‘Perfectly,’ I assured him. ‘But I have so much to tell you first. I expect you’ve heard about Mr Farley’s demise?’
‘Who hasn’t? Seemed very suspicious to me. I expect the only reason the police aren’t investigating any further is because they think the British aristocracy could do with culling. Minor aristocracy, I should add.’
‘It’s all come out now that he was a fascist.’
‘Who isn’t?’ he said. ‘No reason to go murdering a chap. Although by all accounts he sounded like a nasty little toad.’
There were so many things I was bubbling to tell him but remembered just in time that Alexander can be terribly indiscreet. I couldn’t resist sharing the news that Mr Brooke had created a perfume for me.
‘Oh, has he now? I expect the old goat has designs on you. Actually, you do look rather ravishing tonight. Although I quite miss your usual frumpiness; I find it comforting. It reminds me of Nanny.’
Alexander likes to be witty at other people’s expense and, depending on the victim, it can sometimes be amusing. But tonight his catty comment hit me hard. A minute before I had felt lovely and glamorous, perfectly at ease in this sumptuous hotel. Now I felt like a foolish frump. A sow’s ear. I felt a wave of fury that he could puncture my confidence so easily, so thoughtlessly. Without a moment’s consideration I picked up my champagne glass and flung the contents into his face. Never in my entire life have I done anything so impetuous and silly, but it was worth it for his expression of utter astonishment. I could feel all eyes were on us and I didn’t care. I pulled my stole firmly around my shoulders and stalked out, straight through the front doors and across the road to the bay.
Anyone watching the last three minutes of my life would imagine I’m one of those prima donna types who doesn’t put up with any nonsense. In truth I was racked with self-recrimination. What makes people think they can be so rude to me? Do I exhibit a bovine acceptance that encourages people to lash out at me with no consideration for my feelings?
I stood on the promenade and gripped the railing, the twilight ocean blurred by angry tears. I had been so looking forward to this evening. Now it was in tatters. I would have to go back to the Carlton and have them telephone the house and ask Monsieur Lapointe to come back and collect me. He would not be in a civil mood having to turn straight around. Better to lash out for a taxi.
Then Alexander appeared at my side. Without a word he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. I stood helpless in his grip as he placed my floppy arms around his waist in a forced embrace. ‘Forgive me. Please. I don’t deserve to even be in your presence, let alone have you as a dear friend.’
I pulled away from him and straightened my dress. ‘You see, you simply take things too far. You should have stopped at forgive me – that was enough. Then you started being melodramatic. Now I don’t believe you’re sincere.’
‘I am. I was thoughtlessly cruel. I’m truly sorry.’
‘Why do people think it’s perfectly acceptable to be so horrible to me?’
‘Who else is horrible?’ He sounded slightly put out, as though it were his prerogative alone.
‘You should hear the way Vivian speaks to me.’
He adopted a tragic expression that wasn’t terribly convincing but I permitted him to link arms with me and we walked along Boulevard de la Croisette, promenading with other couples dressed for an evening on the town. ‘I think it’s because you’re so inscrutable,’ he said after a while.
I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of that explanation. ‘Inscrutable?’
‘Truly, I’ve only realised just this moment how evolved you are. Like someone who has lived for a thousand years and understands the world and can make sense of it.’
‘Now you’re being fanciful and absurd.’
He stopped and gazed into my face. ‘I feel you have been sent to guide me. Like a guardian angel you appeared in my life at a time of complete despair.’
‘What despair? Anyhow, it’s not as though you take any notice of anything I say.’
‘Only because it hadn’t struck me before. Now I’m experiencing the most profound epiphany about you!’ He laughed his crazy laugh and I couldn’t help but laugh too.
We were all right after that. Although it was still early, we went straight to the nightclub. The casino was already doing brisk business. Thankfully we didn’t stop in there but went straight up to the cabaret room. The room itself was quite lovely. Old-style French architecture with red velvet drapes framing a large dais where a six-piece band dressed in slick black suits played. An attractive blonde in a red blouse and tight black skirt sang one of those mournful French songs. The dance floor, which was surrounded by tables and chairs, had capacity for a couple of dozen dancers at most. We took a table and Alexander ordered more champagne. His suit still had a few damp spots from the last effort.
