Flora raised her head a little. “Is that meant to be a compliment?” She stroked his arm tenderly.
The rubbing alcohol irritated Friedrich’s nose, and he had to sneeze. “Well, when I look at what you’ve done with the shop . . .”
“I had no one to get in my way—the shop belongs to us, after all. But you’re an employee there. What would you like to achieve?”
“It’s simple. I want to make it clear to as many people as possible how important and how beneficial a drinking regime can be. That’s why I’m always running off to the library, and why I read everything about thermal waters that I can. One day, I want to deliver in-depth lectures about curative waters at the Trinkhalle. Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?”
“Will many people want to hear about it?” Flora murmured, then let her head drop back onto the pillow and turned onto her side.
“Well, Lady O’Donegal is already a devotee. She peppers me with new questions about our waters every day.” When Flora said nothing, Friedrich looked up from her legs. His wife was sleeping.
He would gladly have heard Flora’s opinion about one of his presentations. Did he sound too much like a doctor or a chemist when he talked about spring water containing lithium and arsenic? Friedrich sighed softly.
How long has it been since we spent a pleasant evening with each other? he wondered as he lay down carefully beside Flora. A stroll along Lichtenthaler Allee, a concert in the park beside the Kurhaus, talking with one another . . . somehow, there was never any time for such things anymore. Instead, they were so exhausted in the evenings that all they could do was fall into bed and sleep.
“Artificial flowers are not welcome here. If you are serious about wanting artificial flowers for your birthday picnic, then you will have to seek out someone else to do the decorating for you.” With her hands planted on her hips and an earnest expression on her face, Flora stood facing Princess Irina Komatschova.
Friedrich, the door handle in his hand, sighed. A customer this early? He had wanted to talk to Flora for a moment about something that had occurred to him the previous evening.
“The weather at the start of September can turn in the blink of an eye. If that happens, the picnic will have to be moved to the ballroom in the Hotel Stéphanie les Bains. Perhaps you are not familiar with how run-down that particular room is? Artificial flowers would distract my guests from that, at least a little. Even our esteemed kaiserin is considering gracing me with her presence. Is she supposed to look at crumbling plaster?” The Russian’s brow furrowed.
“But artificial flowers!” Flora spat the word out in disgust. “I am sure that Kaiserin Augusta has little interest in that.”
Ernestine, who sat behind the counter tying loops from a spool of white ribbon, nodded vigorously.
Friedrich looked from one woman to the other. Why was Flora assailing a customer so vehemently over such a trifle? If she absolutely wanted to have artificial flowers, then why not give her what she wanted?
For a moment, he was tempted to just leave the “tonic”—chocolate, in fact, that he had bought for Flora at the pharmacy—on the counter and walk back out. Then the anticipation of the look on Flora’s face when she heard about his flash of inspiration kept him there, waiting patiently.
“Can you really afford to push your customers around like that?” he asked when the princess had finally left.
“Oh, if I don’t get this particular job, it won’t be any great loss,” Flora said and laughed. “Princess Irina Komatschova is a miser. Besides, she’s famous for paying her bills very late.”
Friedrich cleared his throat. “The reason I’m here . . . Flora, it’s been a long time since we spent a nice evening together, just the two of us, and so I’d like to invite you to a concert by the spa orchestra. Next Monday would be best—would you be able to find the time?” Automatically, he held his breath as Flora turned pages in her diary.
“I’m free that evening,” she said. “But to be honest, I’d much rather go to a concert by the Waltz King. Everyone raves about his music, but we can’t talk about it because we’ve never been to hear it. Who knows if Schani will even come back to Baden-Baden next year?”
Friedrich grimaced: Schani—Flora used Johann Strauss’s nickname as if they were bosom friends.
“It would certainly be good for Flora to be seen on the social stage in private life for a change. A Strauss concert would be just the thing,” Ernestine added.
“But those things are terribly expensive! I can get free tickets for the spa orchestra. I thought you’d like my idea, but if you don’t want to . . .” And for this he’d made himself late for work!
“Friedrich, don’t get in a huff. I’d be happy to go with you.” She put her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes, smiling. “But there’s another thing . . .”
Friedrich had to smile himself. They would not be able to hold each other like that much longer—Flora’s belly would soon be too big for that.
“It’s about the kaiserin’s birthday,” said Flora slowly. “They say she’ll celebrate it here in Baden-Baden, as she does every year, on September thirtieth. That’s still a good five weeks away.”
“Are you doing her flowers, too?” Just the thought of it made Friedrich’s heart skip a beat.
“No, and that’s the problem.” Flora stamped her foot. “And it would be my dearest wish. Friedrich, do you think you could put in a good word for me? I mean, you’re an important man in the town; you know a lot of people. The mayor and—”
“Now that is something you could really do for Flora,” Ernestine cut in.
“I’d love to,” Friedrich replied. “When I drop by for tea with the kaiserin later, I’ll put a word in her ear. I’m sure she’ll listen to me.” He set the chocolate on the counter and left.
Have you completely lost your mind? Six months ago, you would have been happy to tie a bouquet for the pharmacist’s wife, and now it has to be for the kaiserin! I’m starting to believe you’re suffering from delusions of greatness.
Friedrich kicked so hard at the white gravel that the little stones flew in the air.
Damn it, that was what he should have told his dear wife. And his mother, too! But instead he had left the shop and headed in the direction of the Trinkhalle, lost for any more than the few ironic words he’d managed to find.
Chapter Forty
So this is why I let Princess Irina haggle down the price so far, Flora thought angrily as she saw Kaiserin Augusta disappear through the door. The kaiserin had spent no more than five minutes at Irina Komatschova’s birthday party. No doubt she had barely noticed Flora’s elaborate re-creation of a picnic scene, complete with trees, a mossy forest floor, and dozens of rosebushes that she had had brought into the ballroom of the Hotel Stéphanie. It seemed Flora’s plan to catch the kaiserin’s eye had failed miserably.
What were you thinking, you silly creature! she berated herself as she tossed her rose shears and other tools into her basket. Imagining the kaiserin would see your flowers and want you as her private florist from that moment on, ha!
The dance floor, in the meantime, had filled. No one would notice if she disappeared now, so she seized the moment and hurried out in the direction of Lichtenthaler Allee. Maybe the fresh air would cure her of her arrogant notions.
On the bridge that crossed the Oos, she set her basket down briefly to rub her aching back. Gradually, her anger at her own impertinence faded and she relaxed a little.
How autumnal the night already was. And how the earthbound fog engulfed the river.
“Yer money, or you’ll regret it!”