The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  “But what about my son?” Clara cried in horror. “He needs his mother, too!”

  “You should have thought about that sooner,” the judge replied, and rose to his feet.

  At that, the onlookers jumped up from the benches and began to excitedly discuss what they had just witnessed. “The judge sure gave her a piece of his mind,” said the mailman as he pulled on his oily cap.

  “That ought to drive a few foolish notions out of some other women’s heads,” said another man.

  “But the doctor got her parents’ house and pharmacy, too,” said the redhead, frowning.

  “It’s her own fault,” said her friend unsympathetically. “That’s what you get for whoring around.” She glanced lasciviously toward Gerhard Gropius, whose expression remained unmoved as he pulled on his jacket. “He’s a good-looking man, that doctor, wouldn’t you say? He’ll find someone to console him soon enough.”

  The women strolled out of the courtroom. What a show!

  Chapter Two

  The commotion outside was worse than in the courtroom. Spectators, photographers, journalists—they all wanted to see the adulteress with their own eyes.

  “There’s the hussy now!” People pointed their fingers at her as soon as she walked out of the building. “Shame on you, you tramp!” People spat on the ground in front of her. “Disgusting!”

  Clara wanted to turn and run back inside, but she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She would survive this, too. Her daughter was waiting for her. Besides, she had to convince Gerhard to give her Matthias as well.

  “A photo! A photo, please.”

  Before she knew it, someone was holding a huge camera in front of her face. A flash blazed, and she flinched. The photographer laughed.

  “Mrs. Gropius, an interview for the Berlin Mirror?” A heavyset man with sweat marks at his armpits stepped directly in front of her. “Mrs. Gropius, how does it feel to be a divorced woman?”

  Relief washed over Clara when she spotted Josephine and Isabelle, pushing their way through the crowd.

  “Thank God,” she whispered when her friends took her between them.

  “Leave this woman in peace!” Isabelle shouted at the pack of journalists.

  “Take off!” Josephine snapped at them. “The circus is over. You can all go home.”

  “Let’s get away from here,” said Clara, and she took off running. Her friends ran behind her as fast the high heels of their fine summer shoes would allow.

  Two blocks away, out of breath and sweating, they stopped at a small oval plaza with a wrought-iron fountain in the middle and, along the side, two wooden benches shaded by chestnut trees. A few young girls played tag under the watchful eyes of a nanny.

  Clara was shaking as she sank onto one of the benches. Josephine sat beside her while Isabelle went to the fountain, and dipped a handkerchief in the water. She handed the wet cloth to Clara, then slumped onto the bench herself.

  Clara dabbed at her forehead with the cool handkerchief. Dozens of thoughts swirled through her mind.

  For some time, the only sound was the twittering of the sparrows in the branches of the chestnut trees. It was Josephine who broke the silence. She slipped her arms around Clara and said, “Congratulations. From now on, you are a free woman again.”

  “You did what you had to do, and you did it well. I am so proud of you,” Isabelle added, also embracing her. “The way that judge was stirring up the audience against you, I felt like slapping the old bastard. But you didn’t let him get to you, and that was good.”

  Clara smiled weakly. The entire process already felt like a bad dream. Had she really just battled her way through a divorce in that courtroom?

  “But the judge gave Gerhard the house and pharmacy,” said Josephine. “Such an injustice! That belonged to your parents, which makes it your inheritance. You were going to build yourself a new future with that. Isn’t there any room for an appeal?” Josephine’s eyes gleamed angrily.

  “I’ll address the properties later,” said Clara grimly, standing up again. “Right now, I have to put all my energy into getting Matthias back.”

  Isabelle and Josephine were instantly back on their feet. “We’ll go with you.”

  The thought of having her friends’ protection was tempting. But Clara shook her head. “I think it would be better for me to speak to Gerhard alone. He has no time to raise Matthias in any case, and a boy his age needs his mother. Gerhard has to see that, doesn’t he?” Anxious, she looked from one to the other.

  Her two friends exchanged an equally anxious look.

  Instead of taking the tram, Clara made her way back to Luisenstadt—the district where she had lived until six months earlier—on foot. She needed the time to build up courage to go back to her old home.

  Since Gerhard had applied for the divorce at the beginning of spring, Clara had been staying with Josephine. There was more than enough room for her in their large, elegant house in the city, and Adrian, Josephine’s husband, had raised no objections to the arrangement. Every day, they had collected Josephine’s daughter, Amelie, from school. In the schoolyard, Clara could at least catch a glimpse of her own daughter, Sophie, and was occasionally able to exchange a few words with her. “Mama loves you. She’s thinking about you all the time.” Any more than that had been impossible since Gerhard’s lawyer had obtained an injunction banning any contact between Clara and her children. She had had no answer when Sophie asked, “Mama, when are you coming home again?”

  Without Josephine, who had always been there to console her and give her strength, she never would have made it. And Clara felt even stronger when Isabelle had arrived from France a few days earlier to join Josephine in supporting her through the divorce.

