The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-Élysées

by Rebecca Raisin

  Nan had taught me every aspect of the art of perfumery. She’d been a daydreaming avant-garde type, way ahead of her time. Days were spent creating perfume and getting lost in the world of scent, only coming up for air when Grandpop asked politely if he was to have toast for dinner again. He always said it with a rueful half-grin, knowing her other great love was perfume itself, and how could he be jealous of that? He’d shuffle off and soon the smell of buttery toast would waft back to us.

  Nan was taken from me a few years ago, and nothing had been quite the same since. One day she was there, and then she wasn’t. Our time together suddenly felt as ephemeral as a spritz of perfume.

  ‘Thanks, Jen. I’ll remember that.’

  At the memory of Nan, I gave my handbag a reassuring tap, feeling the outline of her trusty perfumery notebook: a fat and swollen tome filled with formulas, complex perfume equations, and her scribbles and drawings. It was my bible, I cherished it.

  ‘You’ve got this. Text us when you can, so I can tell Grandpop how it’s going. Mom and Dad say hi.’

  ‘Give them a hug from me will you? Tell Pop I’ll write him.’ We said our goodbyes and I hung up, feeling a twinge of guilt that I was grateful to end the call, just as Clementine returned, her lipstick smudged. ‘I need a nap!’ she announced and flung herself on the bed. I hadn’t met anyone quite as dynamic as Clementine before. She took up all the space with her big personality.

  Chapter Four

  After unpacking, and eventually convincing a drowsy Clementine that half the wardrobe was in fact mine, I went downstairs and headed back to Leclére Parfumerie hoping to visit before it closed. No such luck. Instead I peeked through the window and ogled the beautiful cut glass bottles of perfumes which blinked like gems under the lights. Scent radiated through the window pane; lily, ambergris, rose, and vanilla…

  With an hour until I had to dress for dinner, I continued on, eyes wide with awe at the sights and sounds before me. I came from a place the size of a postage stamp, a small lakeside village in Michigan where everyone knew everyone and nothing ever changed. A suffocating place to live when the whole village knew your business.

  The main street back home would have a dozen cars parked down its length on a busy day, and maybe a handful of people window shopping, or dillydallying about which loaf of bread to buy at the bakery. Here, groups queued in stores, others had noses pressed to windows, and some rode bicycles and dodged traffic. It was like someone had turned the volume of life all the way up.

  It would take some getting used to. The noise level was incredible but I couldn’t help feeling energized by the big city vibe. Paris pulsed with life! This is what I wanted, to be thrust into a big city, to live and work among so many people, opportunities galore, unlike back home.

  I wandered on, delighting in the warmth of the Parisian evening. Around the corner I found a little café with bright red shutters and lots of people milling nearby. I took a table out the front and tried to decipher the French menu, counting back in my mind to when I’d eaten last and on which time zone. Not wanting to spoil my appetite for dinner I settled on a café au lait, but promised myself I’d return for the bevvy of mouthwatering food on offer. Croque monsieur. Chouquettes. Soufflé fromage, the list went on and I shut the menu with a decisive bang, as my stomach rumbled in protest.

  The café was a hive of activity but I couldn’t grab the attention of the bustling staff so I made my way inside and got to the front of the queue and ordered my coffee.

  A waitress wearing a bored expression said, ‘We’ll bring it to you.’ Her voice brooked no further conversation, and any reply died on my lips, unsaid. Her attitude was wildly different to back home, where any stranger would be grilled about their lives, why they were in town and for how long, and within minutes, they’d find themselves sharing far too much information on account of the barrage.

  Here I was faceless and nameless. Wasn’t that what I wanted?

  Hurrying back to my table, I was lost in these thoughts when I tripped over a shopping bag. There was no time to react, instead I flew towards the back of a stranger and tried to strangle the shriek that rose from deep within me. Soaring through the air at a ridiculous speed, I tried to break my fall, by latching onto the man in front like a koala bear. We fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

  Way to blend in, Del!

