Scent of Triumph (24 page)

Danielle stood tall and lifted her chin, determined to show herself well and prove herself worthy. She met Clara’s eyes in the mirror. And then Danielle saw Clara glance at her brilliant emerald and diamond wedding ring, which she still wore on her left hand. Clara cleared the last step and held out a manicured hand in greeting, a smile curving her lips.

“
Bonjour
,” Danielle said, shaking her hand.

They spoke a little, first in French, then in English. Clara seemed surprised. “You speak English beautifully,” she said to Danielle. “And I love the perfume you’re wearing.”

“Thank you, it’s one I’ve made.”

“Abigail told me you were a perfumer.”

They continued talking, and in a brisk, businesslike manner, Clara outlined the hours, work, and wages. “I’ll give you a try, but first, you must see Esmeralda, my head seamstress. She’ll have something for you to wear.”

“But I’m sure I have–”

“No, you don’t.” Clara looked at her directly in the eyes, and Danielle felt herself blush. “And I’m sure you wore your best outfit to interview today. Just follow me.”

Clara burst through a set of rear double doors. She introduced her to Esmeralda and spoke Spanish to the stout Mexican woman. Clara turned to Danielle. “Be here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”

After Clara left, Esmeralda brought out two dresses for Danielle to try on. One was a chic black silk sheath, the other made of a royal blue wool crepe fabric.

“I couldn’t possibly accept these,” Danielle said wistfully, stroking the fine, rich material.

Esmeralda put a hand on Danielle’s shoulder, her lined face crinkling into a warm smile. “Clara insists that her salespeople look stylish. We have an image to maintain. The nicer you look, the more customers will trust you, and the more you’ll sell.” She held the blue dress up to Danielle. “Besides, these dresses were worn before they were returned. We can’t sell them again, so you might as well have them.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Danielle hugged Esmeralda and murmured her thanks. Danielle left Clara’s filled with a mixture of relief and elation.
My first job.
She was on her way.

The next morning, she dressed in the blue wool crepe, and after Anna arrived to look after her family, she hurried to Clara’s, eager to begin.

Clara unlocked the door to let her in. “You’re early. I like that. Say, that’s a good color on you.” She put a finger to her chin. “You need accessories,” she announced. She strode across the room and plucked a scarf from a display, then scooped up a strand of costume pearls and a pair of pearl earrings. “Your color is striking.” She draped the scarf around Danielle’s neck. “You must accent it.” She stepped back.

“It’s lovely, Clara. But how about this?” Danielle turned to the mirror and rearranged the scarf, nestling the pearls within its folds.

“Yes, much better. You have a good eye.”

“Clara, thank you for everything.”

Clara held a hand up. “No need to thank me.” She brushed her platinum hair over her shoulder. “You might think I’m being nice, but it’s not that. I have a business to run, and with that accent, I’m betting you can charm my customers into buying vulgar amounts of clothing and jewelry. And if you don’t, you’ll have to find other work. Now, let’s get started.”

Danielle paid close attention to Clara’s manner with customers. By noon, Danielle was assisting customers and making sales.

That afternoon, Clara showed her the customer book, which outlined each customer’s purchase history, sizes, and preferences. Clara had saved photos and articles clipped from the society news pages. “You must remember and greet each person by name.” Danielle learned that most customers were established Los Angelenos, along with wealthy Europeans and Latin Americans, and a host of movie stars.

At the end of the day, Clara called Danielle to her office. “You have quite a sense of style, and you’re good with customers.” She peered at Danielle’s hair over the rim of her rhinestone glasses. “But you need a good hair styling. And what in heaven’s name is wrong with your hair color?”

Danielle’s face grew hot. “It’s growing out. I dyed it brown.”

“Whatever for? Well, never mind.” Clara scribbled a number on a piece of paper. “Call Roberto tomorrow. And don’t thank me again. You paid your way today with your sales.” She grinned. “Mrs. Groves spent a fortune following your advice.”

* * *

That evening, after Danielle had made potato soup for dinner, bathed Liliana and Jasmin, and put everyone to bed, she picked up a pencil, a pad of paper, and a small amber-colored bottle of perfume she had created in Philippe’s laboratory. She made her way downstairs and outside onto the front porch of the apartment building, settling on the creaky wooden steps under a dim overhead light. She gazed up at the clear night sky, deep in thought.

