Heaven Scent (37 page)

Max paused. ‘She has got that new boyfriend, of course.’

Ashton’s heart plummeted.

‘Jerard. Some millionaire, I think, with his own company.’ Max glanced at Ashton, wondering why he looked so tense. His bright blue eyes looked dim as though someone had turned out the switch behind them. ‘Seems like a nice enough guy but I’m not sure he’s right for Leoni.’

‘Really?’ Ashton tried his best to appear normal in front of Max. ‘Why not?’

Max grinned. ‘He’s even more of a workaholic than she is. They’ll never have time for sex or romance!’

One could only hope, Ashton thought ruefully. Jerard was clearly a more fitting a suitor for Leoni than an architect with only a prime-time Paris apartment to shout about. Just her type, he told himself, feeling surprisingly bitter.

Max decided Ashton needed a drink. ‘Cocktails are that way. By the way, you didn’t see Seraphina on your way in, did you? Maybe . . . with an older man?’

Pulling himself together, Ashton shook his head. ‘I’ll let her know you’re looking for her if I do, shall I?’

Max nodded cheerfully, not letting the panic he felt inside show. ‘Great, thanks. Catch up with you later on, Ash.’

Only after Max had gone did Ashton register what he’d said. What was Seraphina doing with an older man? She was only sixteen.

Ashton shook his head. He needed a drink.

 

Wearing a black vintage Chanel dress with a sequin-encrusted cardigan and a gold chain at her throat, Delphine greeted her guests self-importantly. She wished she could abandon her mahogany stick because it spoilt the regal image she had worked so hard to portray but unfortunately she needed it; her arthritic hip was stiff and painful.

‘Cybille! How lovely to see you. Do help yourself to a champagne cocktail. Cosette . . . you look
divine
. Thank you so much for coming.’

Delphine mingled with her guests, delighted to be hosting such a glamorous, well-attended party. The château looked absolutely stunning, with gorgeous, heavily scented floral arrangements everywhere, their blooms echoing the Ducasse-Fleurie colour scheme exactly. White bags containing special, celebratory editions of Rose-Nymphea, rose-pink silk corsages and some beautiful vintage-style lipsticks Leoni had managed to obtain from an old friend who worked at one of France’s biggest make-up companies sat on a table in the main salon. Tied up with curly reams of lilac ribbon, they were ready to be distributed at the end of the evening once the speeches had been made.

Delphine scrutinised the waiters and waitresses she had prepped with military precision over the past few days. Dressed in black and cream uniforms, they were circulating with trays of classic cocktails like dancers performing a Viennese waltz, their steps smooth and faultless. Small but delicious-looking canapés of foie gras on toast, salted quails eggs and lobster tartlets were being passed around and even the thinnest and most figure-conscious women were finding them hard to resist. Classical music was being provided by the same string quartet that had played at Leoni’s party and the volume was just right.

Delphine glanced outside. Strings of muted white fairy lights were looped prettily around the pool area and a row of flamed torches studded the edge of neatly clipped pathways and flower beds. Tea lights in clear glasses hung from trees and the sturdier plants, giving the garden a magical glow as if fairies had descended with baskets of sparkle and glitter.

All the hard work was worth it because the overall effect was wonderful and everything was running like clockwork. Delphine checked her watch, feeling excitement rising in her stomach. And if everything else she had on the agenda went according to plan, there would be surprises all round later on, and not just in the form of the stunning, three-thousand-euro firework display she had organised. Making a quick phone call in the hallway, Delphine made sure the arrangements were in place for her big finale. Hearing the answer she was hoping for, she returned to the party, buoyed up and brimming with anticipation.

Delphine faltered slightly, gripping her cane. Was she doing the right thing? What would Xavier’s reaction be? He wasn’t the sort of man to take kindly to interference.

Delphine straightened her shoulders. It was too late to change anything now. She just had to hope she hadn’t made a monumental mistake.

She nodded at the daughter of a former president and her American singer boyfriend. She’d given the boyfriend a slot after the string quartet had finished. It was a special favour to the former president, who was a personal friend, but Delphine did hope the singer wasn’t too shouty or loud; that wouldn’t fit well with the elegant evening she had planned.