  We were a tangle of arms and legs, as he groaned and turned from his front to his back, pinning my ankle, and I sat half-straddled atop him. Not the best position to be in, quite personal, really.

  ‘So, so sorry,’ I said and struggled to disentangle myself from his limbs, my face aflame. One of my legs was skewed so far to the left I wondered if I’d broken it. With that in mind, it took me a moment to recognize him. My breath hitched at the sight of those intense green eyes. Of all people! I straddled the guy who’d witnessed my near-miss on the Champs-Élysées and who I’d now taken down in front of a café full of elegant French people, some laughing behind their hands, some frowning at the disruption to their meals. But all looking square at me. Goddammit.

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ I said a little more haughtily. ‘I tripped.’ I jerked a thumb at the businessman at the table above us whose seemingly twenty-seven-meter-long baguette had been the cause of all this fuss. ‘Over his baguette, which clearly was not tucked away in a safe manner.’

  He didn’t utter a single word. We competed in a stare-a-thon until I gave in.

  ‘Well?’ I said. Perhaps he didn’t speak English? ‘Would you mind moving? I can’t get up until you do.’

  Oh! With a bit of effort, I managed wrench my leg from under him, hoping the numbness wasn’t anything serious. Imagine if I had to limp from here? Or drag my dead limb behind me like some kind of peg-legged pirate. Not exactly the fast getaway I was hoping for.

  Once upright I held out a hand and helped him up, when realization shone in his eyes. ‘It’s you.’ His eyes widened. ‘The girl who stepped into the path of oncoming traffic.’

  Jeez. ‘Well, yes, but I was…’

  ‘You’re a walking disaster.’

  I lifted my chin. ‘The traffic thing was an accident. And this could have happened to anyone.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ He frowned.

  ‘No.’ Yes. My pride withered and died on the spot.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite,’ I said primly. If my leg was broken in eight places there was no way I was going to confess to him. I’d damn well walk out of here if it killed me! But his sudden concern was touching and lightened the mood. Our audience went back to their meals and their chatter grew loud once more.

  His lips twitched as if he found me amusing. Did he find this funny? Why of all the millions of people in Paris did I have to make a scene in front of this guy? Twice. I wanted to slap my forehead.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again,’ he said, his green eyes unfathomable in the dim light of the bistro.

  ‘Perhaps.’ I walked away, heart hammering.

  ***

  After a quick shower, I read some texts that Jen had sent. It was hard to break the habit of a lifetime, or maybe guilt was driving her. We’d only spoken on the phone an hour ago! I didn’t want to feel as though I was relying on her here. If she could live this shiny new life, then, damn it, so could I.

  In my reply to her I left out all the whole falling-for-the-Frenchman thing or she’d start planning the wedding. And it wasn’t like I was falling for him, more like, on him. Instead I told her more about Clementine, and her sidekick Kathryn, who’d both been scheming when I’d returned.

  A reply beeped back instantly.

  Oh, they sound like fun girls! What’s a little competition between friends, hey?

  I shook my head. I could’ve told Jen the girls made me stand on my head for five minutes and she would have said: ‘Aww look at you making friends!’

  Nan would have told me to keep my guard up, but be open to any possibilities, so I kept that thought in my heart.

>   I replied: Fun, maybe, but I wouldn’t call them friends just yet. What’s up with you?

  In truth I wanted to say, are you missing me, have you changed your mind about moving to New York? Are you joining me in Paris? Any of those things… But I didn’t.

  She replied: Mom has chanting group here (how long will this last?!) and Dad is busy in the shed (whittling) and me and Pops are making popcorn and about to watch a French film in honor of your adventure. He says hi and wants you to get off that dang piece of machinery and enjoy yourself. Gotta love him. xxx

  I smiled picturing my grandpop admonishing me from afar. He was always on about that dang piece of machinery we used to communicate. To him cell phones were the devil no matter how much easier they made our lives, especially now I was so far away. When I showed him I could read a book on my cell phone he almost keeled over. But why, he’d cried, when there’s plenty of books right here? And any mindless games, forget it, he was actually offended by them.

