The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  “What’s going to happen? You don’t seriously think that Clara will get divorced a second time?” Josephine replied. “Do you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As it progressed, it was clear that 1909 would be no less strenuous than the year before. Both Bel Étage shops were completely booked every day from the start of the tourist season, and Clara could barely keep up with production of her products. And then there were the customers who would only have their treatments done by Clara. Even though these consultations cost Clara a lot of time, she enjoyed the contact very much. The women would tell her stories from their lives, things that made her heart ache. In the descriptions of everyday housewifery, so often with too few hours, too little appreciation, and even less love, she recognized her old life. “Sometimes, you just have to say enough! A business dinner can be very nice with only three courses, too,” she advised one woman. “Hire someone to do the wash. You don’t get paid to do that work,” she told another. “Find the time to go for a walk. The fresh air will do your skin good, and it will do you good, too!”

  Clara could see the spark of hope in the women’s eyes when she made her suggestions, but she knew that few of them would put her advice to good use. In the upper class and among the nobility, it was normal to pay for one’s freedom from drudgery by employing a maid, a cook, and a laundrywoman, and often other workers, too. But the mayor or the owner of Treiber’s Emporium found it hard to accept that his wife might need some help. It was with these women that Clara put in special effort. In the time they spent having treatments at Bel Étage, at least, they should be able to relax.

  “You should get paid for talking,” Stefan teased her. “You’ll soon be able to get more for that than the treatments.” He believed that it was a waste of Clara’s time to do so many treatments.

  In contrast to how she treated her customers, Clara was anything but pampered. She still gave herself time for her morning swim in the lake, but that was the only luxury in her life. Gone were the days when she could read the newspaper over a relaxed breakfast and stay well informed about news, politics, and culture. Now all she had time for was a cup of coffee while she stood and scanned the headlines. If she heard anything at all about what was going on in the empire, then it came through Josephine, who wrote at length about happenings in Berlin and beyond. It was from Josephine that Clara also learned about cashless payments, which made it possible to pay an invoice with a bank transfer instead of cash. Clara was so taken with the idea that she wanted to open an account for her business, but Stefan—now officially responsible for all the finances as the general manager of the Bel Étage shops—was against it. He told Clara that he preferred plain old cash. Everything else, in his opinion, was too risky.

  Clara was much better informed about the goings-on in Meersburg. Therese, Lilo, and her customers told her which personalities were currently staying in town, who was going to which parties with whom, and all the rest of the gossip. And then she heard even more first hand, when those same illustrious guests visited her shops. Countess Zuzanna of Poland was again spending the summer in Meersburg, and the vivacious woman was always happy to share stories. She invited Clara to her parties, too. But after a hard day in the shop, the work in the laboratory at night could not be ignored. So Clara sent Stefan instead, to mix and mingle with the upper-class guests. He usually returned from such dinners, dances, and parties when Clara was already sound asleep, a circumstance that did not please her at all.

  “Would you help me prepare my creams and soaps now and then?” she asked him one day. “With two of us, we’d be finished much sooner and could even go for a nice walk in the evening.” Like we used to, she added silently.

  “You want me to stir the creams and go for a stroll afterward? Mia cara, how can you suggest that?” he replied in a horrified tone. “My presence at all these events is vitally important! I’m not going there for fun, you know. See and be seen, as they say. If both of us started turning down these influential hostesses, it would be very bad for the business. You don’t seriously want that, do you?” He raised his chin, challenging her to answer.

  Clara shook her head. Of course she didn’t want that.

  Some nights, standing in the laboratory, she heard music drifting softly through the streets of Meersburg. On nights like that, she felt truly lost.

  In May, Heinrich Schmidt, Clara’s landlord, moved out of the apartment above the shop in the Unterstadtstrasse to go and live with his daughter in Switzerland. Clara and Stefan, who had been sharing Clara’s room in the hotel, were overjoyed. Finally, they would have a place to call home! When the old man offered to leave them his furniture, Clara was touched and delighted. What a generous offer! Especially because the furniture was solidly built from beautiful pearwood that would stand up to any children’s games, though Clara knew she had nothing to worry about in that regard from either Matthias or Sophie. In her mind, she could already see them sitting on the sofa and drinking hot chocolate.

