With a headscarf pulled low over her eyes, Flora hurried from the hotel in the direction of Lichtenthaler Allee. Although it was only the end of August, the first chill of autumn was in the air. It had rained in the night and the streets gleamed wetly. One had to take care not to slip.
Flora looked stubbornly at the ground. She did not want to see anyone, or be seen. Still, she did not fail to notice a large shadow slide past her. She raised her eyes and saw the pair of storks from the nest atop the church tower. They circled overhead, their wings pounding the air loudly.
Flora watched the birds wistfully. Where did their travels take them? Wasn’t it true that many birds flew off to warmer places to spend the winter?
The storks would be the first to go. Soon, however, the tourists and spa guests would follow. To Nice, Monte Carlo, Paris.
And then?
What would become of her and Konstantin?
He still had not said a word about his plans for the winter, and Flora did not want to ask him. Would he take her with him? Or would she end up on the street like a wretched tramp, homeless?
Flora ripped all thoughts from her mind like weeds from a flower bed. Woe betide her if weeds like that once began to thrive . . .
Sabine had not even brought the baby carriage to a standstill when Flora darted out from her hiding place behind a rosebush. “My boy! My dear, darling Alexander! My one-and-only.” She lifted her son from the carriage and cuddled and kissed him, barely keeping back the tears of joy that sprang to her eyes. Lord, that one person could miss another so much.
“Is it just me, or has our little man grown a bit just since last week?” Motherly pride shone in Flora’s eyes. For a moment, she forgot everything else around her.
“I don’t know.” Sabine looked around uneasily, then pushed the baby carriage a short way into the meadow. “Let’s get a little off the path.”
“There’s hardly a soul out this early. In this weather, they’ll all be lying in bed or dawdling over breakfast,” Flora murmured. She had noticed Sabine’s uneasiness.
“Well, you’d know about that. I don’t have time to dawdle over anything. We’ve got a pile of wood coming soon, and I’ll be stacking it all morning. I can’t stay long.”
Flora nodded ruefully. “I’ll never forget you bringing Alexander out here every week like this.” A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down.
“I don’t mind, but we should be cautious. If someone sees me with you and tells your husband about it, then God have mercy on me.”
Flora instinctively pulled her headscarf a little lower over her eyes. She felt like an outcast, a leper. Someone no one wanted to be seen with.
The meadows along Lichtenthaler Allee were covered with tens of thousands of glittering cobwebs, and the grass was so wet that there was nowhere they could spread a blanket and sit. Sabine turned the carriage toward a bench beneath a weeping willow. “We’ll be safe from any curious eyes here,” she said, sitting down. “So? How’s the sweet life now?”
“The sweet life . . .” Flora laughed joylessly.
What was she supposed to say? That she was almost dying of boredom? That every passing day felt like a year? That she spent most of her time sitting in a hotel room, hidden away like something to be ashamed of? Even among Konstantin’s Russian friends.
From the start Konstantin had told her his friends would not accept it if they came out as a couple so soon after Püppi’s death. “Besides,” he added, “as enlightened as they might seem, deep in their hearts they still cling to the belief that marriage is sacred, and that a man and woman can only be together under its protections. How do you think they will look at us as two adulterers? They’d hound us out of town like rabid dogs.”
Flora could not believe what she was hearing. “But . . . your friend Irina . . . wasn’t she involved with Count Popo for months before their engagement? And didn’t you tell me that Matriona Schikanova was always off trysting with Sergej Lubelev? And—”
Konstantin had interrupted her objections with a laugh. “You are so na?ve sometimes. Do you really think you can put yourself on the same level as society women like them? The rules that apply to them certainly don’t apply to you. Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to show up at a party with you and announce to the whole world: this is my flower girl, my Flora! But for now it is really for the best if we aren’t seen together in public.” Of course, he promised he would tell her at length about every party he attended. And he suggested more than once that some peace and quiet would help her forget that little incident in the Forellenhof.
That little incident . . .
Stop! Don’t think about it!
Alexander began to squirm restlessly on her lap.
“If you don’t want to say anything, then don’t.” Sabine took out a bag of large wooden balls, and all three of them rolled them around together on the damp bench.
In any case, Flora did not understand why Konstantin was constantly out and about. He had her now!
“Should I pick you flowers?” she said to her son, holding out a pale-blue bellflower that Alexander immediately reached for. “How is Friedrich?” she asked then, and held her breath. At the same time, she had no idea what she wanted to hear—that he was well? That he missed her terribly?
Sabine looked away. “He hardly talks, not with his mother, never with me. What can I tell you? He comes home, bounces Alexander on his lap for a minute or two, then vanishes into his room. Next morning, I get to clear away the empty schnapps bottles.”
“He’s drinking? He never touched schnapps before,” said Flora.
“It’s horrible stuff. I tried the last few sips from a bottle, once, and even that little bit made me dizzy. I’d like to know who turned him onto that stuff.” Sabine shuddered.
“You’re impossible!” Flora dug her friend in the ribs.
Sabine’s joking mood had already passed. “You can’t imagine how much you’re missed. Madam hardly leaves the front room anymore. It’s like the time after Kuno died. Remember that? It troubles her terribly that we’ve had to close the shop. She never smiles. Just gloom and sighing, all the time. I’ve caught myself sighing out loud like your mother-in-law, but it’s really no surprise. The household money is tight again, and I’m having a hard job making it stretch.”
Money was running short? Hadn’t they had enough in reserve? She’d earned so much through the flower shop.
“I’d like to start looking for a new position,” Sabine went on, “but if I go now, madam will probably be lost once and for all. And she can’t look after Alexander by herself.” She smiled sadly and stroked Alexander’s hair.
“Thank you,” said Flora. She laid her arm across Sabine’s shoulders, but Sabine moved away and cleared her throat. “There’s another thing I wanted to mention. There’s been a woman coming to the house quite a lot lately. A foreigner. I don’t know where she’s from, but she’s certainly not Russian. Not very good-looking, either. Tall and as skinny as a starving goat. When she laughs, it’s like a donkey braying.”
Flora smiled. “That sounds like Lady Lucretia. She’s an old friend of Friedrich’s. She’s from England, and she’s been coming to Baden-Baden for years.” Flora absently plucked a few more bellflowers. Wet from the rain, they felt so delicate. With a few blades of grass, they made a nice little bouquet . . .
“You know her? In any case, whenever she comes, the young master pulls himself together, and sometimes I even hear them laughing. They talk about curative waters and chemical stuff. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“Sabine, you really are impossible. Do you honestly think the Englishwoman has her eye on Friedrich? No, you’re imagining things again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Haven’t I almost always been right in the past?”