  Tell him I love him and I’m putting the dang thing away for the night. Xxx

  We sent a few more texts before I shut off the phone, shaking my head at Mom’s latest pastime. She saw no reason to live in the real world, and instead spent her time on the periphery. Dad was much the same, and it often struck me how normal Jen and I were, considering. I could have announced I was going to live my life naked in a commune that worshipped sunflowers and they would have applauded us for following our dreams. They had good hearts, but were just that little bit too away with the fairies…

  Growing up hadn’t been easy when they were M.I.A. for yet another school play, or at exam time when we needed some semblance of stability. They were often the laughing stock of Whispering Lakes, their behavior always fodder for local gossip which was tough when you were a kid. Even now there was still that same whispering behind hands when I walked past, laughter following me down the long road to home, and I’d wonder what they’d done this time. They lived life on their terms though and as unreliable as they were, you had to give them a grudging amount of respect for it. They didn’t care one iota what people thought about them. There was a freedom in that.

  That freedom came at a cost though. Nan and Pop raised us, Mom and Dad were more like errant siblings than parents. I gave myself a few minutes to grieve again for the woman I’d lost and the one who was left behind.

  Don’t give into it, Del. Grief was a strange thing. Even after all these years it crept up when you least expected it.

  I heard Nan’s voice, like I sometimes did: Come on, Del. Pull those shoulders back and go wow those people!

  OK, OK! I smiled at the memory as I dithered about which perfume to wear. It had to be perfect because it would set the tone for who they perceived me as. The Madagascar rose was too soft, too dreamy for a group setting. The citrus blast was a daytime fragrance. Oriental flare, maybe? It was spicy and sultry, a balmy evening scent and had enough oomph to stand out in what would be a very fragrant group. Although, I also had my special remedy cache, aromatherapy oils made for certain situations: to calm, to endear, to love, laugh, but tonight I would need to show them what I was capable of…

  I spritzed the perfume on my pulse points and grabbed my handbag on the way out. Clementine had left earlier and hadn’t returned so I locked the room and wandered down the hallway. A few doors down a rail thin guy wearing an ill-fitted suit swore as he tried to lock his door.

  ‘Can I help?’ I asked. His hands shook and when he turned to me I smelled the sourness of stale alcohol on his breath. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot but he smiled, making his features impish, which contrasted to his scruffy appearance that even a suit couldn’t disguise.

  ‘This blasted key won’t fit.’

  Another contestant but who? His accent was American but with almost an English inflection. ‘Let me try,’ I said, taking the key and slipping it easily into the lock.

  ‘Must’ve needed a woman’s touch,’ he laughed. ‘I’m Lex,’ he said.

  ‘From…’ I asked as I held out a hand to shake.

  ‘World citizen,’ he said swaying slightly on his feet. ‘But I’ve just flown in from Thailand. And you?’

  There was something amiable about the guy despite his scruffy appearance and hollowed features. With his rheumy eyes, and wrinkled brow I put him at around fifty, maybe fifty-five years old. His fragrance was marred by the stale smell of cheap wine, with the undercurrent of mint as though he’d tried to mask it.

  ‘I’m Del from America.’

  ‘Shall we, America?’ He extended an elbow so I looped my arm through, feeling strangely at ease with him, like I would an uncle or someone harmless.

  ‘So tell me,’ he continued, ‘what are they like? They’re not all chemistry nerds, are they?’ While he slurred his words slightly, he still had a sparkle to his eye that led me to believe the alcohol he’d consumed didn’t affect his thought process at all. Maybe he hated flying and had imbibed? Who was I to judge? Though a simple oil blend of basil, clary sage, palmarosa and ylang ylang could have helped alleviate his fear of flying if that was the indeed the case…

  ‘I’ve only met Clementine and Kathryn properly, and they seem—’ I grappled with words to describe the crafty duo ‘—well studied about their opposition.’

  ‘Internet stalkers, you mean?’

