Flora raised her eyebrows. The regret in Friedrich’s voice was clear. What was this all about? And why had he brought her here? Did he want to introduce Lady Lucretia as the new woman in his life? Hadn’t Sabine said that the Englishwoman had even visited Friedrich at home? So many questions shooting through her mind. She had to keep them all in check.
She looked around the cellar. The rust-red brick walls, the tubs in which a few spiders scrabbled, a shelf of dusty towels, a rolled carpet leaning against the wall—everything left the impression that the proprietress had stepped out briefly, and would return any minute to resume her cleaning. It did not smell stale or musty at all, as such vaults often did, but of camphor, and also a little like the inside of Friedrich’s Trinkhalle. What an unusual space. In all her time in Baden-Baden, she had never been in a bathhouse quite like it.
Flora frowned. She was slowly starting to feel as if she were inside a peculiar dream.
“It’s strange. Everything has been abandoned, but it doesn’t really feel like it. I feel much more as if I can hear the happy sounds of women laughing,” she said in amazement.
Friedrich nodded. “I also feel a very special, very pleasant atmosphere down here.” He twisted his mouth to one side. “I hope that Lady Lucretia manages to maintain that. If it were up to me, the first thing I would do would be to have a branch pipe installed to feed a drinking fountain.” He pointed to the water pipe. “The water in that pipe is also good drinking water. The guests could enjoy a hot bath and take the water in sips at the same time. They’d get the benefit on the inside, too. And then I think it would be important to . . .”
Flora listened to Friedrich attentively. She did not understand everything he said, but his enthusiasm was infectious. How he gesticulated! And how he strode through the room like a field marshal! He was clearly very certain about what he wanted.
Lady Lucretia had asked Friedrich to be the manager of her hotel? She would not have thought he could even imagine taking on such a role. What about the Trinkhalle?
What do you really know about this man, so familiar and yet so unknown?
Leaning against a wall, she said, “You’re so exhilarated. It all sounds so exciting!”
He laughed harshly. “Really? Suddenly? For you, I was always boring old Friedrich with his waters.”
“That’s not true,” she said feebly.
“Oh, yes it is! For you, every Russian coffee circle was more interesting than what I could offer. You wanted champagne, and all I could give you was water.”
Flora looked at the floor. What could she say to that? “Friedrich, I know I’ve made a thousand mistakes. And yes, I really did not show enough interest in your work. But I always had the feeling that your Trinkhalle was none of my business, as little as the flower shop interested you.” She swept aside a small spider that dropped on a web in front of her just then. “Maybe we should have talked to each other more than we did. Like at the start.”
Friedrich laughed. “Talk! For you, that’s always a cure-all. My parents did not talk to each other all the time, and they stayed together until my father’s death.”
“And? Were they happy like that?”
Friedrich waved it off. For several moments, the only sound was the rushing of the water in its pipe.
“When do you start as the new manager, then?” Flora finally asked, to break the silence.
“I won’t be.”
“But why not?” Flora asked uncomprehendingly. “Just now, your plans, your enthusiasm. I thought . . .” I thought you wanted to show me that you could get along just fine without me.
Friedrich sat on the edge of one of the tubs, propped his elbows on his knees, and shrugged helplessly. “You know, there was a time when I could well have imagined taking on something like this with you. Me down here in the bathhouse, you looking after the guests. Your flowers in the breakfast room and the sitting room.” He looked up and smiled at her. “I thought that we would make a good team.”
The two of us in a hotel? What a mad, thrilling notion! Flora thought.
Flora smiled, too. “You were always the more . . . measured of us. I was the one with the overflowing imagination.” She shook her head. “Oh, Friedrich, I’m such a fool. If only you’d married someone smarter.”
“But I didn’t want anyone else,” Friedrich replied, and his expression grew a little defiant. “Flora, life without you . . . I miss you more than I can say.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “Really? I thought you hated me.”
“In the first weeks, I did. But now I’ve come to see that love and hate are perhaps not so far apart after all.”
Friedrich stood up, went to the window, checked that it was latched. Without turning around, he said, “You and I . . . that we met at all, back then, well, I always considered it somehow fated, as if fate made the two of us for each other. Which was why I simply could not understand it when you—” He stopped abruptly and turned around. “Damn it! I still don’t understand what got into you. I also don’t know if I can ever forget what I saw in the Forellenhof. You and that man. That image will be burned into my memory forever.”
“Friedrich . . .” Why did he have to start with that? Her conscience was already as black as a raven.
“Even if we both try as hard as we can, I don’t have the slightest idea if things can ever be the way they were.”
“The way they were? You mean, you in one place, me in another?” she asked softly. “This hotel”—she opened her arms to include everything around them—“maybe it stands for what we were missing. What did we have in common? What aims and plans and tasks did we share?”
Her knees trembling, she went to him, hesitated for a moment, then took his hand and laid it against her cheek.
“Friedrich, if you really believe that we can still have a future together, I would do everything I can to make you happy. Of course I can’t turn back time or undo everything that’s been done. You would have to take me back with all the terrible mistakes I’ve made. You would have to be able to forget.”
“Forgetting is one thing, but there is also forgiveness,” Friedrich murmured. He stroked her hair tenderly. “Maybe I will do a better job of that.”
A sudden loud sound made both of them flinch, and it was a moment before Flora realized that it was her own stomach rumbling in discontent. Abashed, she pressed her hand to her stomach. “I’m sorry, I . . . I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning.”
Friedrich laughed. “Neither have I. And now I’m as hungry as a bear.” He took Flora’s hand and led her toward the exit. “What do you think? Could you eat a few fresh waffles?”
“Waffles? I love waffles!” Flora laughed in confusion.
“Then come with me. Sabine has the day off, so my mother will be wielding the waffle iron herself.”
“You want me to . . . come home? As simple as that?” Flora felt as if all the blood were draining out of her face. Her eyes wide, she stopped and looked at Friedrich.
He nodded. “I don’t know if it will be quite so ‘simple.’ But we’ll soon see.”
“What about Lady Lucretia? The hotel? Didn’t you want to—”
He waved it off. “None of that matters now.”
Without another word, they climbed the stairs and left the vault behind.