The elderly nurseryman lifted his hands dismissively. “Don’t go getting yourselves worked up. The most you’ll get is a fine. If it will help, I’ll testify on your behalf and tell them how you buy large quantities of flowers from me every week. I don’t think the vandalism charge will go very far.”
“You’d do that for me?” Flora’s heart was already a little lighter.
Flumm nodded. “But why is Josef Kuttner trying to blacken your name at all? That’s not something I’d expect among comrades in this business.”
“Comrades!” Ernestine spat the word. “He’s never looked on us like that. And now that we’re successful, he’s suddenly burning with envy.” Her face had flushed bright red. “What he has done is simply wrong. Oh, I’d like to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Don’t worry,” said Flora grimly. “I have a much better idea.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment longer, then took a deep breath.
“Mr. Flumm, I need yellow flowers. Roses, lilies, whatever you have. This very morning!”
The nurseryman did not have to be asked twice. He hurried out to his delivery wagon and trundled off.
Another yellow rose here, a handful of marigolds there—Flora’s bouquet grew and grew. She stopped only when she could barely hold it in both hands. With a final flourish, she tucked half a dozen yellow silk ribbons among the flowers.
“Yellow, wherever you look! It’s marvelous,” Ernestine said reverently. She had sat and watched Flora assemble the entire thing. “But for whom is such a magnificent construction intended?”
When Flora told her, Ernestine could hardly believe her ears.
With the overflowing bouquet in her arms, Flora set off. When she arrived at Maison Kuttner, she noticed immediately that the shop seemed all but dead. One of the girls was dusting a shelf, and the rest were standing behind the counter looking bored. A pity—if it had been up to Flora, she would have wanted as many customers as possible to see her entrance.
As she stepped inside, a disbelieving murmur went through the room. The young woman dusting dropped her dustrag in astonishment.
Flora stifled a grin and let her eyes roam calmly around the room. “No esteemed clientele in sight?” She put on her sweetest smile. “I guess business isn’t quite as good as it was not so very long ago. Well, the cake’s been sliced differently this year, hasn’t it? But perhaps I can cheer you good ladies up a little.” In both hands, she held out her bouquet to the young women behind the counter. “A floral arrangement for a flower shop. At first glance, perhaps, a rather unusual choice.” She giggled affectedly. “But believe me, this is a bouquet you have honestly earned.”
The girls exchanged a mystified look.
“You know, in the language of flowers, yellow is the color of envy.” Flora looked from one to the other. “And in my entire life, I have never come across more envious women than you. As for your complaint to the police, all I can say is shame on you!” Her head held high, she turned toward the door, but with the doorknob still in her hand, she swung back a final time.
“If it had been up to me, we could have gone on existing peacefully side by side. Baden-Baden is big enough for two florists. But you’d better get used to hard times. Believe me, I’m going to steal as many customers away from you as I possibly can.”
The vandalism report went nowhere. Flora showed that no plant suffered any long-term detriment because of her, and the police dismissed the complaint.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Princess Gagarina came in this morning. Imagine that!” said Flora, looking across the lunch table to Friedrich and Ernestine.
It was the start of June. The season was in full swing, so sitting and eating lunch together had become a rare event. Flora had little appetite anyway. Oppressive humidity had been smothering the town for days, and on that particular day it was making her downright queasy. She had almost thrown up that very morning.
She picked at a piece of trout with her fork and acted as if she were lifting it to her mouth. It smelled very strong—had it gone off, perhaps?
“Princess Isabella Gagarina . . . It would not surprise me these days to hear that the Russian czar had come by,” said Friedrich, jabbing his fork into a potato.
“What if he did?” Flora said. “Don’t you think I could deal with him?”
“So, is it true that—” Ernestine began.
“Sabine! Where’s the sauce? The fish is bone-dry,” Flora shouted at the same moment.
Sabine came in with the saucière and a sour look on her face. She went around the table, but when she got to Flora, Flora held her hand over her plate. “I’ve changed my mind. In any case,” she went on, ignoring Sabine entirely, “the princess wants to celebrate an Italian-themed summer party in two weeks, and it’s my job to decorate her palace park for the occasion.”
Friedrich let out a derisive snort. “Gagarin Palace! When I hear that name . . . you know, before the princess spent a fortune renovating it, it was just the old Schweiger mill. But a German name wasn’t good enough for the Russkies, apparently.”
“So what? What are you trying to say?”
“Children, now don’t start fighting,” Ernestine cut in as she dabbed the sweat from her brow with a small cloth. “Tell us about this Italian party. I can’t imagine what she has in mind.”
“Honestly, neither can I.” Flora frowned. “What do I know about Italy?”
Friedrich shook his head and said, “Italy in Baden-Baden? I wouldn’t put much past the Russians, but my Lord, what a mad idea that one is.” He looked at his wife. “I hope you turned it down? You don’t have to take every job that comes along anymore. Besides, I don’t like it that you go running around town at night, alone. We should have agreed on a fixed time long ago when I can come and collect you from your parties.”
Flora sniffed. “I wish it was as easy as that. Oh, Friedrich. Baden-Baden is a safe town. You worry too much.”
“Just yesterday,” Friedrich went on, “a vagrant began shouting abuse at a group of guests from the Holl?nder Hof. Particularly vile, I’m told. The man’s been drifting around town for quite some time, they say, and several thefts have been ascribed to him, but so far the police haven’t been able to collar him. I don’t want him to cross your path one night.”
“That’s all well and good, but Princess Gagarina is not someone I can just cancel with. Her opinion counts for too much around here. If this commission goes well, then . . . but you don’t understand that.” Friedrich could be impossible sometimes. Flora pushed her plate away angrily. What little appetite she’d had had vanished completely.
“Child, don’t drive yourself mad. You’re the darling of the season,” said Ernestine, and she patted Flora’s hand. “Oh, by the way. Josef Kuttner was in the Grüns’ pharmacy the day before yesterday. He did not look good at all, Gretel said, and he wanted something to help him sleep. Your success is robbing him of his sleep, I’ll wager.” Ernestine told her story with so much zeal that a chunk of fish fell off her fork without her noticing.
At least my motherin-law is happy, Flora thought, unlike my husband.
She had to swallow a sob and felt tears welling in her eyes. She glared furiously at Friedrich. “That’s so typical of you. Now that the store is running well, it doesn’t suit you. Instead of helping me come up with a few good ideas for the Italian party, all you do is grumble and groan.” She let out a sob, then stood up abruptly and ran from the room.
“What was that all about?” Friedrich could only sit and watch helplessly as his wife ran out.