No doubt Crimea would be in the grip of snowstorms, with an icy wind blasting across the land, freezing people and animals. Crimea—who could think of going to such an inhospitable place of their own free will? A slight shudder ran through Konstantin at the thought.
He swept his eyes across the bay and the harbor toward the casino. In the mild sunlight, it looked as if a baker had covered a cake with too much frosting. The casino in Bad Homburg in Prussia was supposed to be just as grand, Fran?ois Blanc had told Konstantin a few days before. Fran?ois would know: he and his brother had founded the Prussian casino, and he now ran the gambling rooms in Monte Carlo.
It was really no surprise at all that the casinos of the world were overflowing with pomp and splendor, not if one thought of the money gambled away every day in their merry rooms.
They would have to pay a visit to Bad Homburg, and the sooner the better, Fran?ois Blanc had urged him, because a rumor was circulating that the German emperor wanted to close down every casino in his realm—what a catastrophe that would be!
And what would become of Baden-Baden then? Konstantin wondered. He had felt quite at home there, and would gladly go back. But the next summer season was still a long way off.
Konstantin straightened his shoulders and breathed in the mélange of odors that was so typical of Monte Carlo: freshly fried fish wafting from the fishermen’s huts, the scent of winter jasmine mixed with the scents worn by the women who paraded along the promenade by the water, and over all of it the green traces of the seaweed washed up constantly by the waves and from which the women recoiled in such disgust.
Konstantin laughed. “It’s true—I feel as if I could hug the world today! The world and you.” He blew an extravagant kiss to his companion.
“You look so beautiful. Your white dress with all its frills, the silver pommel of your parasol that gleams so wonderfully in the sunlight. And the sea itself, with all its blues, its turquoise, its deep azure. A painter could hardly wish for a more enchanting motif. How lovely you are, Püppi.”
His compliment was met with a coquettish giggle. Konstantin rolled his eyes mentally—the old clichés still worked the best, and it made no difference if the woman’s name was Irina, Püppi, or something else.
“You’re very charming today, as ever. Does this dress really suit me? You don’t think it makes me look a little pale?”
A white dress, in fact, was far from flattering for a woman of a certain . . . maturity. All those frills really looked far too youthful.
“If anything, the only thing wrong with that dress is that it is perhaps a little light for the fresh breeze off the water.” He thoughtfully laid his companion’s fur stole across her shoulders, then lifted his arm for her to take. “What do you say, my dear? Shall we look in quickly on Marie and Fran?ois? Marie said just yesterday evening that it had become a tradition for her to open her house on the last day of the year, with a glass of champagne for every guest.”
“Are you really just after a glass of champagne? Or are you more interested in the red and the black?” Püppi replied.
Konstantin smiled. “I’m an open book to you, aren’t I? Would it be all right if I were to leave you alone for an hour or two? Piotr told me that I absolutely cannot deny him a final game to salute the old year.”
As expected, she patted his arm fondly. “Go, go! I’d like to rest for a little while, anyway. I do want to be fresh to properly celebrate the last night of the year, after all.”
Konstantin’s eyes shone. “Oh, Püppi, what have I done to deserve a woman as kind and considerate as you?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On the eleventh of January, Friedrich and his parents arrived in G?nningen, and his guests the next day. Flora’s family greeted them all warmly, and although the two sets of parents were very different, they quickly found common ground. While Ernestine looked around rather pleadingly for Kuno when Hannah led her away to the kitchen for a chat, just an hour later the two women were setting the table together for dinner, and Ernestine was proudly telling her about her “garden parties,” which had been possible only because Flora had fixed up their garden so prettily.
While the women were occupied with each other, Helmut and Kuno discussed the outcomes of the war—Kuno listened with concern to Helmut’s tales of the many new routes that had opened up. “Do you think any tourists at all will find their way to us in Baden-Baden now?” he asked.
Helmut replied, “No doubt. Baden-Baden is still the number-one spa town in the entire empire.”
Under the watchful eyes of their parents and relatives, the prospective bride and groom managed no more than a fleeting embrace. They had no opportunity to be alone; everybody wanted their piece of the happy couple.
“As excited as I am to be marrying you, I’ll be glad when all the wedding hubbub is over,” Flora said in a rare quiet moment with Friedrich. “After all the chaos, I think I’m going to need some time in a spa myself.”
“Then you should take the waters, as well,” Friedrich said, his arms around his bride-to-be. “Our excellent waters are wonderfully invigorating!”
“Well? What do you think?” Hannah and Flora stood arm in arm in the doorway that led into the main hall at The Eagle. It was the morning of the thirteenth of January, and the wedding was to take place in a few hours. Friedrich and his parents were at breakfast.
Although she had sat up half the night creating the flower arrangements for the hall, Flora was not tired in the slightest—more elated and nervous, in fact. Hannah was the first to see her finished handiwork, and Flora was excited to hear what she thought.
“I’ve never seen anything so lovely in my life,” Hannah said reverently.
Flora smiled proudly. Considering that it was winter and that she had almost no fresh flowers to work with, everything looked quite outstanding.
“What a wonderful idea, to decorate the chairs as well.”
“That was most of the work. Suse and I thought we would never get through it all,” Flora said with a laugh.
They had adorned each of the more than two hundred chairs with a small ensemble of fir sprigs, rosemary, and a dried red rose, and attached them to the back of the chairs so that they would not be crushed by the guests.
“In the language of flowers, rosemary means ‘Soon I will be yours forever.’” Flora found the sentiment especially appropriate for the occasion.
Suse had asked her what the fir sprigs meant, and Flora had rolled her eyes and replied, “‘Don’t be so grumpy all the time.’ Not really what you want for a wedding, is it? But it’s about the only greenery you can find right now.”
Flora had even decorated the table intended for gifts with garlands of fir and roses. If it held no gifts, at least it would not look so empty.
In an uncertain voice, she asked her mother, “What if no one gives me anything? Maybe the people here don’t like it that I’m marrying someone from outside the village . . .”
Hannah looked sideways at her daughter. “Ah. I think your nerves are getting to you.” She took Flora by the arm and turned her toward the door. “Let’s go home. It’s high time we dressed our bride up a little. Maybe that will get your mind onto other things.”
The parish priest’s sermon was particularly moving. He had known the bride since she was a baby, and on his strolls through the village she had given him one of her handmade bouquets many times. He quoted from St. Anthony: