“Mother?” she heard directly behind her. Ernestine wheeled around and let out a cry.
“Good heavens, Friedrich, do you have to creep up like that?” He looked so grim and dismal: dark shadows around his eyes, empty gaze, stooped posture.
“Mother, what are you doing here?”
“I’m doing your job and turning the compost heap,” she snapped. Was he blind?
Friedrich frowned. “I would have taken care of the garden, but it looks as if you could not wait.” He shrugged. “You should stop. This work isn’t for you—you’re already red in the face.”
Ernestine was momentarily struck speechless. She had a red face? Is that all that occurred to Friedrich to say?
She was seized by such a fit of anger that she almost slapped her son’s face.
“Nothing matters to you anymore! How much longer are you going to continue like this?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said cautiously.
“Oh, you do, my boy. It’s been almost two months since Flora left us. Eight weeks in which you’ve barely taken part in the life of this household. Do you really think you’re the only one who’s suffering? Do you really believe Alexander doesn’t miss his mother? Do you think I don’t miss her? Flora was like a daughter to me. I can’t stop thinking about her . . .” Ernestine’s anger dissipated. She blinked several times, and a muscle beneath her right eye began to twitch nervously. “I want to know how she is.”
“How nice of you to think about her,” Friedrich replied drily. “Just to remind you: she’s an adulteress.”
“Oh, Friedrich. Of course I know that Flora is guilty of a great deal. But does that make the rest of us innocent?” Ernestine leaned heavily on the rake. Sadness ran through her like poison, robbing her suddenly of her strength.
Friedrich let out a bitter laugh. “Your wise words come a little late. If you’d told me about Sybille’s letter when it came and not just recently, then things might never have come this far.” He turned on his heel and marched away.
Ernestine stayed behind, trembling and cold. It was all she could do to stay on her feet.
“Here, in the fourteen frescoes along the arcade, you see depictions of the legends and stories woven around our lovely Baden-Baden.” Friedrich went from one picture to the next, rattling off his usual presentation without going into any details about the stories themselves. He was listening with one ear to the tolling of the church bell . . . nine, ten, eleven. Thank God. Just one hour until he could take a break. With any luck, the visiting group from Heilbronn would be gone. He had no intention of missing his midday nap for the sake of a few old women. And there would be trouble if his mother came at him with her words of wisdom again.
Friedrich managed to force a cramped smile. A few of the women held elaborate glasses at the ready, so he said, “You will find the drinking fountain inside the Trinkhalle.” He indicated to the group that they should go into the hall, then nodded, turned, and walked away.
Just then, he saw Lady O’Donegal striding toward him.
Oh, wonderful. The last thing he wanted to talk about were her plans for the Hotel Marie-Eluise. According to Gustav K?rner, they were on the verge of signing a contract of sale. The man had once again thanked Friedrich effusively for putting him in touch with the Englishwoman. Friedrich could still hardly believe that Lady O’Donegal was going ahead with it. Just because someone liked Baden-Baden was no reason to buy a hotel there. Some people in town thought she was not right in the head.
Far worse, however, was the fact that she wanted to persuade him to be the director. What was he supposed to do in the Marie-Eluise by himself? She knew the reason that Gustav K?rner had been forced to sell the place, and she also knew about Friedrich’s own family situation. She had, after all, been present on the day when his entire world fell apart out at the Forellenhof. He had been utterly stunned when, sometime later, she had suggested it to him again. She could buy ten hotels if she wanted, but she should leave him in peace.
If he’d been able, he would have ducked away and pretended he had not seen her, but the next moment, she was on him.
“Mr. Sunshine! Have you already heard that I—” She fell silent instantly when she saw his face. “My God, you are a sight! Pale as death warmed up and ready to drop. Simply terrible, if I may say so.”
A pained smile crept across Friedrich’s face. Lady Lucretia certainly was not the kind to beat around the bush. He shrugged. “One tires toward the end of the season.”
“You can’t fool me. Your cares come from somewhere else entirely.” She peered at him intently for a moment, then let out a deep sigh. “My dear Mr. Sunshine, I believe you and I need to have a chat, and the sooner the better. Come with me!”
“I can’t just leave. I’m needed here!” he protested.
“The way you look right now, you are certainly not needed here,” she replied, and she pushed Friedrich in the direction of the Conversationshaus, ignoring his protests.
They took seats at one of the small tables in front of the Conversationshaus. A waiter came, and the Englishwoman ordered tea and brandy for them.
As soon as the waiter was gone, Lady Lucretia picked up where she’d left off. “Do you imagine you’re the only man in the world whose wife ran off and left him? It happens all the time, I’m sad to say. I may be getting on, but I’ve learned a thing or two in my time, and I can tell you this: a rift like this in a marriage is never the fault of just one.”
Friedrich let out a harsh laugh. “Now you sound like my mother. In her eyes, I should have saved Flora from that bastard. She acts as if he’s the devil incarnate and Flora is at his mercy. When I saw her in the Forellenhof, she looked anything but helpless.” He pushed his chair back to stand up, but Lady Lucretia grabbed his wrist.
“Now pull yourself together! I haven’t done anything to hurt you, so you’ve no cause to attack me like that. I harbor no ill will toward you. So sit.” She released his hand.
Friedrich chewed his lip for a moment before speaking. “Excuse me. I don’t know what came over me.” The argument with his mother that morning, and now this. He seemed to have forgotten who his friends were.
The waiter brought their drinks, and Lady Lucretia lifted her brandy glass. “Let’s drink. Cheers!”
The red-gold liquid trickled warmly down Friedrich’s throat and settled in his stomach. Chastened, he looked across at the Englishwoman. “Sometimes, I don’t know who I am anymore. The whole affair with Flora . . . I feel as if someone has jerked a rug out from under my feet. I still can’t really believe what’s happened. We were so happy! She with her flowers and I . . .” He waved vaguely in the direction of the Trinkhalle. “When Alexander was born, my happiness was complete. Where did we go wrong?” A despairing sob escaped his breast.
Lady Lucretia raised an eyebrow while she poured the tea.
God, what had gotten into him? Airing his troubles to a complete stranger. As embarrassed as Friedrich was, he could not stop. The words welled up inside him and overflowed. “I’ve asked myself the same questions a thousand times: When did our marriage go wrong? Why didn’t I notice anything? I mean, Flora is not naturally a scheming liar. There must have been signs of what she was doing, but I did not see them. Nor did my mother. She didn’t have the slightest idea, either, not even when—” He broke off. Enough. What sense did it make to burden Lady Lucretia with Sybille’s letter?
Lady Lucretia shrugged. “When it comes to oneself or one’s own family, it is not hard to be blind. But we see the mistakes of others so much more easily for that.”
Friedrich’s eyes widened. Had the Englishwoman also been deceived, as he had?