As was true so often lately, he had not been hungry during the day and had eaten nothing for lunch. A brazen ray of sunlight fell through the canopy of leaves over Lichtenthaler Allee, and Friedrich felt it warm his nose. Maybe a stroll would bring back his appetite?
He had gone only a few steps when a mountain of construction materials, piled high along the facade of the Hotel Stéphanie, caught his eye. Wood, stone, then more wood, and . . . stone statues? The new owner seemed to have big plans for the old place.
Just like Lady Lucretia with the Hotel Marie-Eluise. “The contract of sale has been signed, the architect has drawn up the plans, and as soon as the building authorities give their blessing to my alterations, we’ll be ready to go,” she had said to him that morning. “I would like to stay in my own hotel next season, after all, and welcome the spa guests in person!” Even on the last day of her stay, she had insisted on enjoying the benefits of taking the waters.
Lady Lucretia was certainly serious about her new undertaking. For a long time, Friedrich had harbored his doubts. People could talk a great deal and have nothing to show for it in the end.
But Lucretia O’Donegal was different. She did not do things halfway. Zealously, she had told him all about her various ideas for the Marie-Eluise. “The new bath area will have ten tubs, one of which will be fed only with cold water, for those who prefer a course of cold baths. You with your technical knowledge would be just the right man to introduce all this to the guests. I also believe that a new job would divert you a little from . . . well, you know what.” Lady Lucretia had then clapped him on the shoulder in her usual hefty manner. “I await your final decision this evening at six, no later. In case you turn me down, then for better or worse I shall need to look for someone else.”
One hour. Friedrich’s gaze drifted back in the direction of the town. Should he go to the Marie-Eluise now and take a final, undisturbed look at the tubs? One last chance to dream about the enormous job being offered to him on a plate?
With a wife at his side, he probably would not have hesitated for a moment. He would have accepted the Englishwoman’s offer days ago. But alone, it made little sense.
No, at six on the dot, he would go to the hotel and tell Lady O’Donegal that—
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a miserable-looking figure slumped in the grass.
Flora!
His first impulse was to turn away before she noticed him and act as if he had not seen her. No, he couldn’t leave her on the ground like that. As he helped her onto the bench, he saw that her eyes were red and she clearly had been crying. She looked at him in disbelief.
“Friedrich?”
He straightened his shoulders automatically and nodded to her. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he could not even say her name.
“Friedrich . . .”
The way she said his name. It sounded like a sigh, and a shudder ran down Friedrich’s spine.
“How is Alexander? Is he well? And you? You—” She broke off and slapped one hand to her mouth. “Forgive me. I have no right to ask something like that.”
“Alexander is fine, as if you didn’t already know. Did you think I hadn’t noticed that Sabine takes the boy out to see you every week? Do you really believe I’m that stupid?” He felt a roaring in his head, as if a thousand wild bees were buzzing in there.
For several seconds, neither said a word.
She was pale. And she was so thin, no more than skin and bone.
Could it be that the sweet life did not taste so sweet after all?
Friedrich sniffed churlishly. Served her right. This woman—who seemed so delicate and fragile, no longer the strong and vibrant Flora he’d known—was no concern of his anymore.
The bees buzzed on in Friedrich’s head, and his heart beat so hard it felt as if it would burst out of his chest at any moment. Flora . . .
“How are you?” he said. The words flew from his mouth so suddenly that he could not stop them.
“How am I supposed to be . . . ?” She scratched a small circle in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. “I’m going to leave Baden-Baden.”
Friedrich had not reckoned with the impact of her words. But it was obvious: the season was over, and new adventures waited elsewhere. Of course she would leave on her lover’s arm. A wave of heat washed over him. He heard her words as if they came through fog from a long way off.
“Gönningen . . . my family . . . can only hope and pray that they take me in . . .”
Friedrich frowned. What was she talking about?
“Maybe, if I come back to Baden-Baden in winter to sell seeds . . . would you allow me to see Alexander? I know I have no right to that, but it would make me very happy. If you would let me.”
What was he supposed to allow? Friedrich understood nothing. What about the Bulgarian painter? Was it over?
Flora looked at him with eyes red from crying. “Oh, Friedrich, what have I done? I’ve done everything wrong. When I think about what I did to you . . . and our son. Your mother . . .” She threw her hands over her face and her body heaved, racked with sobbing. “I’d give anything to be able to turn things back again. But there are mistakes in life that can’t be reversed, can’t be made up for. What have I done!” she repeated, and she looked up at him, her cheeks wet with tears.
Friedrich took out his handkerchief and handed it to her. His knees felt weak as he sat beside her on the cold bench and struggled with the impulse to take her in his arms. Are you mad? he reproved himself in silence.
“Your realization comes a little late, I’m afraid,” he said stiffly.
It was too late for so many things. Even for Lady Lucretia and her hotel, he thought as he heard the church bell strike six in the distance.
Flora blew her nose, then crumpled the handkerchief into a ball. “I’ve said sorry to you a thousand times in my mind—a thousand times I’ve rehearsed the words. And now? Now I can’t think what to say at all. Friedrich, I miss you all so terribly! I think of you every day, so much that it hurts.” She sobbed silently and turned away.