  And she had done it. Gerhard would never hit her again. Never again would she have to listen to his derogatory words or humiliating vulgarities. But the price had been high. That day, she had already had a taste of what lay ahead for her as a divorced woman. But she knew, too, that not everyone was as cruel as the spectators in that courtroom. There were those who accepted her decision, like Josephine and Isabelle.

  She would pack a few dresses for Sophie, that was all, she decided as she turned onto Görlitzer Strasse. And Sophie’s toys, of course. Clara had taken her own things with her when she had left—clothes, a few books, photographs, and some mementos of her parents. There was nothing else she wanted from the house. Nothing except Matthias . . .

  When she thought of her son, a deep, inexpressible pain filled her.

  Over the years, Gerhard had done everything in his power to turn Matthias against her. “Look how stupid your mother’s been again.” “Your mother doesn’t have her head on straight—don’t listen to a word she says, my son.” And Matthias had, in fact, started to look at her with the same contempt as his father, his mouth twisted in mockery whenever she expressed an opinion. If she tried to stroke his cheek, he stiffened. And every time he did, it hurt so much. But what could the boy do if his father pumped those poisonous ideas into him?

  Would he even want to go with me? Clara wondered sadly. Then she pressed the doorbell.

  “Madam . . .” Brunhilde Stumpfe, the nanny Gerhard had hired after Clara left, nodded curtly and allowed her to enter.

  It was so gloomy inside! How had she never noticed that? A sense of trepidation came over her. Get away, just get away.

  “I’ve come to collect Sophie. No doubt my . . . the doctor already told you. Is Matthias here, too?”

  The nanny shook her head. “Your son is at the music school, like every Wednesday. Sophie is in her room.” Without another word, she walked off toward the kitchen.

  Matthias had his trombone lesson. How could she have forgotten that? For a moment, Clara stood there, uncertain. What now? Hesitantly, she climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. She opened the door to Sophie’s bedroom, and froze with her hand on the doorknob: Gerhard was sitting on their daughter’s bed with Sophie on his lap, reading to her.

/>   Clara began to tremble with dread. Despite her agitation, she forced herself to smile at Sophie. “Mama’s here to pick you up. We’re going to pack your clothes and toys, and then we’re going to visit Auntie Jo. Amelie is so looking forward to seeing you.” She was already at the dresser, opening the top drawer.

  “But, Mama,” Sophie squeaked. “I can’t go with you.”

  Clara turned abruptly and frowned at Sophie, then at Gerhard. What was he up to now?

  “And why can’t you come with me?” Clara asked gently.

  Her daughter looked at her sheepishly. “Don’t be angry, Mama. But, you see, Matthias is staying here.”

  Clara stared at Gerhard. “Maybe Father will let Matthias come with us. He doesn’t have the time to do any homework with him as it is.” Even as she spoke, she realized the futility of the idea. Gerhard would never give up his son.

  “And there’s something else,” said Sophie. “The cat next door, Molly, has had kittens. And Papa promised me I can have one! I’m getting her tomorrow. I’m going to call her Mika. Look, I’ve already got a basket for her.” She pointed to a small cane basket beside her bed that she had arranged lovingly with cushions from her doll’s carriage. “Don’t be sad, Mama. I’ll see you again soon.”

  “We could . . . take the kitten with us,” Clara stammered. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gerhard’s sneer.

  Sophie shook her head. “Papa says cats need a big garden, and Auntie Jo’s house is in the middle of the city where there are lots of cars and bicycles. Mika certainly wouldn’t feel very happy there.”

  Clara could only stand there, thunderstruck. “Would you please come out to the hallway for a moment?” she said to Gerhard, her voice brittle.

  “You swine!” she hissed the moment she closed the door. “For years you didn’t want a cat or dog in the house, and now this? You’re playing the most revolting hand you could!” Her entire body was shaking.

  “I changed my mind,” Gerhard replied calmly. “If I’d known how much Sophie wanted a kitten, I would have let her have one much earlier.” He took a menacing step toward her.

  Instinctively, Clara tried to take a step back in the narrow corridor, but she found herself pressed to the wall, with Gerhard’s cologne in her nose and her heart pounding in her throat. “Isn’t it enough for you to disgrace all of us? Now you want to tear a child out of her happy world? Go live your new life! But leave Sophie here where she belongs. And as far as Matthias is concerned—he’s asked me to tell you he never wants to see you again.”

  The hate in his eyes struck her like hot sparks. But far worse were his last words. Clara’s legs felt heavier than they ever had when she returned to her daughter’s bedroom. She sat down beside Sophie on the bed.

  “Are you sure that you don’t want to come with me?” she asked her gently. Sophie was still holding the book Gerhard had been reading to her; pictures of cats adorned the pages.

  Sophie looked up and nodded silently. Her violet-blue eyes begged for forgiveness as she said, “Papa is here. And Matthias. And Maria is next door. Can’t you stay, too?”

  “Oh, Sophie . . .” Swallowing a sob, Clara wrapped her arms around her daughter and rocked her gently back and forth. Sophie’s silken hair, with its scent of talcum powder, caressed her cheek. Nothing in Clara’s life had ever hurt so much. Of course she could assert her legal right and take Sophie with her, but at what price? Her daughter was happy and content there. Did she really want to risk that happiness? Wouldn’t a mother’s love mean, for now, making do without her daughter? Just for now. She would come back another day . . . but the very thought of leaving her almost tore her heart in two.

