. “I should see to my customer. She’s giving me dirty looks.”

  Clara reached for a small basket that was standing on the counter and took out a small jar of hand cream. “For your customer. To make up for the time she’s had to wait. A gift from us.”

  Three hours of good deeds was enough, Stefano decided, and he went to Clara, who was massaging lotion into a customer’s forehead and temples.

  “The fire in the stove is burning well, three pots of water are warm, and the register’s been ringing nicely. Tutto è bene,” he said softly, not wanting to disturb Clara’s customer. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go down to the Sommer Patisserie and get us a little something. A bite to eat after such a busy morning can’t hurt.”

  That could not have gone better, he thought happily as he walked to the bakery, and counted himself lucky that lazy Therese had slept late! Like this, he could easily endear himself to Clara. She’d been impressed by the way he had her customers eating out of his hand. And he’d been surprised at often the cash register had rung. He’d seen his supposition—that beauty could bring in a lot of money—confirmed in spades. And he had realized something else: he’d lost none of his skill with women.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you this morning,” Clara said as she polished off the last of the strawberry cake Stefano had brought back. “That was the first thing I’ve eaten all day, and I was almost dizzy with hunger.” Stefano was relieved to see that Sophie had gone home to her parents’ guesthouse for lunch. He needed time alone with Clara.

  “I had a good time this morning,” he replied. “I have missed that kind of contact with customers.” He tried to inject a yearning tone into his voice, and it must have worked, because a shadow crossed Clara’s face.

  “Oh, now I’ve got a guilty conscience. You wanted to spend this morning working on your own business, didn’t you?”

  He leaned closer and looked at her seriously. “You, Clara, are a thousand times more important to me than any business. I want to see you happy, laughing, and free of cares, and not facing the kind of stress you had to earlier.”

  She slid back on her wooden chair, away from him. Aha, that was too far. He was left with two possibilities: retreat or attack. Who knew when he would have such a good opportunity again? “I can see that my candid words have frightened you, and I apologize for that. But sometimes, Clara, sometimes, when I see you, it feels as if my heart all but bursts with joy.” He was absolutely sure that his gaze at that moment was warmer than the sun outside.

  Clara sighed softly. For Stefano, her excitement was palpable. Now don’t overdo it! he warned himself. He sensed that one more declaration of love would push her away rather than bring her closer. He did not know much about her past, but he suspected that she had not found much happiness with the men in her life. He would have to move forward slowly, with caution.

  He cleared his throat and adopted a more businesslike tone. “May I ask you something?”

  Clara nodded.

  “Why do you bother with Signora Himmelsreich at all? She can be exceptionally charming, but she is also fickle and unreliable.”

  “I’m sure she really is unwell today,” Clara defended Therese automatically, but Stefano could hear in her voice that she agreed with him.

  “You are too kind, dear Clara. In private matters, that is a good thing, but in business it can only cause harm. I fear that, at some point, Therese’s unreliability with her shop will have a negative effect on your Bel Étage, too. Do you really want to risk that?”

  “What can I do about it?” Clara replied, her voice despairing. “Therese and I rent this shop together. I can’t force her to keep to her opening times. Besides, she took me in as her tenant first, and I will always be grateful to her for that.”

  “Which is one of your best traits, and no less than I would have expected,” he said calmly. “Forget what I said. I’m probably a bit too rigid about things like a good reputation, punctuality, and honesty.” He waved one hand dismissively.

  Clara frowned. She seemed about to say something but didn’t, probably for fear of sounding disloyal to Therese.

  Step one, Stefano thought triumphantly.

  It was later in the afternoon, just after Stefano left, that Therese finally walked through the door. She did not excuse herself for her absence, but said instead, “I just bumped into Stefano. He had a real spring in his step and looked like the cat that got the cream. Did he finally admit he’s head over heels for you?”

  “Not here, Therese,” Clara said. She nodded toward her customer, the last of the day, who was bathing her hands in warm almond oil, then beckoned Therese into the back room and said, “Do you have any idea what happened this morning when you didn’t open the shop? What was it this time?”

  “Oh, Clara, you know how it is sometimes.” Therese looked imploringly at her. “I really meant to be here, believe me. But . . .” Her expression changed and her eyes sparkled mischievously.

  “It simply isn’t fair to leave Sophie and me alone like that! It was chaos in here, and I don’t want it to happen again!” Clara said, making an effort to keep her voice down. Then, seeing how crestfallen Therese looked, she raised her eyebrows and went on. “And I don’t think I want to hear the ‘but’ . . .” Therese probably had yet another lover. Clara was always amazed by how easily her friend managed to attract men. But perhaps she had that talent herself, at least a little? She smiled. “Now that you’ve brought it up—Stefano actually did admit that he’s in love. That’s how I understood it, anyway.” In a low voice, she told Therese about her talk with Stefano at midday.

