“I hope your hard work pays off one day,” said Flora sleepily.
Friedrich hoped the same. If, at some point, the newly established Spa and Bath Administration took over the responsibility for the Trinkhalle, he wanted to be able to present himself as a keen and knowledgeable employee whom they could not overlook.
“Who knows, maybe I won’t forever be the Trinkhalle manager, but will find a more important role in spa life here. As director of baths or something similar.” Friedrich laughed, feeling a little embarrassed. “In the past, I never would have dared to set such lofty goals for myself, but now I know that you can go a long way if you only want to badly enough. Thanks to you.”
Flora raised her head a little. “Is that meant to be a compliment?” She stroked his arm tenderly.
The rubbing alcohol irritated Friedrich’s nose, and he had to sneeze. “Well, when I look at what you’ve done with the shop . . .”
“I had no one to get in my way—the shop belongs to us, after all. But you’re an employee there. What would you like to achieve?”
“It’s simple. I want to make it clear to as many people as possible how important and how beneficial a drinking regime can be. That’s why I’m always running off to the library, and why I read everything about thermal waters that I can. One day, I want to deliver in-depth lectures about curative waters at the Trinkhalle. Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?”
“Will many people want to hear about it?” Flora murmured, then let her head drop back onto the pillow and turned onto her side.
“Well, Lady O’Donegal is already a devotee. She peppers me with new questions about our waters every day.” When Flora said nothing, Friedrich looked up from her legs. His wife was sleeping.
He would gladly have heard Flora’s opinion about one of his presentations. Did he sound too much like a doctor or a chemist when he talked about spring water containing lithium and arsenic? Friedrich sighed softly.
How long has it been since we spent a pleasant evening with each other? he wondered as he lay down carefully beside Flora. A stroll along Lichtenthaler Allee, a concert in the park beside the Kurhaus, talking with one another . . . somehow, there was never any time for such things anymore. Instead, they were so exhausted in the evenings that all they could do was fall into bed and sleep.
“Artificial flowers are not welcome here. If you are serious about wanting artificial flowers for your birthday picnic, then you will have to seek out someone else to do the decorating for you.” With her hands planted on her hips and an earnest expression on her face, Flora stood facing Princess Irina Komatschova.
Friedrich, the door handle in his hand, sighed. A customer this early? He had wanted to talk to Flora for a moment about something that had occurred to him the previous evening.
“The weather at the start of September can turn in the blink of an eye. If that happens, the picnic will have to be moved to the ballroom in the Hotel Stéphanie les Bains. Perhaps you are not familiar with how run-down that particular room is? Artificial flowers would distract my guests from that, at least a little. Even our esteemed kaiserin is considering gracing me with her presence. Is she supposed to look at crumbling plaster?” The Russian’s brow furrowed.
“But artificial flowers!” Flora spat the word out in disgust. “I am sure that Kaiserin Augusta has little interest in that.”
Ernestine, who sat behind the counter tying loops from a spool of white ribbon, nodded vigorously.
Friedrich looked from one woman to the other. Why was Flora assailing a customer so vehemently over such a trifle? If she absolutely wanted to have artificial flowers, then why not give her what she wanted?
For a moment, he was tempted to just leave the “tonic”—chocolate, in fact, that he had bought for Flora at the pharmacy—on the counter and walk back out. Then the anticipation of the look on Flora’s face when she heard about his flash of inspiration kept him there, waiting patiently.
“Can you really afford to push your customers around like that?” he asked when the princess had finally left.
“Oh, if I don’t get this particular job, it won’t be any great loss,” Flora said and laughed. “Princess Irina Komatschova is a miser. Besides, she’s famous for paying her bills very late.”
Friedrich cleared his throat. “The reason I’m here . . . Flora, it’s been a long time since we spent a nice evening together, just the two of us, and so I’d like to invite you to a concert by the spa orchestra. Next Monday would be best—would you be able to find the time?” Automatically, he held his breath as Flora turned pages in her diary.
