Scent of Triumph (31 page)

“How fascinating,” the woman said, her face warming with a smile. She leaned in toward Danielle and said, “Tell me more.”

Danielle’s nervousness abated, and she pressed on, excited at the prospect.
This is my moment,
she thought, her heart pounding. She noticed the sales clerks were listening in rapt attention, too. “You see, a fine perfume usually passes through three phases, just as a symphony soars and glides through various movements. Yet, the phases are similar, like variations on a theme.”

Danielle continued to hold the woman’s hand, warming the perfume. “The initial phase, or opening accord, is evident on the first whiff from the flacon. It’s designed to be enticing and engaging. In French, this is the
note de tête
, the head note.”

“The floral heart,” she went on, “or the
note de cœur
, develops within a few minutes, followed by the base accord, the
note de fond
. In this finale are found rich, long lasting essential oils, including sandalwood, patchouli, and vanilla, which give the perfume staying power. These are superb fixatives. Naturally, the finer the oils, the longer perfume lasts on the skin, especially in perfume, or
parfum
, the richest, most concentrated version of fragrance.” She removed her hand with a graceful flourish. “Try it,
madame
.”

“Why, you’re right, it’s lovely.”

Danielle smiled at her.

Over the woman’s shoulder, Danielle could see the sales clerks hovering with interest. One spoke up, her tone edged with sarcasm. “It sounds like perfume is related to music, what with all those notes and chords you’re talking about. Are you sure you’re in the right department?” A titter of laughter erupted.

Danielle swung around to the gathering crowd.
At last I have their attention,
she thought,
now I can teach them
,
help them learn
. She smiled at the group of ladies. “How perceptive of you. Years ago in France, in attempt to bring order to the perfumer’s art, a master perfumer created a system whereby every essence was assigned a note, based on a tonal scale of six and one half octaves. So yes, music and perfume are related,” she finished, giving a dazzling smile.

Another woman spoke out. “How do you know all of this?”

“My family has been creating perfumes for generations in France.”

A wave of murmured approvals swept across the crowd.

“Then you must know what you’re talking about,” another sales woman said. Others nodded in agreement.

The woman in the navy hat opened her purse. “Chimère is utterly magical. I simply must have it.”

Excitement spiked the air, sending shivers down Danielle’s spine. She breathed a brief sigh of relief, then swung into action.

“
Merveilleux
,” Danielle declared, acting swiftly. “But for the most exquisite, surreal experience, you must use our perfumed soap and skin softening bath oil for your toilette, then dust your skin with our silky talc, and finish with our parfum,
et voilà
. A cloud of fragrance, layers of sensual scent, will surround you. It will last all day and into the evening. But never, never will it be overpowering.
Mais non
, it will be subtle, in the French tradition.
Très chic
. Your husband will adore you.”

The woman inhaled again, her eyelids fluttering. “I’ll take it all. One of everything. Put it on my house account.”

Danielle wrapped her purchase while a clerk prepared her bill. “
Merci madame
, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

After the woman left, Danielle turned to the sales clerks. “You see, that’s all there is to it,” she said earnestly. “Show your customers how perfume can touch their deepest desires. Be of service, teach them how to experience and enjoy the artistry of perfume. Share the magic, the art of living well with them.”

“But we can’t present it like you do.”

“Each one of you has your own distinct style. Trust your instinct and your customers will trust your judgment.” She smiled warmly at them. “I’ll teach you the technique I demonstrated. Most of all, pamper your customers.” She paused, searching for words of encouragement. “I believe in you, in your ability to make this a top selling perfume. I know you are the best in the business, because you are here at Bullock’s Wilshire. Here,” she added, giving each of them a brochure. “This is my family story, of how the House of Bretancourt came to be. I wore an early version of Chimère on my wedding day, it was my husband’s favorite perfume.”

Whispers fluttered through the crowd. “Was he really a German aristocrat?”

Danielle’s throat tightened at the thought of Max. “Yes, he was, God rest his soul. But like you, I’m an American now.” And as the words left her lips, she realized for the first time that she truly felt like an American in her heart. It was a place to begin life anew, to prove her worth, to build her future.
And I will.

The sales clerks smiled their approval. Relief flooded Danielle. With their help, the line would be a success.