She had an idea.

With the war underway, perfume sales in Europe had plummeted. Danielle chewed on the tip of her pencil. Philippe had a surplus of material, and Danielle had several new formulas she had perfected. She thought of one in particular that she had named Chimère.

Max had always thought her interest in perfume a folly. She smiled sadly.
Well, maybe it was, but I have to support my family now.

She needed to make more money, more than she ever could working at Clara’s. The Bradley Arms was no place to raise her girls, and her mother clearly needed medical help.

Danielle tapped her pencil on the pad. She had never started or run a business.
But if others can do it, so can I
, she thought.

She recalled how her mother had often assisted clients with the overall image of the final product, suggesting bottle designs, color schemes, and even names. “Our clients appreciate our insight,” Marie once said. “They are experienced in fashion and retailing, but we know the perfume business.”

Danielle had the perfume. Now she needed to create the packaging, image, and business plan. Although she had never really delved into this aspect of the business, she had often observed her mother and uncle and their clients at work.

Where to begin?
Briefly stymied, she decided to work backward, first projecting the number of bottles she thought she could sell. She frowned. Surely Clara would agree to sell it at the boutique.

Next, Danielle estimated supplies and the time she thought it might take to sell her inventory. She calculated the cost of the fragrance compound, or ingredients, from Philippe. She could manage the rest of the processing and filling in the States, but she would need bottles. The beautiful bottles Max had produced sprang to mind. She squeezed her eyes against the memories of her husband that suddenly flooded her mind.

No!
She steeled herself against her anguish and drew a deep breath.
Where was I?
Bottles. She recalled the people she and Max had met in New York, and made a note to call them. She frowned, considering the money she would need to purchase bottles and supplies. Money she didn’t have.

But there must be a way, and I will find it.
While she worked, crickets chirped their evening serenade. The night air grew cool and Danielle pulled her sweater around her, oblivious to the late hour. She hunched over her pad and continued working. Once she had completed her cost, wholesale, and profit calculations, based on her projected sales, she turned her mind to the creative aspects of the project, the bottle design and packaging.

Danielle picked up the perfume. Opening it, she inhaled deeply. A fresh, uplifting mélange of Italian bergamot, mandarin, and raspberry that comprised the opening accord filled her nostrils with the carefree scents of spring. Her imagination soared with memories. Picnic baskets bursting with summer fruits on balmy Mediterranean beaches, summers spent on the Riviera, yacht parties, and the casino in Monte Carlo. The plain little bottle held the essence of the life she had known.

She inhaled again, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to wander, to visualize the images the aroma evoked. Excitement coursed through her veins. She imagined a glamorous, luxurious lifestyle of exotic locales, mysterious lovers, sandy beaches, glittering parties, elegant gowns, and precious jewels.

And amidst it all, sumptuous bouquets of fabulous flowers, enchanting and romantic, intense aromas of pure, bridal white jasmine and sultry tuberose, and the heady, evocative aroma of rose. Seductive spices, clove with musk and patchouli, smoothed with sandalwood and vanilla, elegant and sensual, as stealthy as a lover in the night.

And finally, the warmest core of the amber blend emerged. She felt the connection to her soul, to her spirituality, and it filled her with serenity and misted her eyes.

This was Chimère.

Her eyes still closed, she breathed in the magical scent again and let herself slip farther into her dream world, where her creativity and imagination swirled and became one with the provocative aroma.

She moistened her lips. In her mind’s eye she saw vibrant colors, she heard a soaring symphony, she saw the colors of the music, and the shapes took form. She shuddered as the aroma touched the deepest core of her being. Her skin was hypersensitive, as if a lover trailed his fingers along her body. She touched her lips. Visions of Max, then Jon, floated before her.

Her eyes fluttered open, moist and hazy, yet ablaze with clarity. As if in a trance, Danielle picked up her pencil and began to sketch what she had seen and felt and recalled. She let her heart guide her pencil as she drew fluid, graceful lines of the bottle she envisioned, along with the elegant imagery for her perfume. The golden brocades, silken pouches, and exquisite presentations. She chewed her lip with dismay. And costly.