  “If we get the chairs redone with dark-red velvet and some new curtains to match, it will look lovely,” she said to Stefan.

  Stefan screwed up his nose. “Can’t you smell that? The sofa, the sideboard, the cupboards—everything reeks of age and rot. Mia cara, we don’t want to spend our new life in an atmosphere as dead as this, do we? Countess Zuzanna had her drawing room redecorated by a furniture maker from Friedrichshafen who’s really en vogue. That’s what I want, too. This old junk can be used by the needy at the shelter.”

  “Refurnish the apartment? All of it? But that will cost a fortune!” Clara gasped. She didn’t know what shocked her more: the cost or the idea of having to tell Mr. Schmidt where his furniture had gone.

  “Money . . .” Stefan flicked one hand as if to shoo away the thought. “Don’t go telling me that you’re worried about that. The women are addicted to being beautiful. They buy whatever you offer them. Believe me, it’s a spring that will never run dry. No, we’re only going to get richer.” He took Clara’s hands in his and swung her around in a circle as if in a dance. “Can you hear it, bella Clara? It’s the sound of our future.” And he tilted his head as if he really were listening to beautiful music.

  Clara laughed. The thought of living there with him in a few weeks made her dizzier than their dance.

  “All right, then let’s buy new furniture. As long as we have enough money for the business. You know I keep thinking about opening a shop in Baden-Baden.”

  “Ah, my dear, I have already set things in motion for Baden-Baden,” said Stefan, in a tone one might use for a child who hasn’t been paying attention. “On Countess Zuzanna’s advice, I wrote to a gentleman at the regional bank in Baden-Baden two weeks ago. According to the countess, he has excellent contacts among the real estate people there. This morning, I had word from him that he wants to show us three possible locations there next week.”

  “But the season has just begun. How can we go off to Baden-Baden now? And then there’s all the work in the apartment. Won’t it all be too much?” she said, taken aback. “I thought we’d look closer at Baden-Baden in autumn, when we can catch our breath a little. And now I find out that you’ve already made such concrete plans.”

  “Mia cara, now that I’m helping you run the business, the responsibility falls on two pairs of shoulders. Another shop will be child’s play!”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” Clara said with a pensive shrug. “Shouldn’t we have talked it through together first?”

  Stefan’s expression darkened instantly. “Am I supposed to get your blessing for every little decision? Am I just your errand boy? If that’s how it is, I might as well go!” He snatched his jacket so violently from Heinrich Schmidt’s coatrack that one of the hooks fell off. Before Clara could say anything to calm him down, Stefan was gone.

  Stefan’s bad mood did not last long. Together with Countess Zuzanna’s lover, Pawel, he went on a short boat trip. While they were out on the lake, Pawel talked in such glowing terms about Bad
en-Baden and its unofficial gaming rooms that Stefan could hardly wait to travel to the town on the banks of the Oos River. It would be best if he went there alone, he decided. Then he could spend as much time as he wanted playing cards. And Clara—who had oh-so-little time—could stay in Meersburg and do her consultations.

  When he was back on dry land, Stefan went off in search of his wife, whom he finally found at the shop in the Hotel Residenz. Clara was sitting in one of the armchairs normally used by waiting customers. She was deep in conversation with a woman dressed in the latest fashion. On top of her close-cropped hair, she wore a tiny velvet hat with a wide veil and a single long feather. Stefan immediately recognized her as Beate Birgen, the Danish German film star. She was staying in the Hotel Residenz, and her presence was all the buzz in Meersburg. Although the town could not boast one of the new movie houses, Friedrichshafen had two. A week ago, Stefan had gone with a group of the men in town to see Katzenjammer, a twenty-minute film in which a woman, played by Beate Birgen, searches desperately for her lost Siamese cat and gets herself into all sorts of dramatic and uproarious situations along the way. None of the men had taken his eyes off the curvy and exceptionally exotic actress even for a moment. Throughout the film, Stefan could not stop asking himself how a woman as beautiful as Beate Birgen could voluntarily have all her hair cut off.