  “See? It was good that I wasn’t here,” said Therese. “So what now?”

 
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Naturally, I didn’t give in to his advances.” She heard a loud snore and glanced out from behind the curtain. Her customer had fallen asleep in the comfortable armchair. The woman had seemed exhausted when she trudged into Bel Étage, so a few minutes of rest would do her good.

  “I don’t understand you at all. An attractive man comes knocking on your door, and what do you do? You act like an old prune!”

  Clara screwed up her face. “Thank you very much,” she said. “But you’re right; I did act like that. What does a young man like that see in someone older like me?”

  Therese sniffed dismissively. “These days many women have younger boyfriends. Countess Zuzanna, believe it or not, has a young lover herself, which is the reason she’s in Baden-Baden for the summer and not here. They say he’s twenty years her junior, so what difference does the few years between you and Stefano make? Besides, you look younger than you are. I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re a day over thirty.”

  Clara said nothing. Since moving to Lake Constance, she did feel younger, and certainly nothing like a thirty-four-year-old divorcée. She could no longer deny that she liked Stefano.

  She sighed deeply. “I have no idea how to feel or what to think. After everything that’s happened, I never would have believed I could fall in love again. But since I’ve known Stefano, I’m no longer sure of that. He’s so considerate, so nice to me. It’s lovely to be spoiled by him. It’s something I’ve never experienced before,” she said. She smiled as it occurred to her that Stefano must certainly know how to spoil a woman in bed, too, and she felt herself blush at the thought. “Honestly, I feel so much different around him. So wonderfully warm . . .”

  Therese giggled.

  Clara grew serious again. “But I still don’t trust any of it. Stefano is not just good-looking, but also a successful businessman. A man like him could have any woman he wanted. Lilo told me that Estelle Morgan, the actress staying at the hotel, has her eye on him. She’s rich, famous, and beautiful. Next to her, I’m nobody. And anyway, I know hardly anything about him. He’s probably married with a wife and three children back in Italy. And he knows nothing about me. If he ever finds out I’m not a widow but a divorced mother of two, he won’t want anything else to do with me.”

  “You old trout! Number one”—Therese held up her right thumb—“if Stefano was interested in Estelle Morgan, he’d be spending his time with her. Number two”—Therese held up her right index finger—“a man like Stefano can easily imagine that you had a life before you met him. And number three”—up went her next finger—“you think too much. Since you don’t know, why don’t you find out? Just ask Stefano exactly where he comes from. Get him to tell you about his Italian home and his family. Men like to talk about themselves, and they like it when you sit and listen to them. You’ll be amazed how much he’ll talk. And I’m certain that everything you hear will be good.”

  “And what if it isn’t?” Clara asked. But Therese was suddenly distracted. She waved her hand toward their front window and cried, “Where are the two wigs? Were they stolen?”

  “No! Stefano sold them. He put the money in your register,” said Clara.

  Therese broke into a broad grin. “How fantastic! I like the man more and more. Stay on his good side, Clara!”

  Two days later, Clara accepted Stefano’s invitation to dinner. They sat out on the terrace at the Hotel Residenz. Dozens of candles were placed along the terrace wall and on the tables, and they cast their soft light on the faces of the guests, creating an atmosphere of warmth and romance. After they had finished their outstanding meal, Clara worked up her courage to ask Stefano to tell her a little about his life in Italy.

  “Instead of trying to teach us something from our mistakes, my father preferred to reach for his stick. As children, my brother and I were beaten often. It’s a miracle most of our bones are intact. We learned very quickly not to talk back and to do what Father told us. What else could we have done? Our village is in a narrow valley, and everyone knows everyone else. Our father is a wealthy, respected man there, and no one would have dared stand up to him. Besides, the people there believe that a father has the right to beat disobedient children.”

  Clara felt her throat tighten. “Why do you have to upset your husband so?” She suddenly had her mother’s voice in her ear. “You’re such an insubordinate wife. It’s no wonder Gerhard sometimes loses his temper.”

