Friedrich’s expression grew serious.
Flora had been so . . . changed lately. He could think of no other way to describe it. She constantly overreacted to things. If she made a joke, she was too jolly about it. When she talked, or sang Alexander a song, or discussed something with a customer, she was always a touch too loud. And there were many times she was too loving! Some evenings, she threw her arms around him and squeezed so hard he could barely breathe.
There was the opposite, too. Days on which she hardly spoke a word and she sat and stared out the window with an absent look on her face, as if . . . as if what?
None of it could be put down to normal moodiness, could it? But when he broached the subject with her, all she said in reply was that he was imagining things.
Friedrich would gladly have talked to someone about his concerns, about how, at times, he felt as if he did not really know who his wife was anymore. But Ernestine was out of the question; she would have gotten too upset. Besides, more often than not, his mother was on Flora’s side.
“You are becoming more and more like your father. All he ever wanted was his peace and quiet, too,” she had said to him just a few days earlier when Flora had asked him if they couldn’t perhaps all go off on a cruise along the Rhine one day. It would be wonderful fun, she had added, as if to pressure him.
A cruise, in the middle of the season? Flora and his mother knew perfectly well that he could not tear himself away from the Trinkhalle for an entire day. And then there was the cost.
He would have preferred to talk to Hannah. No one knew a child like their mother did. Hannah would perhaps have an explanation for Flora’s behavior, and might have been able to give him some advice about how to respond. Maybe she would have commiserated with him and said something along the lines of “Changes like this are like measles, which means all you can do is wait for them pass.”
Friedrich abruptly stopped. And what if they did not pass? Wasn’t it possible for measles to kill you?
Maybe it was time for him to sit down and have a long talk with Flora, and not make do with her excuses.
Should he talk to her about the Marie-Eluise as well? Just to see how she reacted? He pictured her overflowing with enthusiasm about the idea—with Flora, anything was possible.
She would be a good proprietress for a hotel, he was certain of it. A new task for both of them. Together. No more separate roads, and the spa management could go to hell.
He laughed—what a mad idea it was. It really was not like him to drift off into dreams like that. Even if it was only a dream, it was a pretty one. He would have loved to dream it with his wife.
He had just set foot on the top step of the Trinkhalle when he bumped into Lady Lucretia.
Of all people! thought Friedrich with an inward smile. He was certainly not the kind of man to give much credence to omens, good or bad, but that he should run into the health-conscious Englishwoman now was a pleasant coincidence.
“You look very excited, I must say,” she said, after they had wished each other good morning.
With a jug of Trinkhalle water and two glasses, they sat together on one of the benches. “I ran into the owner of the Hotel Marie-Eluise earlier. He’s come up with a completely crazy idea,” said Friedrich with a shake of his head. “If it were up to him, I would soon be buying his hotel.” Lady Lucretia seemed interested, so he told her briefly about the encounter with the hotelier.
“The rooms are certainly a little run-down, but some paint would work wonders,” he said.
Lady Lucretia emptied her glass in one draft. “With a little money and a measure of goodwill, one can move mountains. I’ve had that experience many times in my life. And your Mr. K?rner rightly saw that you are a man who can get things done. Personally, I would trust you with an enterprise like that tomorrow.”
“Really?” Friedrich was honestly surprised.
The Englishwoman nodded. “How many rooms does the hotel have?”
“Twenty, I believe.”
Friedrich refilled her glass while she took out a leather-bound notebook and scribbled something.
“And how many baths? Six. All in good condition? I see. And its own spring that flows beneath the hotel? How very interesting . . .” She pursed her lips, which made her chin appear even longer than usual.
“The location is excellent. From the Marie-Eluise, you can reach the Conversationshaus on foot in less than five minutes. But it’s still doubtful that Gustav K?rner will find a buyer. Men with vision are few and far between.”
Lady Lucretia took a swig of her water.
“Granted,” she said. “But let’s not forget that there are also women with vision.” She broke out in a braying laugh. “I think I have an idea, but . . . My God, it’s almost ten!” She stood up so quickly that the bench wobbled. “My treatments are waiting for me. I fear, my dear Mr. Sunshine, that we have to postpone our discussion. What about tomorrow morning, first thing? But no, I’m already meeting Ingrid to go for a walk in the woods. Dr. Green comes at twelve and, wait . . .”
“What discussion? What idea? I didn’t know—”
Lady Lucretia interrupted his objection with a wave of her hand. “Why don’t you just come to visit me this Sunday afternoon in my hotel? Sunday is the only day I have no baths or treatments scheduled. So I would have time for visions, you see.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
It had been a good idea to choose a different destination for the engagement party, thought Irina Komatschova, looking out the window. Meadows, floodplain, the trout ponds—all very attractive.
In Baden-Baden, all the talk was about which rooms were the most exclusive, and Irina wanted no part of that game. She considered it a stroke of luck that the head waiter at her hotel had told her about his aunt’s inn, the Forellenhof. It was not far away, the man had said—one only had to travel along Lichtenthaler Allee to the nunnery, from where it was just a little farther to the newly opened inn, which was tucked away in a small hamlet called Gaisbach in the beautiful Oos Valley.
Why not? Irina had thought, and she had moved her engagement party to the country. A farmhouse lunch, a little music to celebrate the day, returning to Baden-Baden proper in the evening. Her fiancé had agreed to the idea.
Admittedly, the Forellenhof Inn was not the most elegant of destinations; the atmosphere, however, was intimate. The proprietress and her three daughters served the dishes and drinks. At Irina’s request, they had assembled a troupe of young women in colorful costumes who performed local dances. Irina smiled to herself. A good idea.
In short, the party in the Forellenhof had been the right decision, and was affordable to boot.
Unlike the flower arrangements! Flora Sonnenschein had charged a considerable fee for producing her baskets filled with sunflowers and all sorts of other bits and pieces that were supposed to look rustic, Irina thought with annoyance. Just then, two arms wrapped lovingly around her waist from behind.
“Irinotschka, darling—are you happy?” a deep voice whispered in her ear, and Irina nodded.
Happy? If I died today, would I die a happy woman? she wondered as she and her fiancé enjoyed an intimate moment at the window. Then his arms loosened again.
“Darling, why don’t you go back to the ballroom? Our guests must be missing you by now. I’d like to practice my speech one more time.” He waved a handful of paper.
“You and your speech,” said Irina with a smile as she left him alone in the room.
Were reason and good sense important when it came to happiness? It was probably not a question one could answer with a yes or a no. All Irina knew was that she wanted to believe they were. Her wealth combining with Popo’s inexhaustible riches . . . Security could mean happiness, too.