Noticing Guy staring out of the window, deep in thought, she wondered what was on his mind. She wasn’t sure if he was preoccupied or simply bored and the thought aggravated her. She joined him. ‘Why aren’t you talking to anyone?’ she hissed at him disapprovingly.

Guy looked affronted. ‘I’m not five years old, Mother,’ he snapped crossly. ‘I’m well aware you expect me to circulate. I just can’t help thinking it all seems so . . . so false.’

‘False?’ Delphine rolled her eyes. She had put all her time and energy into organising this party – at Guy’s insistence!

‘Who
are
all these people?’ he said tetchily. ‘I hardly know anyone. They’re all just here for the free goodie bags.’ Guy did a double take as a famous model to his right burst into peals of laughter. Petal, as she was known, had the most exquisite face, but Guy couldn’t help thinking she had painfully thin arms, and was a collar bone really supposed to stand out like a metal coat hanger? He shuddered. Why on earth did Seraphina want to be a model? He would rather die than allow her to look like that. ‘Where are the kids, by the way? It makes me nervous when I can’t see them.’

Delphine sighed. ‘I have no idea, Guy. I’d rather not think about the twins. Who knows what they might be up to.’ She preened as she surveyed the room. ‘Have you ever seen a more wonderful turnout? Not only have all of my most important friends made the effort, but so have the celebrity contingent.’ She inclined her head in the direction of one of Hollywood’s most well-paid actors. ‘So pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she gushed. ‘He owns a vineyard in Bordeaux and he adores France,’ she confided to Guy in an awed whisper. ‘He came today because I promised his beautiful wife some free perfume – she’s a scriptwriter. She might be around somewhere, in fact.’ Guy didn’t look impressed. ‘She loves Xavier’s trio of fragrances so I promised her a boxful. Isn’t it lovely that people want to join us for this momentous event, Guy?’

‘What, for the anniversary of Rose-Nymphea that only Cat noticed?’ Guy snapped, losing patience. ‘This family is so caught up in its own drama, Mother, that none of us are actually paying attention to anything that’s going on right under our noses. Cat seems to be the only one around here that notices anything, and that speaks volumes.’

Delphine recoiled. ‘Guy, what rubbish! Cat Hayes is of no consequence to any of us.’ She straightened her dress and headed in the direction of a glossy celebrity with teeth as white as her own hair.

Guy gripped his glass of wine. Quite frankly, he couldn’t give a shit about any of these celebrities and their vineyards. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that the twins might be up to no good and until he’d tracked them down, he wasn’t going to relax. Dumping his glass on to a tray as a waiter whirled past, Guy went in search of his youngest children.

 

Seraphina took another sneaky swig of champagne as she checked out her appearance in a full-length mirror in her bedroom. She was wearing a midnight-blue silk gown with spaghetti straps that made the most of her loose, platinum-blond hair and her alabaster skin. The previous day’s tanning session with Cat hadn’t changed her skin tone one bit but Seraphina wasn’t bothered, her pale skin was something her boyfriend raved about. The sound of chatter and music drifted up from the party downstairs. The string quartet had finished and a solo, male voice could be heard singing something raspy and soulful. Seraphina approved but she was also surprised; this was hardly the sort of music her grandmother would normally lay on.

‘I’ll be out in a minute!’ Cat called from the bathroom. ‘Just . . . struggling with this zip . . .’

‘Come on out and I’ll do it,’ Seraphina called back distractedly. She and Cat were getting ready together and they’d been ages. Cat had done her make-up for her, using lots of youthful pinks with a touch of grey and navy around the eyes. Seraphina felt really pretty for once.

Tonight’s the night, she told herself, butterflies racing around her stomach. Finally, she was going to do it. She was going to drink as much champagne as she could for courage and then she was going to sleep with her boyfriend. After weeks – no, make that months – of holding him at arm’s length, Seraphina had convinced herself that she was ready.

Did he care that she was a virgin? she wondered, stroking her hair into place with a shaky hand. Men like him were so worldly-wise, so confident. Seraphina felt like an inexperienced, gauche schoolgirl when she was with him. Tonight, though, she would shake off her childishness and immaturity and she would become the sophisticated, grown-up woman he wanted her to be. Seraphina felt both excited and scared at the same time . . . actually, very sick, now she came to think about it. She reached for her champagne flute again and drained it. Immediately, she topped it up and started again, enjoying the feeling of the champagne seeping through her system. She felt more confident already; she was sure of it.

