Heaven Scent (24 page)

Cat wondered if he was laughing at her. ‘You must have been quite an asset to your family,’ she commented coolly. ‘They must be devastated that you’re no longer part of the process.’

His jaw tight, Xavier gazed at her. ‘I suppose they must be. Shall we head into the old town?’

He was politeness itself, pointing out various pretty shops and stalls; if she had annoyed him, he didn’t show it.

‘Oh, look at that lovely lavender,’ she said, admiring a faded bunch on a stall. Tied with a Provençal-style blue and white ribbon, it was really sweet. She took out her purse to buy it. She was surprised when Xavier got there first. He handed some euros over and presented it to her with a careless wave of his hand.

‘Please . . . take it.’

Cat accepted the lavender with slightly bad grace. She sniffed it, thinking the aroma would always remind her of the south of France. And probably of Olivier, she thought, putting it into her bag with a pang. She nodded when Xavier suggested coffee and they took seats outside in the pretty square.

‘So what’s the best perfume ever created?’ Cat asked, reverting to safe territory to keep the peace. ‘Seriously, what’s the most gorgeous scent in the world?’

Xavier grinned. ‘Well, there’s a question!’ He considered. ‘There are so many, it’s impossible to choose. Chanel No. 5, of course. Shalimar has its place too. Did you know it was supposed to have been created when Jaques Guerlain accidentally tipped vanilla essence into Jicky?’

‘That’s a great story but those fragrances are so old fashioned,’ Cat said, rather unnerved by Xavier’s sudden grin. He looked totally different when he smiled, handsome and rather charming. She steeled herself.

‘Old fashioned?’ Xavier looked outraged. ‘How can you say that? They’re classics, the star players of their time. They’re the fragrances that set the bar for the newer ones out there. Did you know that many are just replicas of a bygone era?’

‘Well, no, I didn’t but—’

‘Of course there are some wonderful new fragrances – Thierry Mugler’s Angel, Jo Malone’s Lime, Basil and Mandarin . . .’

Cat’s head snapped up. ‘I wear that!’

‘I know.’ Xavier looked sheepish for a second, obviously loath to admit he admired the fragrance she wore, let alone that he had noticed it. ‘It’s a good choice.’ He relaxed slightly. ‘Do you think we sound slightly ridiculous, debating such an issue?’

Cat’s mouth twitched. ‘I guess so.’ She laughed. ‘My mother always said I was argumentative. Did yours say the same about you?’

Xavier’s expression became sober. ‘She did. But we had a lot in common too. After a moment’s silence he continued. “Noses” are essentially artistic and nostalgic by nature. They enjoy music or art or literature. They tend to study chemistry as it’s a good basis for the technical side to perfume creation but deep down they lean towards the arts. I did and so did my mother – we both loved paintings.’

‘Do certain smells remind you of her?’ Cat sipped her coffee. The tension felt as if it might have been broken between them but she was aware she was on delicate ground discussing Elizabeth. As the twins had mentioned, no one ever seemed to talk about her.

Xavier toyed with his coffee cup. ‘Ocean smells, pine forests . . . iris really reminds me of her. Orris root is used in make-up and many perfumes, you see. It is reminiscent of violets but when distilled into an essential oil, its fragrance is heavy and woody.’ He stared past Cat, preoccupied. ‘It makes me think of chatting to my mother while she put her make-up on. It’s . . . both evocative and painful for me.’

‘You miss her a great deal,’ Cat stated.

Xavier rubbed his thumb along his coffee cup, his dark eyes downcast. ‘More than I can say. She was a beautiful woman but she was a real mother to me too. She taught me so many things.’ Stopping abruptly, he wondered what the hell he was doing telling Olivier’s widow something so meaningful.

Not noticing the shutters going down behind Xavier’s eyes, Cat nodded numbly. She knew exactly what he meant. Sometimes she missed her own mother so much, it hurt. It was about always having someone there when you needed them, that unconditional love that only a mother could provide.

‘Wouldn’t your mother want you to carry on her legacy?’ Cat asked out of the blue. She knew she was on dangerous territory but she really wanted to know the answer.