He nodded tiredly. What could he say? That he missed her, too? Every day, over and over? That he hated himself for it and did everything he could to suppress his feelings for her? And that it did not work?
She touched his sleeve. He jumped as if he’d been burned.
“Remember the first day you showed me the Trinkhalle?”
A gust of wind chilled Friedrich. Why did he not just stand up and leave?
“The picture of Merline. You told me about how she lured the goatherds with her songs, and how, despite all the warnings they were given, they followed her into the depths.” Flora laughed bitterly. “Back then, I could not understand how anyone could be so stupid that they would leave everything behind and go into the water. Today . . .” She twisted the handkerchief with both hands. “Today, I know how tempting it can be to dive into unknown waters. At the start, you dip in just the tip of your toe. It feels good, and you think that nothing can happen. Then the song comes again, so filled with promise, and the thought that you might never hear it again is suddenly too terrible to contemplate. You stop thinking, and you dive in headfirst.” She twisted her mouth and spat out the next words like spoiled fruit. “For nothing but a fear I would miss out, for nothing but lust for life.”
“But what would you have missed out on? Why were Alexander and I not enough for you? Why did you lust for another life?” Friedrich asked. He felt like taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. “You sit here, cry your eyes out, and feel sorry for yourself. You don’t seem to care how I am at all! And yet . . .” Again, a shudder ran through him. This time it settled like frost on his skin.
“What?” she asked quietly.
He looked at her sideways. “When I told you the story back then, do you remember how you asked me about the goats? You wanted to know what became of them after their goatherd abandoned them.” His brow furrowed before he went on. “At the time, I could not give you an an
swer. Today, I can tell you what became of them, left alone,” he said in a gloomy voice. “They were lost, all of them. They went astray, with no one to stop them or guide them. A shadow hung over their lives, darkening everything, and they could not escape it.” Without warning, a sob escaped him, and he cried, “How could you do that to me?” Tears flowed over his face, and he banged his fist angrily on the bench.
Friedrich remembered clearly the last time he had wept, at home, after he had discovered Flora’s betrayal. He had been so furious and hurt that he felt he would never stop weeping. Now the hurt returned. The salty flood chose its unstoppable path, taking with it all his pent-up rage, his hate, his sadness and incomprehension. With no will of his own, he let Flora take him in her arms and rock him like a child. Together they wept for what they had lost.
Chapter Sixty
At some point, all their tears had been cried. Flora let go of Friedrich and wrapped her arms around her own body, meager protection against the rising wind. Exhausted and awkward, they sat side by side on the bench as the setting sun weakened.
And now? What would happen now? Would each go their own way? Where would her road lead her? Now that she had encountered Friedrich out here, the thought of returning to the hotel was even less imaginable than before. Of course, she had to go back to collect her things, but . . .
Flora sought nervously for something to say. She glanced surreptitiously at Friedrich from downturned eyes.
That she had met him today, the very day on which her feelings for Konstantin had died . . . All her feelings, all at once. Was it only a coincidence?
Friedrich cleared his throat. “It is like this: I have to go. I should have been on my way long ago. I have a pressing appointment.” He turned in the direction of the town.
A sadness stronger than any before came over Flora. He had to go. He had a pressing appointment on Sunday evening. Of course.
She sprang to her feet. “I’m sorry I held you up. I . . . I needed to be getting along anyway.”
His “No!” came as sharp as the crack of a whip, and made her jump.
“Don’t go,” he said softly. “I . . . would like to show you something.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Come.”
“You were to meet Lady Lucretia here? She owns the Marie-Eluise now?” Flora turned to Friedrich in disbelief. Her voice resounded in the vaulted cellar, through the length of which water rushed inside a heavy pipe.
Flora heard a rush in her own ears, and for a moment she had to hold herself upright on one of the iron tubs arranged on both sides.
Friedrich nodded. “She’s probably left already and forgot to lock up. We’d agreed to meet at six.”
Flora raised her eyebrows. The regret in Friedrich’s voice was clear. What was this all about? And why had he brought her here? Did he want to introduce Lady Lucretia as the new woman in his life? Hadn’t Sabine said that the Englishwoman had even visited Friedrich at home? So many questions shooting through her mind. She had to keep them all in check.
She looked around the cellar. The rust-red brick walls, the tubs in which a few spiders scrabbled, a shelf of dusty towels, a rolled carpet leaning against the wall—everything left the impression that the proprietress had stepped out briefly, and would return any minute to resume her cleaning. It did not smell stale or musty at all, as such vaults often did, but of camphor, and also a little like the inside of Friedrich’s Trinkhalle. What an unusual space. In all her time in Baden-Baden, she had never been in a bathhouse quite like it.
Flora frowned. She was slowly starting to feel as if she were inside a peculiar dream.
“It’s strange. Everything has been abandoned, but it doesn’t really feel like it. I feel much more as if I can hear the happy sounds of women laughing,” she said in amazement.
