Heaven Scent (28 page)

About to retort that she didn’t want to talk about them, Cat faltered, knowing she was being petty. She loved talking about her parents; she couldn’t help smiling, just at the memory of them. ‘They were amazing. I spent my life around so many incredible things like music and art and they travelled all the time and I went with them. We spent a lot of time in France. They had this zest for life, this astonishing way of grabbing it with both hands and living it to the full. I admire them so much for it . . . and since they died, I’ve tried to live my life that way too, you know, as a sort of tribute to them.’

Xavier nodded. He had always lived his life impetuously, not so much because of any wounding loss – those had come much later – but perhaps because he had always battled with his privileged upbringing. Sure, he enjoyed the good things in life but, unlike Olivier, who had positively embraced the easy wealth he had grown up with, Xavier had gone out of his way to take risks and prove that he didn’t rely on the Ducasse name to get by.

He was about to tell Cat when spots of heavy rain began to patter around them. The sky was very dark and most of their fellow diners had ducked inside. Xavier knew there was about to be a torrential downpour, punctuated by jagged, brightwhite lightning. But he didn’t want to break the moment. He was jolted when Cat looked up with tears in her eyes.

‘There are some days when I just miss them so, so much. They taught me everything . . . they shaped who I am and how I live my life.’ Her mouth crumpled. ‘Of course I make mistakes – look what happened with Olivier! Maybe if they were still here, I’d have been able to ask them what to do, instead of throwing myself headlong into a marriage that should never have happened.’ Her voice cracked and, at the same time, the heavens opened.

Cat leapt to her feet. Tearing off his jacket, Xavier threw it round her shoulders and grabbed her by the hand. The wind whipped up around them and they were soaked in seconds. Xavier pulled Cat out of the rain, underneath a canopy, holding her tightly.

Xavier stared down at her, his eyes focused on her mouth. God, she was irresistible. Feisty, opionionated, vulnerable, trusting and open . . . The tangible hurt and loss in her aquamarine eyes, her trembling shoulders . . . the way she had opened up so readily . . . all of it was making him want to gather her up in his arms and kiss the life out of her.

Cat swallowed. The look in his eyes could strip paint. There were gold flecks in their depths, she noticed.

Xavier cupped her face with his hands, pulled her closer and kissed her mouth. He felt her stiffen against him, but he held her more tightly, sinking his hands into her sopping wet hair. Cat threw caution to the wind and kissed him back. Her head was telling her it was wrong but her heart – or more accurately another part of her body altogether – was telling her it was very, very right. Pushing his thigh between Cat’s buckling legs, Xavier took her weight, kissing her on and on as the rain thundered down around them.

A huge bolt of thunder exploded overhead, and they both jumped, their mouths separating. Cat’s face was lit up by a spectacular fork of lightning.

Xavier stared at her. What had he just done? He was supposed to be picking her brains not kissing her senseless. But the kiss . . . it had been . . . Xavier didn’t even have the words. Desire shot through him, followed by guilt. What would Olivier think if he could see him now? Xavier took a deliberate step backwards.

‘That . . . shouldn’t have happened,’ he said. The shutters came down; Cat saw it happen in front of her eyes.

‘It really shouldn’t,’ she said, feeling suddenly chilled to the bone, and not just because she was soaking wet.

As Cat stumbled away from him, Xavier bit his lip. No doubt he had just succeeded in convincing Cat he was the serial lothorio she thought he was.

 

Angelique couldn’t believe it was finally happening. After being left out in the cold for the past two years, she was actually sharing tea and sandwiches with Delphine Ducasse. Ensconced at a private table in an alcove hidden from view, Angelique had readily agreed to meet Delphine in the upmarket tea rooms in Toulouse, Delphine’s home town.

‘How have you been?’ she asked Delphine warmly, pouring them both cups of fragrant mint tea. ‘I must say, I’ve missed chatting to you.’

Delphine regarded her coolly. She had arranged the meeting with Angelique because she wanted to sound her out; she needed to be clear about her strategy when Xavier returned home from Grasse.

Angelique was aware that this was a test. She didn’t know why Delphine had broken her silence but she intended to play the situation to her advantage.