‘Are you sure this looks all right?’ Cat said, emerging from the bathroom. She was wearing one of Seraphina’s glamorous gowns, a black satin figure-hugging number that left her golden shoulders and arms bare and fell to the floor in an inky pool. Cat wasn’t convinced it was a good fit, however. It was a simple design that clung to her figure flatteringly but it was a fraction too tight. Cat was worried she might burst out of it at any moment.

None of Seraphina’s other gowns fitted her so she really didn’t have any other option; Bella had sent on a pair of dowdy black trousers and an unsuitable basque, as well as a purple dress Cat hadn’t worn in two years. Cat could only imagine Bella was distracted by Ben because if she’d been thinking straight, she would have known the clothes weren’t suitable for a party Hollywood actors would be attending.

Seraphina stood back and viewed Cat critically, glad to take her mind off what she had planned for the night. Cat had taken care with her make-up, outlining her aquamarine eyes with smudged eyeliner and three coats of sooty black mascara, and her cheeks were brushed with peachy blusher.

‘It’s too tight, isn’t it?’ Cat asked, about to back into the bathroom. ‘I’ll just wear my black trousers and a top . . .’

‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Seraphina spun her round and positioned her in front of the mirror. ‘The dress looks gorgeous . . . it’s your hair.’ She scooped it up in her hands and twisted it until it was all piled on top of Cat’s head like a beautiful, butterscotch whirl. ‘You should wear it up. Otherwise it spoils the line of the dress. You have the shoulders to pull it off, so let’s do it. I’m good with hair. Watch.’

Cat sat stiffly on the edge of the dressing-table chair while Seraphina deftly took locks of her hair and pinned it up in pretty loops and waves. She noticed Seraphina’s flushed cheeks and the agitated movements of her fingers as she reached for clips.

‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked, worriedly.

Seraphina coloured. ‘Only one glass,’ she protested, avoiding Cat’s eyes in the mirror.

‘Just one? You look very flushed.’

Saying nothing, Seraphina finished pinning Cat’s hair. She sat on the bed, looking apprehensive. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Anything,’ Cat responded, standing up quickly for fear of splitting the dress. She checked her hair, not sure she could carry it off, but Seraphina had done a beautiful job and had added a simple diamond necklace to Cat’s throat as a finishing touch.

‘Your first time . . . what was it like?’ Seraphina went even pinker and not bothering to hide her champagne glass any longer, she reached for it and almost downed the contents in one out of sheer nerves. ‘Were you nervous?’

Cat watched the champagne disappearing. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Oh, I’m just asking.’

Cat wasn’t convinced. In fact, she was fairly sure she knew exactly why Seraphina was asking her such a question. She perched gingerly on the end of the bed and thought carefully about what she was going to say. She wanted to be as honest as possible, without glorifying the idea of sex. Seraphina probably really needed her mum right now and Cat felt the responsibility of saying the right thing weighing down heavily on her shoulders.

Seraphina pleated the bottom of her dress with trembling fingers. ‘I just want to know . . . well, what it feels like . . . when you were ready . . . who you did it with . . .’

Sighing, Cat thought back to her first boyfriend. ‘My first proper boyfriend was called John and we were both about seventeen or eighteen, I think. He was this beach-bum type with blond, surfer-dude hair and those baggy shorts they all wear.’ She paused, lost in memories for a moment. ‘We’d been going out for, oh, about six months or more and we ended up staying out all night at the beach.’

‘Was it romantic?’

‘It was . . . messy.’ Cat smiled. ‘It’s true what they say; sand gets
everywhere
. But if you want details, I suppose it was nice, rather than earth-shattering. I wasn’t nervous because we were such good friends but it felt like a big moment in some ways.’

Seraphina nodded, her hair falling into her eyes. ‘That’s it . . . it feels like a big moment. So big and so scary, I don’t know if I can go through with it.’

‘So don’t,’ Cat asserted, concerned. ‘What’s the rush? I was one of the last out of my friends and I still felt unprepared for all the emotions I went through.’