“I’m free that evening,” she said. “But to be honest, I’d much rather go to a concert by the Waltz King. Everyone raves about his music, but we can’t talk about it because we’ve never been to hear it. Who knows if Schani will even come back to Baden-Baden next year?”
Friedrich grimaced: Schani—Flora used Johann Strauss’s nickname as if they were bosom friends.
“It would certainly be good for Flora to be seen on the social stage in private life for a change. A Strauss concert would be just the thing,” Ernestine added.
“But those things are terribly expensive! I can get free tickets for the spa orchestra. I thought you’d like my idea, but if you don’t want to . . .” And for this he’d made himself late for work!
“Friedrich, don’t get in a huff. I’d be happy to go with you.” She put her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes, smiling. “But there’s another thing . . .”
Friedrich had to smile himself. They would not be able to hold each other like that much longer—Flora’s belly would soon be too big for that.
“It’s about the kaiserin’s birthday,” said Flora slowly. “They say she’ll celebrate it here in Baden-Baden, as she does every year, on September thirtieth. That’s still a good five weeks away.”
“Are you doing her flowers, too?” Just the thought of it made Friedrich’s heart skip a beat.
“No, and that’s the problem.” Flora stamped her foot. “And it would be my dearest wish. Friedrich, do you think you could put in a good word for me? I mean, you’re an important man in the town; you know a lot of people. The mayor and—”
“Now that is something you could really do for Flora,” Ernestine cut in.
“I’d love to,” Friedrich replied. “When I drop by for tea with the kaiserin later, I’ll put a word in her ear. I’m sure she’ll listen to me.” He set the chocolate on the counter and left.
Have you completely lost your mind? Six months ago, you would have been happy to tie a bouquet for the pharmacist’s wife, and now it has to be for the kaiserin! I’m starting to believe you’re suffering from delusions of greatness.
Friedrich kicked so hard at the white gravel that the little stones flew in the air.
Damn it, that was what he should have told his dear wife. And his mother, too! But instead he had left the shop and headed in the direction of the Trinkhalle, lost for any more than the few ironic words he’d managed to find.
Chapter Forty
So this is why I let Princess Irina haggle down the price so far, Flora thought angrily as she saw Kaiserin Augusta disappear through the door. The kaiserin had spent no more than five minutes at Irina Komatschova’s birthday party. No doubt she had barely noticed Flora’s elaborate re-creation of a picnic scene, complete with trees, a mossy forest floor, and dozens of rosebushes that she had had brought into the ballroom of the Hotel Stéphanie. It seemed Flora’s plan to catch the kaiserin’s eye had failed miserably.
What were you thinking, you silly creature! she berated herself as she tossed her rose shears and other tools into her basket. Imagining the kaiserin would see your flowers and want you as her private florist from that moment on, ha!
The dance floor, in the meantime, had filled. No one would notice if she disappeared now, so she seized the moment and hurried out in the direction of Lichtenthaler Allee. Maybe the fresh air would cure her of her arrogant notions.
On
the bridge that crossed the Oos, she set her basket down briefly to rub her aching back. Gradually, her anger at her own impertinence faded and she relaxed a little.
How autumnal the night already was. And how the earthbound fog engulfed the river.
“Yer money, or you’ll regret it!”
Before Flora knew what was happening, she felt a bony arm around her neck. She was yanked back so violently that it took her breath away. “You’re that flower harlot,” a male voice hissed in her right ear. The man’s breath reeked, and Flora instinctively held her breath. “I’ve been watchin’ you for a long time, seen you dancin’ round the rich folk while the likes of us go hungry.”
Friedrich! Help me! Someone, anyone, help! Flora wanted to scream, but she could not make a sound. She wanted to kick at the man behind her, to hurt him as he was hurting her, but she was paralyzed with fear. The arm around her neck was choking her.
“Give me yer money!” the man snarled and squeezed even harder. Flora whimpered, gurgled, and was on the verge of throwing up when the man loosened his grip. “Hand it over.”
