Friedrich was already running.
Beating its wings wildly and with its beak open wide, the large bird launched itself at the smallest child, while its babies peeped and waddled away in all directions.
The little girl stopped in her tracks, and not another sound came from her lips. For a moment, Flora hoped that the bird, confronted by the child’s defenselessness, would change its mind. But it was not to be: the swan was already pecking at the girl, who instantly curled up on the ground, squealing.
The next moment, Friedrich snatched the girl up and set her down on her feet; the governess, who had finally broken out of her daze, picked her up and carried her to safety.
Flora could only watch helplessly as Friedrich became the target of the swan’s ire.
“At least it wasn’t my fault this time,” said Flora in a squeaky voice, pointing to Friedrich’s trouser leg. Where the swan had attacked him, there was a new tear. A little blood seeped through the fabric, but he assured Flora that the injury was nothing.
Flora realized that her knees were shaking. She knew well that an attack by an angry swan could have had far worse consequences than a torn trouser leg. Relieved that nothing more serious had happened, she took Friedrich’s arm again.
“I would say that your act of heroism has earned us a little rest.”
A short time later, they were sitting on the terrace at the Englischer Hof hotel. Friedrich’s eyes were bright with the excitement of his wrangle with the bird, and his cheeks were red. To Flora he no longer looked sallow and unhealthy, but very manly indeed.
While Friedrich ordered the light lunch and a half carafe of wine, Flora inconspicuously stretched her legs beneath the table. Finally!
All the impressions of the morning, capped by the incident with the swan, had worn her out more than any day’s tramp across fields and meadows.
When the waitress had poured the wine, they clinked glasses.
“I don’t really fit in here at all,” she said, turning to take in all the tables with their white tablecloths, the fine chandeliers inside, and all the elegantly dressed patrons.
“The Englischer Hof is certainly among Baden-Baden’s better hotels. I don’t normally come here myself, but today is a noteworthy day, isn’t it? Besides, I would like to take the opportunity, in this special place, to thank you for all you have done with Father’s shop in such a short time. The trees in front of the door, the nice porcelain—my mother would never have thought to bring that up from the cellar on her own. Practically every day, I hear from people on the street how much lovelier everything looks now.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” Flora took a good mouthful of the wine. “But—” She broke off, because the waitress had just brought two plates of the finest-looking bread she had ever seen: slivers of hard-boiled egg delicately garnished with a pink mayonnaise covered two slices of bread with the crusts trimmed off, and on the side were tiny flowers carved from radishes.
“My goodness, this is the ‘light lunch’?” Flora whispered when the waitress had left again. “This is very different from a slice of bread topped with a bit of sausage or Speck,” she said. “Even the bread is special in Baden-Baden . . .”
“Try it!”
Flora followed his lead and bit hungrily into the bread.
“What do you mean by special?” Friedrich mumbled, his mouth half-full.
“From what I’ve seen today, it seems to me that there are two worlds here. There’s our world, where the people do their daily work and eat bread and Speck,” or bread with no Speck at all, she thought to herself. “And then there’s the world of the rich, who give their horses baths and eat fancy light lunches.” Flora shook her head.
As she spoke, Friedrich picked up his napkin and dabbed mayonnaise from one corner of his mouth.
“You’re absolutely right. And I believe that in other spa towns, like Karlsbad and Marienbad, the visitors and the locals also lead very different lives.” He picked up his glass and looked at her over the rim. “Would you prefer it if a few of the people around us came to our front room at home every evening and played cards?”
“That would be something new, wouldn’t it?” said Flora with a laugh. “But they could at least find their way to the shop.”
Friedrich sniffed. “They’ve got eyes for nothing but Maison Kuttner with all its pomp and—”
“Maison Kuttner! I can’t hear that name anymore,” she said so loudly that a lady at the next table frowned and turned toward them. Flora gave her an apologetic smile and went on more quietly, but with no less insistence.
“Our shop is nothing for them to turn their noses up at! It’s roomy, it’s bright—if only the location were a little better. There are just a few hundred steps separating us from . . . from wealth.”
Friedrich’s brow furrowed. “You’re right, of course, but what can we do about it? And besides, it isn’t so bad. Father says that business was good last week, and his customers have been very happy with their meadow flowers. And when the flowers from the garden come in summer, all the better.”
All well and good, but what the shop brings in is far from enough to live a decent life, Flora thought. Then her mother’s words came back to her: “In Reutlingen, your enthusiasm did not just make you friends . . . And even if the way they do things is not always to your taste, well, keep that to yourself.”
“I’m sorry. Forget what I said,” she murmured with an embarrassed shrug. But then she blurted, “It just makes me mad that all the spa guests run to Maison Kuttner and your own father has no well-to-do customers at all.”
Friedrich reached between the bread plates and wineglasses for Flora’s hand. “I don’t have the slightest idea what we could do to change that. Perhaps I could ask if I could put up an advertisement for the shop at the Trinkhalle? I must say I would feel a little uncomfortable with it, but . . .”
Flora was surprised when he held her hand, but she found his grasp pleasantly warm. “That’s not a bad idea at all. Though even if we succeeded in getting the spa visitors into the shop, I don’t know what rich people want. I realized that very clearly today. Since I’ve seen all of this”—Flora looked left and right, acknowledging everything around them—“I feel like more of a stranger than ever. The Englischer Hof, the Holl?nder Hof, the Franz?sische Hof—Baden-Baden has just the right place for any traveler to feel at home. The Russians have their favorite places, the English too; every group has its idiosyncrasies.”
“Is our Swabian girl feeling apprehensive?”
“You’re making fun of me!” she snapped.
“Not in the slightest,” Friedrich said with a smile. He held her hand more firmly. “But I wonder if we shouldn’t at least try to find out what our honored guests might like? I mean, it doesn’t matter where you buy them, flowers are flowers, aren’t they? There can’t be that much difference.”
“Well, we’re not going to impress the rich with the wildflowers I pick. They’re more likely to be interested in unusual flowers,” Flora said. “But that aside, your father would be horrified to hear us talking like this. It’s his shop.”
Friedrich was still holding her hand. Isn’t it unbecoming, him doing that among all these people? Flora wondered. She pulled her hand free and reached for her wineglass.
Friedrich exhaled loudly. “It’s important to me, too, that Mother and Father earn a better livelihood than they have so far. Mother would be a lot happier if she didn’t have to count every kreuzer twice. She doesn’t complain about it, but . . .” He waved it off. “It’s certainly worth a try, don’t you think?”
Flora felt a light flutter in her belly. Could they really get new customers into the shop in the short time she would still be there? Or to put it another way: What did they have to lose?