  Excited at the prospect of meeting the woman herself, he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He was going to a party at the villa of Johann Martens that evening, and if he could tell everyone that such a famous figure had been in their shop, they would certainly prick up their ears! He cleared his throat, but neither Clara nor the film star noticed him.

  “And the black paste I use to darken my eyelashes begins to run after just a short time. Look.” The actress closed her eyes dramatically and fluttered her eyelids.

  Clara nodded. “Of course that shouldn’t happen. I’m certain that I could come up with a much better texture for this paste. It needs to be made with less oil, and perhaps with a little talcum.” Stefan noticed that Clara was jotting down notes even as she spoke.

  “Speaking of talcum, take a look at my face powder. It’s an outrage!” Beate declared. “Some days, my skin itches so much, it feels like I’ve fallen into a patch of nettles.” She produced a silvery metallic container from her purse, opened it, and let Clara sniff the contents.

  Clara screwed up her nose. “Just the smell of it. I’m not surprised at all that it does your skin no favors. It’s a shame, really, but as long as makeup like this is only used by a few actresses in the theaters and films, manufacturers aren’t likely to develop something that’s better for the skin.”

  Beate nodded. “A dash of rouge on the cheeks, darker lashes, and a little eyeliner will take the pallor off many a mouse. But most women look at makeup as something exotic, if not downright disreputable. Now that I think of it, why don’t you develop a cosmetic line?”

  Clara laughed softly. “Time. Time is the problem, you know? I could already be doing nothing but production day and night.”

  Still, neither had noticed Stefan standing in the doorway. He cleared his throat again, then put on his most charming smile and stepped inside. He had his hand out to greet their visitor when Clara finally realized he was there.

  “Oh, Stefan,” she said, her forehead momentarily creasing. “Excuse us, but we’re in the middle of a discussion.” She gave him a friendly nod in the direction of the door while Beate Birgen looked at him with open hostility, as if he were an interloper.

  Stefan looked in confusion from Clara to the actress as if someone had slapped him across the face. Then, almost bursting with anger, he stalked off.

  “What a wonderful woman! I can’t remember the last time I had such a nice chat. I’d love to be better friends with her, but there’s really no time to get to know each other. That’s how it is with the vacationers—here today, gone tomorrow.”

  Stefan glared at her. Since entering the apartment, she’d been babbling away as if nothing were the matter. Not a word of apology at all!

  “How dare you send me away like a schoolboy like that? And in front of Beate Birgen, no less!” he suddenly burst out, straightening his jacket. In a few minutes, he would be leaving for the party at the Martenses’. Mrs. Martens was also a customer at the Bel Étage and had handed Clara the invitation—on thick handmade paper—in person. But, as usual, he would be going alone.

  He looked with distaste at the worn-out dress Clara was just pulling on. Over that, she tied an old apron. His wife looked like a Piedmontese farm girl!

  “Oh, Stefan, it wasn’t meant like that at all.” Clara came over and kissed him, which he returned, but with reserve. “Some women simply want to talk to me privately about their beauty problems.”

  Stefan forced a smile. Why start a fight now? In a few minutes he’d be off to an evening of fun.

  “In that case . . . ,” he said. Maybe that young brown-haired noblewoman from Geneva would be there, the one he’d met the previous Sunday. Last time, he’d managed to withstand her charms . . .

  Clara was still lost in the recollection of her conversation with the actress. She tilted her head to one side and said, “You know what surprises me?”

  Stefan—already, in his mind, at the party—said nothing.