Finally, when the moon was high in the midnight sky, she sat back, sated, and studied her sketches. Her magical perfume was taking shape. But she needed money to begin.

She glanced at her wedding ring, the nearly flawless emerald and diamond ring that had belonged to Sofia’s mother, the ring Danielle had promised Max she’d never sell. She extended her hand.
How it sparkles, even in the moonlight.
Sadness trickled through her, and guilt tugged at her conscience.

She swallowed a lump in her throat.
But
I know what I must do.

As soon as Jon’s train eased into the station, he saw his father. The trim figure of Nathan Newell-Grey towered above the crowd. Jon waved and hoisted his bag, wincing with pain as he did from the dislocated shoulder he had sustained in a skirmish. He’d been granted forty-eight hours leave, and he was glad to be home. He stepped from the train.

“Hello Father, Mother.” Jon greeted them with warm embraces.

Nathan frowned. “How’s the shoulder, son?”

“Not too bad, it’ll mend.”

“We’re so glad you’re home,” said his mother. She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Everyone is looking forward to seeing you.”

“I’d rather hoped for some rest, Mother.”

“Now Harriet,” his father said, “what did I tell you?”

His mother ignored them. “A few people might call by this afternoon, or this evening. Naturally, Victoria is quite anxious to see you.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Jon said, “but I rather wish you hadn’t broadcast my arrival.”

His father winked at him. “I dare say you’ll find a way around your mother’s scheme.”

They got into the car and Nathan started for home. Harriet chattered on about friends, but Jon’s thoughts drifted to Victoria.

He had always had a soft spot in his heart for Victoria, despite her stormy personality. Their parents were close friends, and he had fond childhood memories of country weekends, of horseback riding and snow skiing together. They had many friends in common, and he and Victoria had dated over the years.

But during his absence from London, working at the family’s office in Long Beach, California, Victoria had grown from a fun-loving, sporty girl into a gossipy society brat. Since he’d been gone, she had attended a highly touted finishing school, and her former charm for him had, for the most part, vanished. In its place was a slick new veneer. Yet, he could not deny that he still found her intriguing, much to his vexation. He wondered if she would develop the dignity, grace, and determination he found so attractive in Danielle.

Still, Victoria was charming. Her father spoiled her and men fawned over her. Accustomed to being the center of attention, her sparkling laugh could fill a room one minute, and in the next, her pale eyes might cloud with anger, turning her fine features brittle and sharp. Jon chuckled to himself. She certainly knew how to keep men on their toes.

His mother’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “So what do you think, Jon? Will there be an announcement this evening?”

Jon leaned forward. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? Most of your friends are calling by tonight. It would be a perfect time to announce your engagement.”

“Here we are,” his father interjected. He pulled the car in front of their home.

Jon shoved himself from the car. At that moment, the front door opened.

Victoria flew out to meet them, her blond hair cascading behind her. “Welcome home, Jon darling.” She flung her arms around him.

“Victoria, what a surprise.” He shook a finger at his mother over Victoria’s shoulder. With some reticence, he gave Victoria a perfunctory peck on the cheek, then pulled away. Still, she astounded him with her silvery, ethereal beauty. She had the largest, palest blue eyes he had ever seen, a true aquamarine blue, the shimmering blue of a brilliantly sunlit sea. Her figure was undeniably superb. She was tall and slender, with long shapely legs like those of a thoroughbred horse. A fitting description of her, Jon thought, a real thoroughbred. She was just as finicky and skittish, too.

Nathan shook his head at his wife. “In we go. Victoria, after you.” He shut the door behind them. “Now ladies, our young man might want to rest before taking part in any activities the two of you might have planned.”

Harriet’s face fell. “But Nathan, Victoria’s been waiting weeks to see Jon.”

Victoria lowered her long lashes. She looked marvelous in a dress the color of liquid silver, with icy aquamarines at her ears and ivory throat. “If you wish to rest, Jon, I’ll wait for you. But I can’t wait forever.” She licked her lips and raised her mournful eyes to him.