Xavier’s eyes flashed. ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he returned angrily, throwing some cash on the table. ‘It wasn’t just my mother’s death that destroyed my love of perfume.’ He stood up. ‘There was something else,
someone
else who changed everything but I hate talking about it. Shall we go?’

Smarting at his anger, Cat followed Xavier back to the car, struggling to keep up with his strong strides. ‘I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing. I just think it would be amazing if you created another perfume. Don’t bite my head off; I’m just saying.’

Xavier’s phone rang. He took it out and frowned. ‘No, it’s not one of my many girlfriends,’ he informed Cat drily. ‘It’s my grandmother.’ Leaning against his Aston Martin, he took the call.

 

Seraphina returned to school through a side entrance and headed to the unisex bathrooms nearby. Catching sight of her reflection in one of the mirrors hanging over a neat row of white sinks, she gasped. Her hair, originally in a sleek ponytail, was loose and dishevelled and her mouth resembled a crushed strawberry because her lipstick had been kissed off so messily. Her cream silk shirt was buttoned up the wrong way and her jeans were so low-slung, her lace thong was showing.

Seraphina urgently raked her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. Rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand and desperately re-buttoning her shirt before anyone saw her, she jumped as Max strolled in. Dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt with a marijuana leaf on the front, his own hair was all over the place.

He scowled. ‘Been out with the boyfriend again?’

Seraphina tried to look nonchalant, despite her churning stomach. ‘Maybe.’

‘Well, you missed English, Maths and Art, so you must have been somewhere good.’ Max bit his fingernails. ‘Whoever he is, he doesn’t give a shit about your education, does he?’

She pulled her jeans up discreetly, not really able to disagree with her twin. She’d been thinking the same thing herself recently. But then, her boyfriend worked strange hours so she really didn’t have too much choice when it came to arranging their dates.

‘Did you have fun?’ Max asked belligerently.

Seraphina chewed her lip. Fun? She wasn’t sure if she would describe her dates as ‘fun’. Going out with someone so much older had seemed exciting at first; she had imagined being taken out to classy places, eating out in elegant restaurants, dancing, perhaps . . . Eliza Doolittle to her very own Professor Higgins, Seraphina thought with a smile as she remembered her mother’s favourite novel.

But the reality was very different. There was the odd elegant restaurant and classy bar but there was also a lot of making out . . . and a fair amount of pressure to go all the way. Seraphina stared back at her reflection, feeling gauche and unsophisticated. Still a virgin, the thought of sleeping with someone was both thrilling and terrifying and she was only just managing to hold her boyfriend at arm’s length. She felt totally out of control and she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

But I can’t hold him off forever, Seraphina fretted, coaxing her hair back into a ponytail. A sob caught in her throat. She wished her mother was still here so she could talk to her about it. She couldn’t exactly discuss such things with her father. Imagine the look on his face if she asked him about sex!

Turning to Max, Seraphina wondered if she should confide in him. They rarely had secrets from one another, so he was the natural person for her to turn to.

‘I’ve got this . . .’ Noticing his distant expression, Seraphina faltered. Staring past her, Max was lost in thought. She had no idea what was on his mind but she sensed that now wasn’t the time to dump her problems on him. She didn’t want to worry him when he seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

‘Sorry, what?’ Snapping to attention, Max straightened and frowned at her.

‘Nothing.’ Seraphina shook her head and picked up her bag. ‘Haven’t we got another lesson?’

As Max sloped off, Seraphina pushed down her worries and followed him.

 

Hosting a cocktail party at La Fleurie the following day for some of her more influential friends, Delphine was in her element. Yves was due to visit again soon with an update. She contentedly sipped her Black Rose cocktail, a revival of an old-time Parisian classic made with French vermouth and blackberry cordial. She had no idea what she was expecting Yves to find but she felt certain there had to be a loophole somewhere that would remove Cat Hayes from their lives completely. The thought filled her with happiness and she smiled benevolently at her affluent friends. An eclectic group of rich wives sporting handmade shoes and husbands and exhusbands of varying importance, they were rather like a well-shod mafia; they shot victims down without preamble and thought nothing of turning on their own if need be.