She spent the rest of the day getting to know every sales clerk and assisting sales efforts, thrilled with their new-found enthusiasm. As closing time drew near, she prepared to leave. After a quick mental calculation, she exhaled a breath of relief. She had barely exceeded her goal for the day. Just then, she heard a familiar male voice behind her, deep and mellow.

“So this is where you’ve disappeared to.”

Danielle whirled around.

“No phone number, no address, nothing but a postal box number. Who’re you hiding from, lass?” The handsome, dark-haired man lowered his sunglasses, and a wide grin spread across his face. Cameron Murphy looked every inch the glamorous star. He wore an evening suit that complemented his broad Adonis-like physique, complete with a sky blue silk ascot and diamond pinkie ring. Wavy black hair flowed from tanned temples, and his sparkling eyes were teasing.

“Cameron, of all people, what are you doing here?” Suddenly self conscious, she smoothed her hair and stood straighter.

“Had a few things to pick up before I went out this evening. Are you working here?”

“I launched my perfume line here today.”

“Why, congratulations! Did you have a good day?”

Danielle grinned. “Thanks to you and Hedda Hopper.” The gossip columnist had created quite the little story about her and Cameron. Untrue, of course, but people read the column, and publicity helped sales.

Cameron sniffed the air, glanced at the shimmering crystal bottles arranged on the counter. “Tell you what, I’ll take ten of your largest perfumes. It’s fine smelling stuff, sure and it ‘tis. Real quality.”

She laughed. “Really Cameron, ten bottles?”

“You think I don’t know ten beautiful ladies? Okay, here goes.” He ticked off his fingers as he spoke. “My secretary, mother, sister, sister, sister, sister, hair dresser, a couple of waitresses, my housekeeper, and Silverman’s secretary Gladys, oops, I’m out of fingers, that’s eleven. Give me a couple extra, say thirteen, a baker’s dozen.”

“You’re serious?” Danielle was amazed.
What a dear man
, she thought.
This sale will cinch the line’s position at Bullock’s, especially after the columnists hear about it!

“Of course I’m serious,” he murmured. “Especially about you.”

Danielle spun around, ecstatic, and threw her hands in the air. “Who can ring up Mr. Murphy?”

The younger sales girls hung back, obviously overwhelmed by Cameron’s celebrity status. An impeccably attired, plump older woman stepped forward sprightly. “Aye, I will ma’am.” She smiled merrily, her cheeks like rosy apples. “I’m Mrs. Murphy.”

“Sure, and I’m thinking we might be related,” Cameron replied in a thick Irish brogue. He leaned across the glass counter and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Mrs. Murphy blushed and counted out thirteen bottles. “Would you be liking gift wrap too, sir?”

“Absolutely. And delivery. My secretary will ring you tomorrow with instructions. Thank you, Mrs. Murphy.” Grinning, he turned back to Danielle. “Say, there’s a party this evening at Lou Silverman’s. Are you busy?”

Startled at the invitation, Danielle hesitated. It sounded like fun.
But I couldn’t possibly
, she thought, crestfallen. Every minute of her schedule was fastidiously planned. She had sewing to do, accounts to balance, bottles to fill. “No, I’m awfully busy, Cameron. I must prepare dinner, then more work.”

“Nonsense, no more work today. We’ll call for Chinese take-out for the family, and then we’ll head over to Silverman’s party.” He sidled close to her. “You’ll have a great time.”

“I simply can’t, Cameron.” She took a step back.

“Come on, Dani,” he whispered. “Say yes. I need a date tonight. Don’t ruin my reputation in front of all these ladies. Say yes, Dani. Just one little word,” he said, feigning desperation. “Me very career depends on it, nay, I dare say, me very life.”

She suppressed a smile. “You’re impossible. And my name is Danielle.” But then, how could she argue with him? After all, he had just made her first day at Bullock’s a resounding success.
Perhaps I should go with him,
she thought,
just to express my appreciation. I’ll get up extra early tomorrow morning to finish my work.
She nodded. “All right, you win.”