‘I know it all looks tame right now,’ he said, gazing around, ‘but it will heat up later on. Topsy and Seb might join us.’
I remember thinking there must be some other people Alexander knows on the Côte d’Azur. I really don’t mind Topsy and Sebastian but they are just not my sort of people. They may profess to adore me but that adoration is of, I suspect, something I represent. Hopefully not their nannies. They don’t know me at all. I’m certain that when it’s time for me to leave, they will be the last to notice I’m gone. If they notice at all.
‘What’s your best step, my lovely?’ Alexander asked when the champagne and cocktail snacks arrived.
‘Waltz, foxtrot —’ He fought a mocking smile as I went on lamely. ‘I could probably manage the merengue.’
One glass of champagne later and I was on the dance floor with Alexander holding me in a hypnotic gaze. ‘Un, deux, cha-cha-cha, turn, two, cha-cha-cha – swivel those hips – oh la la – cha-cha-cha.’
I don’t remember when I ever had such terrific fun.
By the time we took a break, the tables and the dance floor were busy. Topsy, Sebastian and William wandered in with Freddy trailing behind them. Alexander waved everyone over to join us at the table and became endearingly animated in the presence of Freddy, who kindly remembered me as Alex’s ‘clever little friend’.
I felt quite breathless and flushed with the excitement of it all but Freddy gazed around the room with a jaded eye and remarked that he must bring his mother here when she next visited. Alexander assured him that we planned to eat there and go on to another, more lively club that opened after ten. This news was a little disappointing to me but Freddy seemed satisfied with that plan.
We all had to practically shout over the music and the crowd. It was chaotic but great fun. William was unusually attentive. It seemed he was hanging on my every word but perhaps he just found it difficult to hear me over the din. I wasn’t holding out any hope in that regard since I had intuited that he and Topsy were involved in some way. I wondered how long it had been going on and whether they were actually in love. That would give Sebastian something to write about if he ever found out.
The food took forever to arrive and was then rather hurried. The dance floor was overflowing and people were bumping into the backs of our chairs. So it was a delight to be released out into the balmy night. We all strolled through the back lanes of Cannes. William walked with me and we enjoyed a relaxed conversation about nothing in particular.
Alexander led us down some steps and through a huge arched doorway into what must have been a wine cellar for a hotel or a large house. Music bounced off the brick walls. The place was heaving, the air dense with cigarette smoke and the altogether thrilling smell of wild abandon. People hurled themselves around in the most frenetic version of the jive I have ever witnessed. (I felt a little foolish in my taffeta and pearls, like a debutante in an opium den.) It was the most lively evening imaginable. The jive was enormously fun and exhausting. First I danced with Alexander, then with Freddy, and then with anyone who pulled me in to dance.
It all became increasingly chaotic. Alex
ander – who had somehow acquired a bright red fez with a long black tassel – and Freddy added to the pandemonium as they carved a path through the crowd with a highly dramatised version of the tango that was quite hilarious. Topsy had been in a sour mood all evening, bickering with Sebastian. She sat at the bar drinking and smoking unhappily while her husband threw himself into the fray.
William didn’t dance but stood alone in the doorway and watched the madness with obvious pleasure. Sometime in the early hours he shouted in my ear that he was leaving and offered to take me home. Although it was doubtless well out of his way, I accepted gratefully. We walked in silence to his car, music still ringing in our ears. Once in the car, I must have immediately fallen asleep because the next thing I knew he was shaking me gently awake. I apologised for sleeping the entire way home, which he was very gracious about.
He leapt out of the car and opened my door. We said our goodnights but as I went to leave, he pulled me toward him and crushed his lips against mine. It took me completely by surprise but (learning from past errors) I let my body yield to his embrace. His kiss was soft and warm and blissfully delicious. I wanted it never to end. But end it did; its splendour only slightly tarnished by his apology which may have implied it was a mistake. Now, alone in my room, I can’t stop touching my lips and smiling in disbelief. I shan’t sleep a wink for reliving the experience all night long.