  Clara closed her eyes. “I love you more than I can tell you. And I only want what is best for you,” she said, her voice raw. “If you ever need me, tell Brunhilde, and I will come for you at once! I will always be there for you, always! Do you understand?”

  Beaming happily at her mother, Sophie nodded. Then she jumped up and began to rearrange the cushions in the cat basket. “When Mika’s here, you are going to come and visit, aren’t you?”

  He was waiting for her in the hallway. Sure of victory, exulting in it.

  Clara stopped three feet away from him. With abhorrence, she looked at him. What had she ever seen in the man? His high forehead concealed only arrogance and condescension. His thin lips conveyed scorn and malice. His fingers were so fine, yet so capable of inflicting pain.

  “I agree that Sophie can stay here, for the time being. But on one condition—that I be allowed to visit both children at any time,” she said, summoning up the last of her strength. Still, she could hear her voice shaking, and she was angry at herself for it.

  Instead of replying, Gerhard grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her down the stairs and toward the door, which he jerked open. “You don’t have the slightest right to demand anything. The children belong to me, now and for all eternity. Now get out of my sight, you wretched whore, before I beat you so hard you won’t be able to crawl.”

  Chapter Three

  The house is dark. Everyone but the father has gone to bed. The little brindle cat is tucked into the crook of the girl’s arm. Its purring has lulled the child to sleep. They both look content. But when the room suddenly becomes light, the cat, sure of its instincts despite its young age, jumps down under the bed, where it cowers in the farthest corner.

  “Didn’t I forbid you from taking that cat into your room?” The father’s expression is dark, his eyes dangerous.

  The girl, jolted out of sleep, tries to swallow, but her mouth is dry as dust.

  “What’s the matter? An answer, if you please, when I ask you a question,” he snarls at the child.

  “I . . .” No more than a squeak. Mama. Why isn’t Mama here?

  “You minx!” The man grasps the girl by the arm, pulls her up, shakes her like a bundle of rags.

  Tears run down the child’s face. She forces herself to be quiet. Best not to say anything when Father is like this. It only makes him madder.

  “Oh, so it’s like that! First play stubborn, then come the tears? Just like your mother . . . The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, they say. But I won’t have it!” Hot droplets of spittle strike the child’s face.

  “Father, you’re hurting me.” The child begins to whimper.

  “I’ll show you what hurt is, you little beast.” He raises his right hand high in the air and . . .

  A piercing shriek punctured the stillness of the night. Clara sat bolt upright. Sophie! Where was her daughter? She had to help her. Her heart thumped, and she peered around the room. “Sophie . . .”

  A moment later the door opened. Josephine came in with a lit candle and an anxious look on her face. “Clara? Is everything all right?” As Josephine spoke, Isabelle appeared in the room behind her. “Has something happened?”

  One look at Clara’s distressed face, and it was immediately clear to her two friends that they would not be returning to their beds soon. Josephine made chamomile tea, her remedy for all the upsets of life. A short time later, all three were sitting together in their nightgowns in Josephine’s living room.

  When Clara inhaled the scent of the healing herb, she actually did feel a little comforted. She wrapped her hands around the teacup and enjoyed the warmth of it. “I could see it in front of me . . . So real. What if Gerhard really does something to Sophie?” Her eyes were wide with fear, and her heart began beating hard again. Hands quaking, she put the teacup back on the tray. “Oh God, and I’m not there to protect her. I’ve left her all alone.” She buried her face in her hands and began to cry. She’d done everything wrong. As usual.

  “Oh, Clara,” said Josephine gently. “There are a lot of bad things to be said about Gerhard, but not that he was a bad father. You told us yourself that he had never laid a hand on the children.”

  Clara looked up. “That’s true. And if I’d feared that something like that could happen, I would never have tried for a di
vorce.”

  “I think we could count on what happened today giving you nightmares, couldn’t we?” said Isabelle. “But it was just a bad dream, no more! No doubt Gerhard is sitting in his library with a glass of wine in his hand and congratulating himself on showing you yet again who’s the head of his house. But that doesn’t mean he would ever do anything to Matthias or Sophie. You can at least rest easy in that.”

  “A bad dream . . .” Clara looked tenderly from Isabelle to Josephine. She wanted so much to believe them. “And if it was some kind of premonition? Should I have insisted that Sophie come with me?” She began to weep again. “Everything happened so fast. I was caught off guard. And now I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she sobbed.

  Josephine and Isabelle cautiously exchanged a look. They had been convinced that Clara would return with her daughter. They were both mothers, and neither wanted to imagine what it would feel like to lose her own child. Clara had had the chance to keep at least one of her children, but she had relinquished it. How hard that must have been.

  Josephine laid one hand on Clara’s right arm and gave it a little squeeze. “You did everything right. Sophie feels good in her home. Leaving her there was proof of a mother’s love.”

  “And besides,” said Isabelle, “you have to get back on your feet again as soon as you can. You can only make the decisions you need to make—for you and for your children—when you’re self-sufficient.”