‘I see you’ve made a few more films since our last meeting,’ Delphine said, her disapproval clear.

Angelique refused to blush. Her films made her an awful lot of money and provided her with the sort of celebrity lifestyle she craved. She did, however, want a different sort of life now, one a relationship with Xavier could provide.

‘Yes, needs must, I’m afraid. But I would love to move in another direction if at all possible.’

‘Really?’

‘I would love to do more adverts,’ Angelique explained. ‘Classy ones, of course. Something that might raise my profile . . . that might allow me to make more serious films. If I wasn’t lucky enough to become a wife and mother, of course,’ she added demurely, looking down at her mint tea, in case shrewd Delphine spotted the insincerity in them. Angelique wouldn’t dream of giving up her career to become a stay-athome housewife, not in a million years. What had happened with Xavier proved that, not that Delphine knew about that issue, naturally.

Before meeting Delphine, she had received a message from Mason saying she’d been offered the cover of
Playboy
. That was her point, in a nutshell. Years ago, she would have jumped at the chance, but now, she had different ambitions. Her own line of products – Angelique, the brand. That was her ultimate aim. She made an effort to focus on what Delphine was saying, knowing this was her big moment.

‘I’m so glad to hear that,’ Delphine commented, with slightly more warmth in her tone. ‘I think moving your career in a different direction would be the right thing to do. Especially if you were to move in our circles again . . . and perhaps settle down.’ She let the words hover, certain it was what Angelique wanted to hear.

Angelique could barely contain her excitement. She could deal with the issue of ‘settling down’ later but if Delphine was offering her a free pass back into the Ducasse family fold, she was going to grab it with both hands. The tea and chatter continued in a friendly fashion for the next hour or so, with Angelique employing all of her acting skills. As Delphine left, promising to get in touch soon, Angelique let out a sigh of relief and paid the bill. It had been hard work but well worth it. All she had to do now was wait for Delphine to call.

 

In Paris, Ashton was showing Leoni the changes he’d made to his apartment. ‘As you can see, I’ve added those shelves and now the balcony really stands out with the addition of the period lighting.’

‘I love it, Ashton.’ Leoni looked round in wonder. ‘You have captured the essence of the building to a T.’ She smiled at him. ‘I know how much this place means to you.’

Ashton nodded. ‘I wouldn’t give it up for anything.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Leoni said. Through the window the Arc de Triomphe was outlined dramatically against the darkening night sky. She smoothed a hand down the skirt of her dress. It was a frothy number in a deep red, almost black crepe, with a square neckline and a full skirt. In truth, it was rather out of character for her, but it was beautiful and it was fun. Leoni couldn’t help thinking Jerard might not like it as he had mentioned how much he admired her sleek, businesslike style, but she quite liked wearing something that felt quirky and different.

‘Where are we off to again?’ she asked Ashton, thinking he looked rather dashing in his dark suit and snowy-white shirt. He had shaved, which she found slightly disappointing, and his hair was neatly combed.

‘A bar I discovered recently. You’ll love it. It has a dance floor too. It’s quite . . . romantic, actually.’ He faltered, wondering if he’d made the right decision to promise Leoni a night out there – it was all soft lighting and music to sway to. He had arranged it before he realised how besotted Leoni was with Jerard. But it was too late now.

Ashton put on a tie, his fingers hovering in mid-air as Leoni leant over and straightened the knot. ‘What do you call this knot again?’

Ashton smiled. ‘It’s a Windsor,’ he told her for what must be the tenth time.

‘Charming,’ she said with a smile. ‘So English . . . so very you, Ash.’

‘That’s me . . . so very, very English,’ Ashton said wryly, wondering why he felt irked by this description all of a sudden. Ever since Leoni had got together with Jerard, he had felt like a clunky spare part; Leoni’s boring, English sidekick who was good as a friend but nothing more. It had been that way between them for years but he supposed he had always felt heartened by the fact that he had never seen Leoni crazy about another man . . . therefore providing him with a shred of hope.

‘You look really pretty in that dress,’ Ashton blurted out, to cover his silence. ‘It’s not your usual style but it really suits you. It’s very . . . feminine.’