  “In our village, the only thing that matters is what my father and Lorenzo, his business partner, think. Those two men determine everything. But what I want to do with my life—nobody ever bothered to ask me that. Being a hair trader is probably the last thing I would have chosen . . .” Stefano’s gaze wandered toward the lake, blue-black in the night. His face was filled with pain, and in his she could see he was struggling with old demons. “Sometimes, I felt like I’d been buried alive. A marionette dancing to my father’s whims, unable to take a single step without him. My father had even found a wife for me, but I defended myself. If I ever marry, it will be for love.” He took Clara’s hand and looked into her eyes for a long moment.

  Clara swallowed. Therese had been right; Stefano had been very forthcoming indeed about his past. And she appreciated his openness very much. But at the same time, their conversation felt almost too intimate.

  “Did your brother suffer as much with your father being so strict?” she asked. She hoped her question would break the spell of the moment.

  Stefano let himself be distracted. “My brother is cut from softer wood,” he said. “He married Lorenzo’s daughter, just as my father wanted him to. And he finds it easier to be the obedient son in other ways. But I think that for him, too, the only truly good times were when we went off traveling together.” He recalled something then, and it made him smile. “But they were not carefree times. We lived with the constant fear of not being successful enough, of coming home and having to face our father’s wrath again.”

  “Apart from wigs and the hair, do you deal in anything else?” Clara asked. “I’m sure you must have told me, but just now I can’t seem to remember.”

  She watched as his face, until now so animated, dulled in the space of a heartbeat. “Would you think less of me if we didn’t talk about business? It brings up so many memories. Painful memories . . .” He voice trailed off as Lilo appeared at their table with a fresh bottle of wine.

  Oh, now I’ve managed to hurt him with all my nosy questions. Clara looked up gratefully at Lilo, then turned back to Stefano. “I can sympathize with so many of the things you’ve told me about,” she said, her voice raw. She wanted to take him in her arms, to drive out the gloomy memories. But instead, she said, “No one ever asked me what I wanted out of life, either. When I was girl, I wanted so much to become a pharmacist, but then it was impossible. Perhaps it would be easier for a woman today, but—” She broke off, lifted one hand, and let it fall again. “Life has taught me that it’s better to leave some dreams behind. There are still enough things that are worth fighting for. But to come back to you.” Deliberately cheerful, she asked, “What do you want from life? What would you do if you could choose, and if you had the freedom?”

  Stefano looked at her with a serious expression. “I’ve never asked myself that question. Freedom? I never experienced it before this journey. Since I arrived here at Lake Constance, I’ve felt free and light of heart.” He smiled shyly. “But I do believe that my high spirits have a lot to do with being close to you.”

  “Stefano . . .” Clara, abashed, looked away, but her heart was beating hard. “It frightens me a little to hear you speak like that.” Where was it all supposed to lead?

  “But if it’s the truth? I’ve never felt better in my life than in the days I’ve spent in your presence and in your beautiful shop.” He sighed deeply. “I admire what you do more than I can tell you. The kindness with which you treat your customers impresses me newly every day. You give them your attention or, really, something like devotion. You
return to them what life—and maybe men, too—have taken away: their sense of who they are, their beauty, their youth or at least the memory of it. With every jar of cream, you give them back so much.”

  Clara gulped. “You made it all sound very lovely,” she said, her voice a little husky. “I would never dare describe my work like that myself. All I do is sell creams and scented lotions. Most people probably find that extremely superficial and useless, actually.” What would her father have thought of her profession? Might he have been just a little proud of his daughter? After all, he had instilled in her a love of making soaps and salves.

  “You do nothing but good for women. Who else can claim that?” A shadow, as sudden as a summer shower, darkened his face. “I wish I had a calling like that myself. I feel so unnecessary.”

  “What are you talking about?” Clara said vehemently. “Didn’t your family send you to Germany to set up a business? That’s—” She broke off when she saw a crease appear between his eyes.

  “Yes, my family sent me,” he said. “But every day I sense that I have to find my own way. I don’t care if my family hates me for it for the rest of my life. I don’t want anything to with the old business, not anymore.”

  Clara bit her lip thoughtfully. “So what will you do now?” she asked hesitantly, almost fearfully. He didn’t want to leave Meersburg, did he?

  “First, I’m going to sell all the hair and wigs I brought with me the best way I can, and send the money home. It’s important for me to make a clean break. I don’t want to cheat anyone. And then . . .” Stefano shrugged. “Clara, I don’t have the slightest idea. I have to believe that I still have some undiscovered talents.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a moment. I’ve seen how well you deal with people,” said Clara with conviction. “I only have to think about how you handled Baroness von Böttinger when she was so upset, and how helpful you were when the shop was overflowing with customers and I didn’t know which way was up. Stefano, you have salesmanship in your blood, and I’m sure that’s not all.”