I woke this morning euphoric but am now in my room under orders to pack, as I am leaving.
I had decided – while still in my state of emotional intoxication – that I would not be relegated to the service stair. I don’t hold with this upstairs–downstairs elitism. Vivian is living in the past in that regard. As luck would have it, I didn’t encounter her during my defiant descent so was not called on to justify my manifesto – the cowardly rebel, that’s me!
She was already at breakfast and didn’t look up from her newspaper. Jonathan arrived right behind me, pecked her on the cheek and fell into his chair with a great huff.
‘Jonathan, pleeeease. Just pull out your chair and sit down like a normal adult.’ Her voice rose in a vibrato of irritation. Jonathan apologised and she continued in a calmer tone. ‘I have several new guests arriving next week. Two sisters —’
‘Not Americans, I hope, I really can’t bear them,’ Jonathan interrupted.
‘I’m not in a position to turn away guests whose nationality displeases you in some way.’
‘I don’t see why not. I’m easily your most loyal guest.’
Vivian picked up the coffee pot, glanced my way as if to offer some and froze, staring at me. I fingered my hair self-consciously, wondering what on earth had caused such a reaction.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ She sniffed the air, gently at first, and then like a bloodhound on a trail. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘Good lord, Vivian,’ said Jonathan. ‘Don’t talk to me about manners.’
‘What is that perfume?’ she demanded.
‘Mr Brooke made it for me —’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, what are you talking about?’ Her fury was escalating by the second.
‘Well, we made it together . . .’ The words faded on my lips.
She stood up slowly, her rage terrifying. ‘Go upstairs and pack your bags. You are nothing but trouble.’ Leaving that absurd and unfair statement hanging in the air, she walked out the doors to the garden and strode off toward the cottage.
Jonathan and I exchanged looks. He pulled out a hip flask and took a swig. As an afterthought, he wiped off the top and offered it to me. I refused, despite my mortification. ‘Do you have any idea why she’s so angry?’
‘It’s a complex situation,’ he said, buttering his toast. ‘Hmmm, I’m not really privy to the finer details. Suffice to say there’s money involved. A great deal of money, I should think.’
‘Should I go down there? I mean, Mr Brooke . . .’ My voice was thick with sudden tears at the thought of Vivian’s rage being directed at him and no one there to defend him. Not that I would be any match for Vivian.
Jonathan looked up slowly from his breakfast and stared at me. ‘Oh, I see. Perhaps it’s not all to do with money.’
‘Please tell me what’s going on?’
He munched his toast thoughtfully and finally said, ‘It’s a silly fabrication – you should have been told. It’s not as though you’re a guest here. I’m surprised Hammond hasn’t spilled the beans.’
‘Which particular beans?’
‘Viv and Hammond are related by marriage – not blood.’
I was thoroughly confused. ‘Who’s married? And to whom?’
‘Each other, you little fool, each other. They’re husband and wife.’
This information was so disorientating I couldn’t put it together straight away. Now, of course, it’s all fallen into place. Why Mr Brooke is always so irritable when I ask about Vivian. Why there seemed to be a Vivian-sized gap in every story. Given Mr Brooke’s ambivalence, I wonder why on earth he is upholding this pretence – and how long it’s gone on?
‘You should get upstairs and pack before she gets back,’ said Jonathan, pouring a cup of tea. ‘She’s always in a filthy mood after speaking to him.’
‘I can’t imagine it could get any filthier than just now.’
‘Oh, that’s where you’re quite wrong. Here,’ he said handing me the cup of tea. ‘Take this with you.’
So here I am, in my room, packing haphazardly, my thoughts flying off in a dozen directions. How can this happen now after last night? What will I do about William? I’m certainly not leaving without saying my goodbyes to Mr Brooke. Where will I go? I shall insist on her buying me an air ticket back to London. Although that would be horribly expensive and I’m not sure I could bear to fly – let alone such a distance – and also I just remembered that a flight destined for Nice crashed in the Alps a few years ago. Perhaps I will take the train after all.