‘Thank you.’ Leoni blushed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been described as feminine. ‘You are a true gentleman, always. Let’s go.’ She took his arm and they headed out of his apartment. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at the bar of the new club Ashton had discovered.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Leoni enthused, her cheeks flushed. She glanced over her shoulder at the band who were setting up at the edge of a stunning dance floor with glossy black and white checked tiles and moody lighting. It was full of couples, both old and young, and Leoni was particularly taken with an old couple who were already swaying on the dance floor, even though the band hadn’t properly started. With neat, grey hair and smart clothes, the couple moved in unison as though they could predict each other’s movements – no doubt from many years spent together. Leoni felt quite sentimental at the sight of them.

Feeling desolate, Ashton could only think Leoni’s happiness was due to the text message she had just received. It had to be from Jerard; no one else’s texts made her smile from ear to ear. He ordered some of Leoni’s favourite champagne and watched her eyes spark with happiness. Did Jerard see Leoni’s beauty? he wondered. Did he see beyond the mannish glasses and the stiff, designer clothes to the incredible woman within?

‘You are lovely,’ Leoni said, her eyes shining behind her glasses as she waited for the champagne to be poured. ‘This trip has been great, you know. The building is exquisite and we’ve had so much time to talk. It’s been like old times … minus Olivier, of course.’

‘Let’s drink to him,’ Ashton said, raising his glass with a smile. ‘To Olivier. May he be drinking Dom Perignon in the sky – or in the ground – wherever he might have ended up.’

Leoni sipped her champagne ruefully. She was fairly sure Olivier wasn’t wearing a halo and floating around with fluffy angels now that he’d passed on.

The band struck up and Leoni recognised one of her favourite tunes. She threw Ashton a coy glance.

‘Nothing to do with me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Damn, I could have lied and said I’d arranged it and you’d have thought I was brilliant and the most thoughtful guy around.’

‘Shall we dance?’ She smiled, slipping off her seat. ‘Or do you have two left feet? I can’t remember.’

Ashton straightened his tie. ‘Me? I can dance like a pro. My parents sent me to lessons when I was a child so I didn’t end up standing in the corner like a loser.’

Twirling her around in the centre of the dance floor, he pulled her in close. With one hand on her waist and the other cupping her hand, Ashton swayed to the music, occasionally spinning Leoni out and pulling her back in again. She laughed breathlessly, taken aback that he was such a good dancer.

‘We’ve never danced before,’ she realised, surprised. ‘In all this time, we haven’t ever done this before. Isn’t that strange?’

Ashton nodded, feeling her soft cheek against his, breathing in her perfume.

Leoni smiled. She hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in ages – aside from the date with Jerard, of course. But that had been different, it had been more serious. Leoni decided she would bring Jerard here one day. It was so romantic with all the candles and the band playing live. If he wasn’t too busy with work, she would love to bring him to Paris – although she reminded herself that it was Jerard’s dedication to his company that made him so attractive. Leoni frowned; she couldn’t quite summon up his face but she supposed that happened when you didn’t see someone every day.

‘Isn’t it nice to do something like this?’ Ashton said out of the blue, pulling away to glance down at her. ‘I mean, business is important and we’re both very committed to what we do, but there’s something to be said for having fun, isn’t there? You know, love, family, relationships, all that kind of thing.’ He put his cheek against hers again.

Ashton’s words mirrored what her grandmother had said before she left for Paris, Leoni thought with a jolt. She didn’t answer. In truth, she didn’t know if she should be prioritising business or pleasure right now.

When the dance ended, Leoni pulled away and mumbled something about needing to go to the restroom. She found the old lady she’d noticed on the dance floor there, and was startled when she patted her cheek.

‘Such a lovely couple, you two,’ she said with a dimple. ‘Aaah, young love . . . it reminds me of when I met my husband.’

‘Oh, but we’re not a couple,’ Leoni corrected her, smiling.

The old lady frowned. ‘No? You looked so right together.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps you
should
be a couple.’ She winked. ‘That much chemistry shouldn’t be ignored!’