Where is Princess Irina? Flora wondered. Had Popo wanted to go to the hunt alone? Ha! As if the princess would let anybody forbid her to ride with them. The thought was so comical that Flora had to smile.
More carriages followed, all magnificently polished and outfitted for the big day. Then, finally, the riders came into view.
There! There was Konstantin! Flora jumped high and cried out his name, waving her hand, trying to catch his attention from the tumult around her.
He looked so smart on his brown steed. Like a pirate on horseback. How admiringly the people around her looked at him, and how the women lowered their eyes, and yet covertly looked at his thighs, his broad shoulders, his broad smile.
Flora let out a short, sad laugh. People were so easily deceived. Did they really believe that a noble shell contained a noble soul? Or did they simply not care?
As she did not care?
Konstantin. Her adventurer. Wild and turbulent. And beneath his noble shell . . .
Now he had caught sight of her, and he waved his hat merrily, signaling to her that he would meet her farther ahead. Flora hurriedly attempted to break free of the crowd.
“Flora, dear Anna has invited me and a few others for a drink. You won’t be upset if I stop by for a glass or two, will you? I promise you I’ll be there tonight, just for you.” His smile was seductive, full of promise, but also unbending.
Flora sighed. Today it was a successful hunt that had to be celebrated. Tomorrow it would be something else, the day after that, something else again. As it probably always would be.
His horse had already started off again when Konstantin turned around in the saddle. “Think about tonight, just you and me.” He winked at her once more.
Flora nodded dumbly.
For that wink, I’ve thrown away everything I loved and held dear.
The realization soaked into Flora like a stain into cloth, deeper and deeper with every step that Konstantin’s horse took away from her.
Konstantin. A heartbreaker whose greatest possession was his smile. A noble shell with very little underneath.
Incapable of any other thought, Flora stood there among the apple cores, horse dung, and trash while the crowd around her dispersed.
Was she doing Konstantin an injustice, being angry at him because he constantly left her alone? He had, after all, never promised her anything, had never pretended to be anything other than he was.
All lost. For nothing. Not a damned thing.
If she peered deep down inside, all she found was infinite emptiness. Everything else was used up. Her great love, or what she thought had been her great love, was a straw fire. Extinguished. Where had the rising breeze suddenly blown her yearning, her passions, her emotions?
All at once, she felt more powerless than she had ever felt in her life. Mechanically, she set one foot in front of the other and did her best to breathe calmly. But her throat felt tied closed.
Where now? Back to the hotel? Everything in her bristled at the thought. No! Never again! She did not want to wait any longer.
Then out of Baden-Baden? Back to G?nningen? They would have to take her in there. It was her home, even if she had brought shame on the family.
And what about Alexander, then? Could she bring herself to leave him behind? There were others here who loved him . . .
She needed to sit and think.
Flora had not reached the park bench when her legs failed and she collapsed on the grass.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
At five in the afternoon, Friedrich slipped on his jacket and took a final look around the Trinkhalle. Not a soul in sight. The spa guests were either off somewhere celebrating their departure or were already packing their bags.
Anybody who came in now could damn well fill their own glass.
What’s changed this year, apart from the loss of the casino? he wondered, threading a path through the throng of well-dressed people outside the Conversationshaus. Parties, outings, champagne—keeping the spa guests amused had come first, as it always had, and the Spa and Bath Administration had not gone to any great pains to change that.
“You’re too impatient. Our guests’ habits have developed over many years, and you can’t change them overnight. Be happy that they still come here. Once the Friedrichsbad opens its doors, the real spa guests will also arrive,” the director himself had told him just a few days before.
Friedrich snorted derisively. How many years would that still take?
He abruptly stopped. He had been so deeply buried in his ruminations that he had actually walked right past the turn into Stephanienstrasse.
Then again, no one was expecting him home so early anyway. Sabine had a day off, and hadn’t Mother mentioned that she wanted to make waffles herself that evening? For Alexander and him.
As was true so often lately, he had not been hungry during the day and had eaten nothing for lunch. A brazen ray of sunlight fell through the canopy of leaves over Lichtenthaler Allee, and Friedrich felt it warm his nose. Maybe a stroll would bring back his appetite?
He had gone only a few steps when a mountain of construction materials, piled high along the facade of the Hotel Stéphanie, caught his eye. Wood, stone, then more wood, and . . . stone statues? The new owner seemed to have big plans for the old place.
Just like Lady Lucretia with the Hotel Marie-Eluise. “The contract of sale has been signed, the architect has drawn up the plans, and as soon as the building authorities give their blessing to my alterations, we’ll be ready to go,” she had said to him that morning. “I would like to stay in my own hotel next season, after all, and welcome the spa guests in person!” Even on the last day of her stay, she had insisted on enjoying the benefits of taking the waters.
Lady Lucretia was certainly serious about her new undertaking. For a long time, Friedrich had harbored his doubts. People could talk a great deal and have nothing to show for it in the end.
But Lucretia O’Donegal was different. She did not do things halfway. Zealously, she had told him all about her various ideas for the Marie-Eluise. “The new bath area will have ten tubs, one of which will be fed only with cold water, for those who prefer a course of cold baths. You with your technical knowledge would be just the right man to introduce all this to the guests. I also believe that a new job would divert you a little from . . . well, you know what.” Lady Lucretia had then clapped him on the shoulder in her usual hefty manner. “I await your final decision this evening at six, no later. In case you turn me down, then for better or worse I shall need to look for someone else.”
One hour. Friedrich’s gaze drifted back in the direction of the town. Should he go to the Marie-Eluise now and take a final, undisturbed look at the tubs? One last chance to dream about the enormous job being offered to him on a plate?
With a wife at his side, he probably would not have hesitated for a moment. He would have accepted the Englishwoman’s offer days ago. But alone, it made little sense.
No, at six on the dot, he would go to the hotel and tell Lady O’Donegal that—
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a miserable-looking figure slumped in the grass.
Flora!
His first impulse was to turn away before she noticed him and act as if he had not seen her. No, he couldn’t leave her on the ground like that. As he helped her onto the bench, he saw that her eyes were red and she clearly had been crying. She looked at him in disbelief.
“Friedrich?”
He straightened his shoulders automatically and nodded to her. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he could not even say her name.
“Friedrich . . .”
The way she said his name. It sounded like a sigh, and a shudder ran down Friedrich’s spine.
“How is Alexander? Is he well? And you? You—” She broke off and slapped one hand to her mouth. “Forgive me. I have no right to ask something like that.”
“Alexander is fine, as if you didn’t already know. Did you think I hadn’t noticed that Sabine takes the boy out to see you every week? Do you really believe I’m that stupid?” He felt a roaring in his head, as if a thousand wild bees were buzzing in there.