  I laughed, liking that he played it down, as if it was nothing to be concerned about. ‘Pretty much. They seem to think the Anastacia is the one to watch.’

  ‘Ah, it’s always the Russians who get cast as the bad girls. And how did they rate you?’

  I shrugged, not wanting to share their summation of me because I didn’t want him purposely pitting against me if he thought I was a threat. I kept reminding myself to watch what I said, and not give too much away.

  ‘They didn’t say much at all,’ I lied, smiling up at my new friend. ‘No fancy chemistry degrees for me, I was taught by my nan at home…’ So my nan had one of the best noses in the business, there was no need to share that piece of information.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you are one to watch then. You home taught perfumers always want it more for some reason. A point to prove and all that.’

  Lex had an innate skill at reading between the lines. Perhaps he was the one to watch. ‘I wish,’ I said, making my voice light. ‘I’ve never been to Paris. It’s about the experience for me.’

  He grinned as if he wasn’t going to pull me up on the lie. ‘The world of perfumery is much smaller than you think, everyone has secrets which aren’t so hard to uncover, so tread carefully, and don’t trust anyone.’

  ‘Including you?’

  He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Especially me.’

  I returned his smile but I didn’t believe a word of it. What was the worst any of them could do? Hunt for one of my formulas? Gossip about me? Big deal. It would all hinge on our perfumery skills.

  Generally speaking, perfumers were quiet studious types who found comfort in numbers, formulas, the magic of chemistry. I doubted they’d be devious, or play unfairly. But I didn’t really know that for certain, and with the prize on offer it could potentially turn a quiet wallflower into someone else entirely, so I’d just tread carefully until I got to them know them all.

  We walked out into the starlit evening. ‘So let me guess, your nan was some kind of cloistered genius and she’s passed on her gift to you?’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, you could say that. Though she was fond of making perfume almost like an elixir.’

  ‘A cure-all? Why not!’

  I smiled. Most people never understood that. Nan believed the right scent could cure anything from heartbreak to the common cold. She was way ahead of her time. Aromatherapy was huge these days, but she’d taken it further, and decades before it was in fashion too. It was where I saw my own niche in the world of fragrance, making not just a scent, but bottling a perfume that could lift a mood, throw sunshine on cloudy days…

  ‘Is she in Paris, along for the ride?’


  ‘If only,’ I said. ‘She died a few years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. She’s here with me in spirit.’

  And she was, or at least I’d convinced myself of the fact so I could function without her. Still, I knew I’d never forget the day she died. It’d been memorable for so many reasons. We’d almost perfected a heritage rose perfume based upon the bloom of first love. I’d railed that you couldn’t bottle love, how could you? We’d been missing a key ingredient to balance the perfume but we couldn’t figure it out.

  Nan had joked it was because I hadn’t fallen in love before, I hadn’t explored the world and learned how to say the words I love you in three different languages. She was always on about that, fall in love, tell the man you love him in French, in German, in the language of love itself… Whatever that meant! God, I missed my whimsical nan.

  I’d scoffed that day, rolled my eyes and gone back to trying to capture the elements we were missing but falling short.

  It was the closest we’d come to capturing something as tangible as love in a bottle. It was a concoction of rose, cashmere wood, raspberry leaf, patchouli, freesia and blackcurrant, but lacked an element, an aroma we just couldn’t pinpoint.

  That antique rose perfume remained there still, unfinished. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it without Nan.

  Those early days were grey and full of the scent of rain without her.

  ‘Let’s meet this motley group then,’ I said, smiling and shrugging off the cloak of memory so it didn’t bring me down.

  Chapter Five

  We arrived at the Lecléres and were shown to an enormous and elegant dining room by an elderly man in a suit that fit much better than Lex’s did. The chatter stopped immediately and all eyes landed on us like laser beams. Some gave us slow onceovers, others cocked heads and smiled, a few narrowed their eyes summing us up with one long stare. Contestants and the Leclére management team mingled as I tried to put faces to names from our various video calls.