“And New Year’s Day,” Hannah threw in. “With big New Year’s pretzels—”
“And a wedding!” said Flora and Helmut, as if from one mouth, and they exchanged an affectionate look.
“My little girl is a bride now,” Helmut murmured.
Hannah clapped her hands. “Oh, life can be so wonderful!”
The day after Christmas, Hannah had had enough of cooking, clearing the table, and washing dishes, so the family was at The Sun inn. The twins went off to sit with their friends in one corner; Hannah went to the kitchen to join K?the, the proprietress of the inn; while Helmut, Valentin, and Flora made a beeline for the table where the seed traders regularly met.
“Sit, sit,” said Klaus Müllersch?n, a neighbor, and he slid across to make room for Flora.
“Anyone hungry?” asked K?the, coming to the table just then with a tray laden with mugs of beer, but Helmut, Valentin, and Flora were the only ones who took her up on the offer. The rest were there only to talk and catch up. Most had not seen each other since autumn, after all, and many of them, in the meantime, had many miles in many lands under their belts. All were happy to be home again.
How had the business been? What was the latest news from Russia, France, England, and Switzerland?
Klaus Müllersch?n had almost been the victim of a robbery in Alsace, but the police had happened to come along just in time. And Fritz Sailer, an imposing man of sixty, reported that one of his horses had perished in a snowstorm. He and his son had become bogged down in a snowdrift. Half-frozen and weakened themselves, they had had to abandon the beast to its fate to get themselves to safety.
Flora listened in rapt silence. Although she had heard such stories for years, she had the feeling that she was only now actually conscious of much of what was said.
How brave the G?nningers were. How courageous and—
Flora jumped when Klaus laid a hand on her shoulder.
“But enough of the trade! Girl, tell us about Baden-Baden. Does anyone there want your flowers?”
“Some, certainly . . .” Flora had been so engrossed in the men’s stories that she had to gather herself. She drank a swig of beer, then told them about the flower beds she had laid out in the Sonnenscheins’ garden. “Things in the shop are actually going quite well, but . . .” She trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to bore anyone. But when she looked around, she saw only interested faces, so she straightened her shoulders and went on. “The problem is that we are too far from the center. There are wealthy spa guests from everywhere there, and I wish so much that they would come to us. The Russians like to throw their money around, but they simply don’t find their way to our side street.”
The men at the table laughed. K?the, bringing plates of stew to the table, looked at Helmut. “You and your brother went off to Russia once, and you know the country and the people. Can’t you give Flora some advice?”
“Yes, exactly! You dealt with enough rich Russians on your travels there, didn’t you?” Fritz Sailer said.
“I remember now, too,” Klaus added. “You went on for years about how magnificent everything was.”
K?the laughed. “And at the end of the trip, someone robbed you and stole almost everything you’d made.”
Helmut looked around the table. “You’ve got good memories, I must say.” Then he turned to Flora. “Doing business with the Russians is not so hard. You just have to—”
“But you were there so long ago,” Flora interrupted him.
Helmut put down his spoon and frowned. “I wouldn’t call it ‘so long,’ exactly. You make it sound like I’m ready for the scrap heap.”
“Brother dear, I don’t think the youngster wants to hear our stories anymore,” Valentin said with a laugh.
“Of course I do!” said Flora, not very convincingly.
“What I have to say is as true today as it was then.” Helmut looked around, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “If the Russians won’t come to your shop, then you have to go to them. Just like we did, back then. Or do you think a single Russian has ever strayed as far afield as G?nningen?”
“So you think I should take my flowers door-to-door?” Flora asked, somewhat perplexed.
“Don’t say a word against door-to-door selling,” said Fritz. “There’s nothing dishonorable in it.”
Helmut nodded. “What’s stopping you from approaching the spa guests in their hotels?”
“Maybe one of the hoteliers would be prepared to sell your bouquets to his guests. With a small addition to the cost, of course,” Fritz added. “Or you might be allowed to set yourself up in a corner of the lobby.”
“You all have some ideas,” said Flora, taken aback.
“You just have to ask the right people,” said Fritz.
“But that’s only the first step, my girl. Once you’ve made the first contact, that’s when the work really starts,” Helmut said. “You can’t just offer a run-of-the-mill posy to the rich. They want huge bouquets, stunning arrangements, unusual varieties. Crazy things, basically. Of course, it all has to be the very finest quality, and even that won’t be enough. The rich want to be entertained well for their money, which means you have to play a kind of court jester. You have to give them the feeling that they are the finest, most elegant, most important people in the world. You have to put on a show! We learned that very fast back then, didn’t we, Valentin?”
“It’s no different with my rich customers in Zurich,” Fritz said with a dry chuckle. “What did you call it? Playing the court jester? I couldn’t have put it better. But every time has to be opening night! Don’t think for a minute that the rich will be content with just one performance.”
Flora shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. That’s a lot to digest.” She looked around the group. “I’ll do what you suggest with the hotels at the start of next season, certainly. I’m curious about what Kuno and Friedrich will have to say about it, but . . .”
“What is it? Just ask,” said Fritz, and the others nodded vigorously. They clearly felt very much in their element as advisers.
“The ‘show’ you say you have to offer the rich—what would that look like, coming from me?”
The seed traders around her laughed. Helmut put an arm around Flora’s shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze.
“That, my child, is something you will have to find out for yourself.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Konstantin Sokerov judged it the right decision to travel to Monte Carlo. There could hardly be a more pleasant way to spend the winter.
It had not rained a single day since their arrival, and even today, New Year’s Eve of 1871, the sun shone over the Mediterranean coast. Konstantin was certain that the sun would continue to shine on him in the new year.
He paused for a moment, with his hands on the sun-warmed wall of the quay, and looked out over the sea.
It was a perfect day to go out sailing, in fact. But it would also be ideal for a gallop along the coastal strip. Sergej had told him just the day before that the stables beside their hotel possessed a pair of Arab stallions that loved to run and which one could rent by the hour.
“What a glorious day!” Laughing, Konstantin turned around to his companion. “A day to celebrate and indulge and make love.” Yes! That was perhaps the best of all the possibilities that lay before him.
“Not so loud, you old charmer,” she replied, patting him on the arm. “I feel the green-eyed glances from the other ladies enough already. They would be only too happy to take my place, and I am quite sure that flippant comments like that from you will only make things worse, darling.”
“If you think so.” Konstantin’s thoughts were already drifting again.