‘What a wonderful idea to celebrate the launch of Rose-Nymphea,’ announced Delphine’s good friend Cybille, the one who had recommended Yves. ‘Ducasse-Fleurie’s signature scent, an absolute classic, in my view,’ she added in a way that suggested she was bestowing some sort of honour. She lit a cigarette airily, forgetting to ask if she was allowed to smoke inside the château.

‘Isn’t it?’ Delphine replied, pleased, and prepared to let Cybille off for smoking indoors. ‘My little notion for a celebration is just what the family needs after everything we’ve been through.’

Her friends murmured their sympathies.

Guy, unaware there was a cocktail party in progress, strolled in to help himself to a glass of wine and found himself surrounded by fluttering old ladies. He wished he’d stayed in his office and cringed as all the perfumed geriatrics flocked round him in delight.

‘Oh, Guy, how lovely to see you again!’

‘It’s been so long!’

‘How are you managing after Olivier’s death?’

Guy smiled with an effort. ‘I’m very well, thank you, ladies. I had no idea you were all here, actually. Do forgive me for intruding.’ He attempted to leave and found he couldn’t without being rude.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Cybille. ‘Delphine was just telling us all about her idea to celebrate Rose-Nymphea.

Guy shot his mother a look. So she was taking credit for that now, was she? He shook his head at her in mock disapproval.

‘I do so love Rose-Nymphea,’ commented Cosette, the wife of the owner of one of France’s largest chain of department stores. ‘It’s always been my scent of choice.’

Delphine frowned, well aware that Cosette had worn Miss Dior for years. A singularly inappropriate fragrance for her aged friend, Delphine felt; it was a timeless but rather powdery chypre, not something Cosette could pull off at all. Delphine also thought her friend was letting the side down by being so overweight. She watched Cosette tucking in to the miniature but highly fattening pastries that were doing the rounds and frowned. All the other women knew they were just for show.

Cybille cocked her head one side astutely, considering Delphine. ‘Are there any new scents planned?’ she asked in a sweet voice, knowing it was a thorn in Delphine’s side that no new fragrances had been created since Elizabeth’s death. ‘It would be so lovely to report back to society that Ducasse-Fleurie has created something original.’

Guy raised his glass cheerily at Delphine. How was she going to get out of that one?

‘Actually, I think there might be a few little surprises on the horizon,’ Delphine hinted coyly.

‘Really? How thrilling!’ Cybille declared, already taking her small, expensive-looking phone out of her pocket.

Guy was alarmed. ‘Mother, what are you doing?’ he asked, taking her to one side. If she wasn’t careful, she would sabotage herself – and the family business.

Delphine threw him a triumphant glance. ‘I spoke to Xavier yesterday and I heard the passion in his voice. He’s all set to create a new fragrance, I just know it!’

Guy scoffed. The only thing that got his elder son’s juices flowing these days were gorgeous women. Guy thought it was far more likely Xavier’s new-found passion was for the pretty English girl he was spending time with, not a renewed vigour for blending aromas.

‘Mark my words, Guy,’ Delphine told him, supremely confident. ‘We will have a new scent to promote before the year is out.’

Guy shook his head. ‘It can take two years to create a new fragrance, five years, in some cases.’

Delphine dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. ‘Xavier has many half-started formulas, probably even some scents that are near completion. He just needs something to kick-start him and get him back in the lab.’

Guy stared at her. How did she know such things about his son when he didn’t have the first idea? And why was she so sure Xavier was about to get working again?

Guy’s scepticism turned to concern. What games was his mother playing with Xavier?

 

‘So what has been your favourite moment so far?’ the interviewer asked, practically falling into Angelique’s gravity-defying cleavage.

Angelique considered, leaning forward and affording him an even better view. In his sixties, Robert Duland was one of the biggest talk show hosts in France and she was overjoyed to be on his show because of the profile it would afford her.

‘Well, Robert,’ she said with a smile, ‘I think the film I’ve just finished is one of my favourites. It’s so raw . . . so sexual.’

‘Is that so?’ Robert could barely keep his groin under control. If she leant any further forward, he was certain he was going to get a first-hand glimpse of her raspberry-pink nipples. Under her cream silk dress, it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra and Robert could barely concentrate on his notes.