Just now, as I was agonising over my exit plan, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Vivian, an unconvincing smile pasted on her face.
‘Iris,’ she began in an earnest voice. ‘Please forgive me. I don’t know how to explain my behaviour, except to say that I misunderstood the situation. Mr Brooke has explained it all to me and I am satisfied there has been no impropriety.’ She glanced over my shoulder at my packing efforts. ‘Please disregard everything I said. He is expecting you for work.’
I gave her the coldest look I have ever given another living creature – ironically I learned this from her. Impropriety! The cheek of her! One minute she’s cavorting naked on the kitchen table, the next she’s suspecting me of having some sort of intrigue with her husband, having dishonestly represented him as her brother. For a fleeting moment it occurred to me to wonder if he was actually blind – is that a ruse too? I am starting to go a little mad.
‘I’m not entirely sure I want to stay,’ I heard myself say. ‘I need to give the matter some thought. But if I do decide to continue here I expect to be treated with respect, as should any employee.’ I could hardly believe these words were inserting themselves so grandly between us. My thoughts beautifully articulated, my tone firm and courteous but commanding too.
She looked as though she wanted to strangle me but squeezed out another humbled apology. Instead of my normal flustered response to the embarrassment caused by an apology that would incite me to counter-apologise, I continued in the same lofty tone. ‘It’s been revealed to me that Mr Brooke is in fact your husband – not your brother. Is that true?’
Vivian gave me her blank gaze of disbelief. ‘Iris, I understand you’ve been doing a wonderful job getting the family business sorted out. We’re really terribly grateful. Hammond is very appreciative and speaks highly of you.’ She paused, no doubt hoping I would be distracted by a few sweet crumbs thrown in my path. ‘Yes, he is my legal husband, however we haven’t lived as man and wife for many years. The reason for the subterfuge is, as much as anything, to avoid gossip. People aro
und here are very conservative about such things – traditional, let’s say. Hammond and I are bound together by circumstances, not by choice. I would just ask that you protect our privacy. If not for me, then for him.’
She sounded genuine and for once I believed her. This was a different side of Vivian, one I haven’t seen before and, let’s face it, I have seen her from a variety of angles.
Mr Brooke made no mention of Vivian’s visit; he was simply keen to move on with the work of notating and packing up all the raw materials. One slightly curious thing – despite his initial excitement about the rose harvest, when I asked when the rose absolute would arrive, he was evasive, dismissive even. I wonder if something has gone wrong there?
Later in the day, as I was packing up, he said, ‘Vivian tells me you two are getting on well.’
I wasn’t sure whether he was making this up for his own reasons or it was one of Vivian’s machinations – which seemed the most likely – but I wanted no part of it. ‘Mr Brooke, I’m sorry, but that is an outright lie. She is barely civil to me and sometimes extremely uncivil.’
‘On what basis?’
‘My assessment is that she needs me and resents me in equal measures.’
He gave a grunt of agreement.
‘I understand that Vivian is your wife,’ I said.
‘She volunteered that?’
‘No, Jonathan did. But she confirmed it.’
Mr Brooke laughed. ‘That fool couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.’
I wasn’t amused. I felt owed some sort of explanation for this deception and he conceded reluctantly. ‘We don’t see eye-to-eye on most matters but, because of my situation, I’m obviously dependent on her to some degree. The property and business belong to my family and therefore Vivian needs me – preferably alive. Dead, it gets much more complicated.’
He said no more on that topic but asked if we could walk for a while and clear our heads. It is so companionable to wander along arm-in-arm with him now. The most pleasant path crosses the road and meanders down a winding lane into some woods beyond. The woods are scrappy compared to those of England – mostly pines – but for the sighted there are glimpses across to the sea. Sometimes he asks me to describe the scene, which I do to the best of my ability but my descriptions fall very short of the blue shimmering reality. I am now sadly aware that he doesn’t even have the dimension of smell. The sensual nectar of wild jasmine, the bracing tang of pines after rain and the warm salt of the distant sea were mine alone.
The French Perfumer Page 12