“Hallelujah, Dani,” he cried, obviously ignoring her correction. By now, he had drawn a crowd, and the sales clerks broke out in applause at his shenanigans. “Put an extra bottle on there for yourself, Mrs. Murphy. You’re the tops, you are.” He signed the sales slip, hooked his arm in Danielle’s, and marched her out the front door before she could change her mind.

Once outside, Danielle exploded into gales of laughter. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

“Here’s my car.” An attendant pulled a white convertible Rolls-Royce to the curb.

“Oh no, you can’t drive this into my neighborhood.”
This is crazy,
she told herself. “Really Cameron, the fun’s over, I must get home.”

“Nay, that’s where you’re wrong, lass. The fun is just beginning.”

There seemed to be no dissuading Cameron Murphy. “Well, I won’t say no to a ride home, if you’re sure you want to take this car into my decrepit neighborhood.”

“No one says no to Cameron Murphy, my dear Dani. Didn’t you know that?” He grinned and held the car door open for her. She slid in obligingly, admiring her unexpected surroundings. The burl wood dash and chrome dials gleamed in the sunlight, and the leather seats were smooth and supple beneath her touch.
Someday,
she thought,
I’ll have a car just like this.
She glanced shyly at Cameron, and her mind began to whir.

Cameron tipped the attendant and hopped into the car. “Lead the way,” he said, putting on his dark sunglasses.

She gave him directions and he pulled away from the store, turning onto Wilshire Boulevard. The wind ruffled her hair, so she tied her scarf over her head.

“Hey, you look like a movie star, Danielle. Everyone at the party will wonder who you are.”

“Cameron, I really can’t go with you tonight, but thank you for what you did back there. I mean it, you made my day.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad I happened to be there, Danielle. It’s nice to use my stardom for a good purpose when I can.”

“You didn’t have to do that—”

“I don’t
have
to do anything. I wanted to help you.”

“But Cameron, fourteen bottles, why, that was far too expensive!”

They stopped at a signal light and Cameron turned to her, his eyes shining with passion. “Nothing is too good for you, Danielle. Nothing.” The light turned green and he drove in an easterly direction on Wilshire. “Now, about this party. There’s something I should tell you. I need you to go with me because my ex-wife Erica is going to be there with her new boyfriend. You have to come, Dani. Please. Silverman expects me to be there, but I can’t go alone.”

“Cameron, I wasn’t even invited.”

“Relax, you’re with me. Besides, Silverman likes you, he’ll be glad to see you.” A twinkle came to his eyes. “Know what he calls you?”

She glanced down at her simple black dress. “What, a poor waif?”

He laughed. “A woman of quality, that’s what he says to me at Clara’s fashion show. With a capital ‘Q.’”

Danielle was secretly pleased. But then, an immense feeling of guilt overtook her. She was certain the store would be buzzing tomorrow with Cameron Murphy’s purchase and their exit together. And at no small cost to him.
Fourteen one-ounce bottles of her best perfume.
Why, the money he must have!

She swallowed and looked out, watching the scenery fall past at a dizzying pace. She hadn’t attended a social event since Max’s death, certainly not with her overwhelming responsibilities and single-minded purpose.
And now
I’m simply returning a favor to Cameron.
She glanced down. He still held her hand. Gently she slipped it from his grasp, under the guise of straightening her scarf. A thought flashed through her mind and her heart quickened. But no, it was too crazy.

“Please come with me,” he reiterated, his puppy dog eyes melting her resolve. “Think what the newspapers will print tomorrow. The ‘Man with the Golden Voice’ can’t even get a date, they’ll write. But look at Erica Evans, his ex-wife—”

“All right, enough!” She laughed, and gave him a reassuring smile, which quickly turned to a frown. “But what’s the dress?”

“Hollywood style, silver screen gowns, glitter galore.” He glanced at her, a worried look crossing his face. “Ah, I’m an idiot, maybe you don’t have—”

“I happen to have a few dresses.” She lifted her chin and a smile curved on her lips. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

“I’m sure I won’t be.” He cast an appreciative look at her and grinned. “See, it’s a welcome back party for Erica. She’s been filming in Mexico, and tonight Lou Silverman will be announcing a new film with Erica in the starring role. The place will be crawling with press.” He stretched his arm across the seat, over her shoulder. “Sure, and it’ll be a party like you’ve never seen, lassie.”