The Champagne Queen (The Century Trilogy Book 2) Read Free Page A

for her father to find out where she had gone, because a letter from him arrived just a few days after her wedding. The letter had been addressed to Mrs. I. Feininger . He had not even written her first name. In curt, clear words, he had told her that she was dead to him. And until today, she had not heard a word from her mother. Only from Clara, now and then, came a few sparse lines. All her bridges were charred ruins.
    Isabelle occasionally looked out the window, but there was no sign whatsoever of Leon. It was almost dark. When was he finally going to return?
    To divert herself, she went to the mirror on the wall. In the pale light of the gas lamp, she did her best to pluck her eyebrows. Her face had become so round! And her eyes had lost all their shine—all the boredom she felt was reflected in them. To think that she had once beguiled every man she met with her provocative eyes. Nervously, Isabelle tossed the golden tweezers onto the vanity. Then she picked up her sewing box and began to let out the waistband on one of her skirts—something she had to do for all her dresses. In Berlin, she had danced through the nights and trained long hours on her bicycle, and her figure had been slender. But with the inactivity and the rich, plain food in that house, her slim waistline had disappeared. As much as she might hold in her breath, she could no longer lace up her bodice all the way.
    Leon’s mother had already remarked that it looked as if a new family member might be on the way. Pregnant, my foot! I’ll start looking like a potato myself soon , thought Isabelle, adding a good inch of material to the waistband of her skirt. Perhaps she should get some of that horrible brown woolen yarn from her mother-in-law and knit herself a jacket. With something like that, she could perhaps conceal her curves. And she’d have something to do. Oh, good Lord, she couldn’t even imagine doing needlework.
    With clammy fingers, Isabelle sewed away at her skirt for a while. But her thoughts kept returning to the letter. Why hadn’t she taken it with her? With every stitch, her conviction that it had something to do with her grew—Anni wouldn’t have mentioned it to her otherwise! Had something happened to her parents? An accident in her father’s factory? The thought frightened her, but what frightened her even more was the unexpressed pleasure she felt at the idea that in an emergency, she would have to return to Berlin. Everyone would understand that. Leon and his family, her family, her friends in Berlin. She wouldn’t owe anyone an explanation. And then they would see where things went.
    With her heart beating hard, Isabelle went back to the kitchen. She had to read the letter, immediately! But where had her mother-in-law put it? It wasn’t on the sideboard with the doily, nor was it in the basket with the shriveled apples. Disappointed, she was about to head back upstairs when she saw it after all, tucked in behind the yellowing mirror. Isabelle sighed with relief. She had the letter in her hand when she heard Anni’s sharp voice behind her. “Put that down! It’s for Leon!”

Chapter Two
    Leon came home from his extended ride feeling on top of the world.
    “Isabelle’s upstairs,” his mother had announced bitterly when he arrived.
    His darling wife probably had ducked some housewifely duty again! Leon had sensed that his mother expected some sort of response from him or that he would take her side, but he would not be drawn in. It made no difference to him which of the two women made sure the food was on the table at the right time. He liked his mother’s cooking, and when it came to Isabelle, in bed she was everything a man could wish for. Leon grinned. As he climbed the stairs to the bedroom, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after five, and dinner was at six—enough time for a little activity under the covers. Far from wearing him out, his training ride had only fired him up.
    “I’m back,