  “So many women seem to avoid getting out into the fresh air! But it is so important, especially for an actress who spends so much time in stuffy rooms under artificial lights. Fresh air, a fresh breeze, sunlight—I told Mrs. Birgen that she absolutely has to take advantage of the outdoors as part of keeping herself beautiful. And I also told her that she should go swimming every day, like me.”

  “If you give this advice to your regular customers, too, pretty soon you won’t be selling any more creams at all,” said Stefan sarcastically. His resolution not to start a fight vanished like fresh snow in spring sunshine.

  Clara only laughed softly. “Now don’t be like that. I know you’d prefer it if beauty only came out of a jar. But if you ask me, true beauty takes much more, and that’s exactly what I want to get across to these women. Or at least to try. And now, my darling, adieu!” And with her apron swinging like a flag, she went down to the laboratory.

  Stefan watched her go. Was he imagining things, or had he lost some of his influence over Clara lately? He was the man of the house! And more than that, he was the manager of the Bel Étage. God knows, it would not be too much to expect that she would listen to him. Instead, she went off with her own ideas, again and again, as if she were still a single, independent woman. Should he have kept her more under the thumb from the start, as his father had with his mother, as long as Stefan could remember? Maria Totosano had never objected to anything her husband said. She was utterly dependent on his benevolence. The creases in Stefan’s forehead deepened as he realized that he was taking his father—his father, of all people!—as a role model. It was all Clara’s fault.

  When, a short time later, as he walked through the May air, heavy with the scent of flowers, toward the vineyards where the Martenses’ villa stood, Stefan came to a decision. He would teach Clara a lesson. Then she would quickly find out that it would be best to follow his advice.

  Would five dresses be enough? And how many hats would she need? Clara stood in front of her wardrobe. Baden-Baden was a fashionable spot; she knew that much from her short visit to Countess Zuzanna the previous autumn.

  She and Stefan would be there five days, and May weather was always changeable. Would it be cool and rainy or summer hot? Or both? Certainly, she would need a cardigan . . . A dark-blue cardigan went into her suitcase. And another light summer coat? She wanted to look as neat and fresh as she possibly could every day, and especially in the evenings! She would be meeting so many important people and would have to make so many decisions. Clara’s heart beat faster at the mere thought.

  First of all, she had to find the perfect Bel Étage location. Then she would have to track down reliable workers to set up the rooms
just as she wanted them, and at a reasonable price. The new shop would, of course, have to be painted in lavender and light lime green. Shelves, treatment chairs, partitions, lamps, curtains . . . She hoped that the Baden-Badeners and her guests in Meersburg shared the same taste.

  And it was just as important to find the right staff from the start. Young, good-looking, friendly women that she could trust to run her third shop properly. She would have to train them in her treatment methods, too, which would mean another trip to Baden-Baden. Best of all would be to entrust the new business to one of her experienced assistants from Meersburg. But which of them would volunteer to spend an entire summer in Baden-Baden?

  I hope it all goes well, Clara fretted. There was a great deal at stake, a lot of money, especially. She pulled her hat boxes out of the wardrobe.

  As nervous as she was, she was looking forward to the trip. It was certainly not easy to pry herself away from Meersburg once the season was underway, but now that Stefan had set everything in motion, it had to be done, one way or another. Making a lot of decisions together would ease the burden; that much was clear. And then there was the prospect of spending some romantic hours together—she was looking forward to that very much indeed. With a smile, she had just begun to pack her prettiest underwear into her traveling case when Stefan came into the room.

  “Please don’t tell me the car is already at the door. I need at least another hour to pack.”

  “I have to talk to you,” he said curtly. “I’m going to Munich. Unfortunately, you will have to go to Baden-Baden alone.”

  Clara did not believe she had heard right. “But . . . why?” Munich? What business did he have in Munich? Another woman! The thought shot through her mind, although she didn’t have the slightest grounds for it. But wasn’t another woman always to blame? And women were certainly interested in Stefan; she witnessed that in her shop every day. “What are you doing in Munich?”