Friedrich nodded. “I also feel a very special, very pleasant atmosphere down here.” He twisted his mouth to one side. “I hope that Lady Lucretia manages to maintain that. If it were up to me, the first thing I would do would be to have a branch pipe installed to feed a drinking fountain.” He pointed to the water pipe. “The water in that pipe is also good drinking water. The guests could enjoy a hot bath and take the water in sips at the same time. They’d get the benefit on the inside, too. And then I think it would be important to . . .”
Flora listened to Friedrich attentively. She did not understand everything he said, but his enthusiasm was infectious. How he gesticulated! And how he strode through the room like a field marshal! He was clearly very certain about what he wanted.
Lady Lucretia had asked Friedrich to be the manager of her hotel? She would not have thought he could even imagine taking on such a role. What about the Trinkhalle?
What do you really know about this man, so familiar and yet so unknown?
Leaning against a wall, she said, “You’re so exhilarated. It all sounds so exciting!”
He laughed harshly. “Really? Suddenly? For you, I was always boring old Friedrich with his waters.”
“That’s not true,” she said feebly.
“Oh, yes it is! For you, every Russian coffee circle was more interesting than what I could offer. You wanted champagne, and all I could give you was water.”
Flora looked at the floor. What could she say to that? “Friedrich, I know I’ve made a thousand mistakes. And yes, I really did not show enough interest in your work. But I always had the feeling that your Trinkhalle was none of my business, as little as the flower shop interested you.” She swept aside a small spider that dropped on a web in front of her just then. “Maybe we should have talked to each other more than we did. Like at the start.”
Friedrich laughed. “Talk! For you, that’s always a cure-all. My parents did not talk to each other all the time, and they stayed together until my father’s death.”
“And? Were they happy like that?”
Friedrich waved it off. For several moments, the only sound was the rushing of the water in its pipe.
“When do you start as the new manager, then?” Flora finally asked, to break the silence.
“I won’t be.”
“But why not?” Flora asked uncomprehendingly. “Just now, your plans, your enthusiasm. I thought . . .” I thought you wanted to show me that you could get along just fine without me.
Friedrich sat on the edge of one of the tubs, propped his elbows on his knees, and shrugged helplessly. “You know, there was a time when I could well have imagined taking on something like this with you. Me down here in the bathhouse, you looking after the guests. Your flowers in the breakfast room and the sitting room.” He looked up and smiled at her. “I thought that we would make a good team.”
The two of us in a hotel? What a mad, thrilling notion! Flora thought.
Flora smiled, too. “You were always the more . . . measured of us. I was the one with the overflowing imagination.” She shook her head. “Oh, Friedrich, I’m such a fool. If only you’d married someone smarter.”
“But I didn’t want anyone else,” Friedrich replied, and his expression grew a little defiant. “Flora, life without you . . . I miss you more than I can say.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “Really? I thought you hated me.”
“In the first weeks, I did. But now I’ve come to see that love and hate are perhaps not so far apart after all.”
Friedrich stood up, went to the window, checked that it was latched. Without turning around, he said, “You and I . . . that we met at all, back then, well, I always considered it somehow fated, as if fate made the two of us for each other. Which was why I simply could not understand it when you—” He stopped abruptly and turned around. “Damn it! I still don’t understand what got into you. I also don’t know if I can ever forget what I saw in the Forellenhof. You and that man. That image will be burned into my memory forever.”
“Friedrich . . .” Why did he have to start with that? Her conscience was already as black as a raven.
“Even if we both try as hard as we can, I don’t have the s
lightest idea if things can ever be the way they were.”
“The way they were? You mean, you in one place, me in another?” she asked softly. “This hotel”—she opened her arms to include everything around them—“maybe it stands for what we were missing. What did we have in common? What aims and plans and tasks did we share?”
Her knees trembling, she went to him, hesitated for a moment, then took his hand and laid it against her cheek.
“Friedrich, if you really believe that we can still have a future together, I would do everything I can to make you happy. Of course I can’t turn back time or undo everything that’s been done. You would have to take me back with all the terrible mistakes I’ve made. You would have to be able to forget.”
“Forgetting is one thing, but there is also forgiveness,” Friedrich murmured. He stroked her hair tenderly. “Maybe I will do a better job of that.”
A sudden loud sound made both of them flinch, and it was a moment before Flora realized that it was her own stomach rumbling in discontent. Abashed, she pressed her hand to her stomach. “I’m sorry, I . . . I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning.”
Friedrich laughed. “Neither have I. And now I’m as hungry as a bear.” He took Flora’s hand and led her toward the exit. “What do you think? Could you eat a few fresh waffles?”
“Waffles? I love waffles!” Flora laughed in confusion.
“Then come with me. Sabine has the day off, so my mother will be wielding the waffle iron herself.”
“You want me to . . . come home? As simple as that?” Flora felt as if all the blood were draining out of her face. Her eyes wide, she stopped and looked at Friedrich.
He nodded. “I don’t know if it will be quite so ‘simple.’ But we’ll soon see.”
“What about Lady Lucretia? The hotel? Didn’t you want to—”
He waved it off. “None of that matters now.”
Without another word, they climbed the stairs and left the vault behind.
The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2) Page 35