Konstantin, however, seemed in the best of moods. He laughed as he embraced the man beside him. The man avenged himself with a hearty dig of his elbow into Konstantin’s side. Flora smiled. Konstantin could really enjoy himself! And he was oblivious of everything around him, so involved was he in his game.
When was the last time she had felt so lighthearted? Perhaps when she had worked with Seraphine on the ABC of Flowers? Yes, there had been such moments then, playing with words and flowers and ideas.
Still, though, there had been the pressure of finishing the book in time for the start of the season. And whenever she devoted herself to her floral decorations, she was always painfully conscious of delivering only what fulfilled the wishes of whoever had commissioned her.
In contrast, the people around the tables seemed as carefree as children.
Konstantin looked up, waved to Flora, and mouthed a word that she understood as “later.” She nodded happily.
Yes. Later. She wanted to ask him if her ferns had, in fact, brought him much luck in the game and—
“Last game, ladies and gentlemen!” the head croupier announced, at which a murmur rumbled through the room. Konstantin turned his attention back to the table.
On tiptoe, Flora watched as the wheel was set in motion a final time. The last fling of the ball . . . and it settled finally on the red nine. Flora did not see who the lucky winners were.
The croupier’s final “Rien ne va plus” was still echoing in Flora’s ears when half a dozen Conversationshaus staff stepped past Flora and began to roll up the huge carpet from the side. Other staff brought in ladders and extinguished the candles on the chandeliers for the last time, taking no notice of the guests still standing around, who slowly began to slink away like beaten dogs.
When Flora returned from a visit to Kuno’s grave the next day—she had taken him a few roses—she was passed by a procession of carriages, riders on their horses, and piled-high wagons—all of them rolling out of town as if the plague had broken out in Baden-Baden.
Where were they going, now that the days were gray? What was better about Paris, London, or Monte Carlo? Who would tie their bouquets there?
The gravel crunched loudly underfoot as Flora walked along the lonely Promenade. The shop windows left and right were empty, the small tables and chairs at the cafés cleared away. No more coffee aroma in the air, nowhere the pop of a champagne cork.
“They’re all gone!” Flora grumbled when she arrived at the store. “Who knows which of my customers I will even see next season? They will probably turn their backs on Baden-Baden forever. And not one of them came to tell me goodbye.” Not even Konstantin, she added to herself.
“What did you expect?” Sabine said. “That our summer visitors would come one by one and say a personal adieu? You get some strange ideas in your head. Aren’t you happy that things will be a bit quieter now? It will give you a chance to get ready for the baby.”
“Of course.” Flora bit her lip. Everyone must have been in a terrible hurry to leave. Because the Baden-Baden season had gone on so long, they must have postponed engagements and appointments. Yes, that’s how it must have been, Flora thought to console herself. Princess Stropolski, Irina Komatschova, and a few others would certainly have come to say goodbye otherwise. And Konstantin Sokerov, too.
So there had been no “later” after all.
Would she ever see him again?
Chapter Forty-Two
“Today a year ago we danced at your wedding, and now look at you, a regular little family. Oh, I’m so happy I could cry!” Hannah clapped her hands together so loudly that the infant in his basket on the table opened his eyes wide and instantly began to wail, for which Hannah earned a disapproving look from Flora. “Sorry, darling. I’m not used to being around such little creatures anymore.”
Flora picked up the baby. “It’s not so bad. But I hope little Alexander goes back to sleep again soon. I’ll take him to bed, and when I come back we’ll have a glass of wine, all right? We’ve got our first wedding anniversary to celebrate, after all.”
Shaking her head, Ernestine watched as her daughter-in-law left the room. “It’s amazing how fast that girl recovered from the birth. I remember being so exhausted back then.”
Hannah shrugged. “I guess we Kerner women are made of sterner stuff. Being pregnant is not a disease, after all.”
“Well, now, I wouldn’t be so sure. I had such a rumbling in my tummy, or a gurgle, no, it was really more like banging around, yes! Well, on some days . . .” While Ernestine went on about every little affliction that she suffered during her own pregnancies, Hannah’s thoughts drifted back to her arrival in Baden-Baden just a few days ago.
She had arrived on January 2, one day before Alexander’s unexpectedly early birth. It was as if she’d had a premonition. At the sight of her daughter, Hannah had gone rather weak at the knees. It was not just Flora’s swollen belly, but her radiance and everything about her—she was so different from the Flora who had left G?nningen a year before as a newlywed. Flora exuded a self-confidence for which Hannah found herself actually envying her daughter.
Like a queen, she suddenly thought.
“The day before Christmas Eve, she was still standing in the shop,” said Friedrich. “She’d been closing up very early the evenings before, at least, but we were desperately in need of a little peace and quiet when the season was over.” Without a sound, he opened the bottle of sparkling wine that Sabine had brought in. “All of the running about was not good for her. Sometimes she was so jittery . . .” He waved one hand dismissively.
Hannah held out her glass to him. “Well, G?nningen women are just like that. Temperamental.”
“You are certainly somehow . . . different,” said Ernestine. Neither her voice nor her expression betrayed whether her words were meant as a compliment.
Flora returned, and all four raised their glasses to the young couple’s first anniversary.
“Friedrich tends to exaggerate, you know. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he says,” said Flora. “But was I supposed to let Maison Kuttner have all the Christmas business?”
“By no means! After that complaint to the police they’ve not earned any clemency at all, though I do sometimes have a bad conscience because you’ve been working so hard,” said Ernestine, with a fond look at Flora. “If my Kuno could see everything you’ve set in motion . . .”
Flora handed Ernestine a handkerchief, then said to Hannah, “I’ll show you the shop tomorrow. Just before Christmas, I bought a lot of potted plants in bloom. Sabine has been watering them, but I’d still like to check on them. I thought a little color during the cold months couldn’t hurt. The flowering violets and begonias will march out the door.”
Friedrich raised his eyebrows. “It sounds as if you’d like to get back into the shop sooner rather than later. But you really need a little more time to rest.”
“And Alexander needs his mother,” Ernestine said emphatically. “When my Friedrich came into the world, I . . .”
When his mother was done rattling off her list of all the trouble he had caused her as a baby, Friedrich said to Hannah, “At least Flora is sensible enough to let you take over the seed trade.”
“And thank God for that,” said Hannah with a grin. “I’m very happy to get around and see our customers again. Helmut is off with Valentin, and Seraphine and I would have just been sitting around the house for the next few weeks anyway.” Hannah told them how Seraphine would have loved to come back to Baden-Baden, but Hannah had convinced her that one of them had to stay at home and look after things there.
“By the way, Helmut asked if it would be possible to get another stack of your ABC of Flowers. A lot of his customers were so happy with it that they want a second copy.”
Flora nodded. “I have to have more printed for the store in any case, so I’ll order for you at the same time.”
Hannah stifled a remark—so much for more time to rest. She turned to Friedrich.
“So tell me, how is work at the Trinkhalle?”