With trembling hands, Flora picked up her purse from the basket and handed it to the man, whose eyes sparked greedily. She gathered up her skirt to try to run, but before she could take a single step, he grabbed her by the chin with a dirty paw and turned her face to his.
“You’re not bad lookin’ at all. If you’re good enough for the Russians, you’re good enough for me.” He let out a husky laugh, and a wave of bad breath washed over her.
“No, leave me alone, I—” Flora tried to break free, but he dragged her to the first bush behind the bridge and pushed her to the ground. Flora’s knee slammed down on a stone, and the pain was so intense it made her dizzy.
My child! I have to protect my child! The thought shot through Flora like a bolt of lightning before she passed out.
Nine already! Irina’s birthday party would already be in full swing. But so what? thought Konstantin as he strolled along Lichtenthaler Allee. He had no interest in putting on a cheery face and bantering the evening away. Was it because the season was nearing its end and he did not know what was coming next? Or was the news he had heard earlier responsible for his frame of mind?
It looked as if the casino’s days were truly numbered. Piotr had mentioned that afternoon that the silver ball would roll for the last time on October 31 . . . unbelievable!
One thing was certain: he had no interest in wasting his time in just any old spa town. He needed amusement, games, entertainment. And places that offered all those things were also to be found in other parts of the world.
The only question was whether he would ever get to see those parts of the world.
He had tried several times to pin Püppi down on where she would spend the winter, but she did not know where she wanted to go.
As he stepped onto the bridge that crossed the Oos to the Hotel Stéphanie, he spied the hazy outlines of two people. A man and a woman in a close embrace. The man was leading the woman off into the bushes.
Konstantin grinned. The passion of the lovers seemed to be a matter of urgency. He sighed deeply. It had been a long time since he had felt such feelings for a woman. To be so aroused as to be unable to think clearly, and only able to feel, taste, smell . . . skin, hair, feminine curves . . .
Should he take the next bridge and avoid disturbing the couple? Konstantin looked toward them again.
Strange . . . the woman seemed to be resisting. Yes, and the man was dragging her along! Something wasn’t right.
Damn it, that was no couple. The woman needed help!
Konstantin broke into a run.
Shouting. Her head against the hard ground. Her knee, throbbing. The arms of the man, no longer so tightly around her, maybe she would manage it, to break free . . . Flora’s eyelids fluttered. She tried feverishly to come to her senses, to breathe. Her child. She had to think of her child, to protect it.
She jerked her eyes open, started to beat the man wildly with her fists.
“Let me go! You filthy man!”
“Little flower girl! It’s me, just me,” she heard. A different voice, vaguely familiar.
“You?” When Flora saw who it was holding her in his arms, she almost fainted a second time from the shock.
“Yes, me. Everything is all right.” Konstantin rocked her in his arms like a child, brushed the hair out of her face. “The man’s gone. I sent him packing. Flora, that’s your name, isn’t it? Are you all right?”
Flora tried to nod, tried to thank the man for his kindness, but instead she burst into tears.
“If you hadn’t come along, then . . . then . . . that beast would have—” Her words broke off into loud sobbing.
“Easy now, easy now. I’ll look after you.”
Flora sniffed and bawled. First that horrible man and now Konstantin Sokerov. She let out a wail, then could not catch her breath, could not compose herself.
The slap on her right cheek came without warning. The second on her left, too.
Flora instantly fell silent. She stared at Konstantin wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry. I had to bring you back to your senses somehow.” A lopsided grin accompanied his words.
Flora was suddenly all too aware of how terrible she must look. The snot and the tears. Her disheveled hair, bleeding knee, rumpled skirt.
“Thank you for helping me,” she murmured. She tried to stand up and wipe the mud from her skirt and—where was her basket? Her money? Was her baby unharmed?
She staggered, her head spinning, and sank to the ground again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s the shock. It’s deep in you, down to your bones. Allow me.” Before she knew it, Konstantin had taken out his handkerchief and with a light touch dabbed away her tears and the snot, wiped the spittle from the corners of her mouth. Then he tried to bring some order to her hair, combing it with his fingers, but they kept catching in the tangled mop. He laughed.
“You’ll just have to live with being an untamed beauty! Shall I take you to the police so you can report the robbery? Or do you want to go home? Or . . . could you do with a vodka for the shock of it all, like me?”
“Could it be . . . a small schnapps?” Flora squeaked.
A short time later, they were sitting at a table in the back of a wine bar. The waiter had started momentarily at Flora’s somewhat unkempt appearance, but then brought them their drinks without a word.
“I’m angriest at myself. Friedrich warned me that there’d been a vagrant around. I should have been more careful,” said Flora. She had drained her schnapps in a single draft, and it ran hot and soothing down her throat. “Instead, I almost let that man defile me.”
“He certainly defiled your dress,” said Konstantin, pointing to Flora’s soiled skirt.
Flora let out a laugh. “Thank you for reminding me how elegant I look.”
“It’s really not so bad. That pale lilac suits you, by the way,” he said, picking a bit of moss from the sleeve of her dress.
Flora, abashed, took a sip of water. “It’s the color of my favorite flower, the cuckooflower. In the language of flowers, it stands for charm and esprit.” She shrugged. “I thought I could use a little of both this evening.” At Konstantin’s prompting, she began to tell him about Irina’s party, and very soon about her failed expectations.
“I actually believed the kaiserin would see my flowers and jump for joy.” Flora felt her face redden with her mortification. She sighed. “Florist to Her Imperial Highness—that would have been a dream. But dreams burst like bubbles, don’t they? This evening, I also heard a rumor that the casino is closing its doors. If that’s true, then I can forget a second dream, too. I would have loved to tie a few particularly beautiful bouquets for those elegant gaming rooms, just once.” What was she prattling on about? She did not know this man at all or anything about him, except that he was Princess Stropolski’s escort and that he had rescued Flora not so many minutes earlier. She had to
be getting home. Friedrich was already waiting for her, no doubt. What was she supposed to say to him? Would he be angry that she allowed herself to be robbed? And the money . . . Thank God she had only a little change with her.
Konstantin’s harsh laugh dragged her out of her brooding. “At least you have lofty dreams to forget! Lofty dreams . . . sometimes I wonder if I ever had any.”
“But you want to be a famous painter, don’t you? That is a tremendous dream!” Flora said. But he continued to look morosely at his drink, and Flora reached across the table spontaneously and pressed his hand encouragingly.
He shrugged. “If you say so. Oh, it’s probably just the autumn fog that’s making me so melancholy. Or how seriously you take your work. Whenever I see you at a party, surrounded by your flowers, I wonder how it must feel to have such passion.”
Flora frowned. Konstantin was very different from what she knew him to be among the perfumed, powdered women who laughed loudly at his jokes. Was this change in him because of her? The magic of the moment, which had just felt so wonderfully warm, threatened to pop like a soap bubble.
“It’s strange, isn’t it? We see each other at almost every party, and until today we have not exchanged so much as a word,” said Konstantin. “Apart from your talent for the language of flowers, I know nothing about you.”
Now it was Flora’s turn to shrug. “I’m sure you always had something better to do than spend time with the flower girl . . . ,” Flora said. She held her breath instinctively. What a topsy-turvy evening it had been.
“Maybe I was just wasting my time,” Konstantin said, looking at her hands.
She followed his eyes and saw that on her pinky, the nail had broken, but it had not given up without a fight and still held on valiantly. Flora’s brow creased. How shabby her nails looked! As shabby as her whole hand with its nicks and calluses.
Konstantin plucked off the last of the broken nail and traced the side of her finger with his. The gesture was so intimate that Flora withdrew her hand, taken aback.
What was she doing there? Why hadn’t she gone to the police long before to report the robbery?
The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2) Page 23