The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-Élysées

by Rebecca Raisin

  A trio broke from their circle and came over to introduce themselves. Someone handed me some champagne which I guzzled to settle my nerves. My roommate sauntered over, a faux fur stole over her shoulders despite the warm weather.

  ‘Clementine,’ I said, relieved to see a familiar face. ‘This is Lex, Lex this is my roommate, Clem.’

  Introductions were made and more bubbles quaffed. Clementine barely let anyone get a word in, so most of us slowly edged away from her, clustering in couples making polite if not stilted conversation. Kathryn called me over and I excused myself from Lex.

  ‘So where is Sebastien, then?’ she asked casting her eye around the room.

  I surveyed the men present and recalled their faces from innumerable video chats, so none of them were the great man himself. He’d be tall, and wiry, and have intense eyes that darted about. Or would he be more masculine, suave letting his famous name carry him?

  ‘I don’t think he’s here or surely he’d have introduced himself,’ I said with a sigh. No wonder no one could snap a picture of him, he never turned up. ‘Is he even real?’

  ‘Makes you wonder,’ Kathryn said. ‘Aurelie’s not here either. Some welcome party.’ She toyed with her napkin. ‘It’s all a little strange, this whole competition. Why would they suddenly open their doors to strangers, when they’ve been so reclusive?’

  I’d asked myself the same question too. ‘And now they’re not here. Do you think they’re regretting it?’

  She frowned. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘They’re probably running fashionably late to make a grand entrance once we’ve all broken the ice and got to know each other a bit.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘I suppose we should mingle then.’

  Normally I’d hang back, and let people come to me, that small town reserve always just below the surface, but no one knew me here, and I could be whoever I wanted. So I made the effort to approach a tall girl who scrolled mindlessly on her phone. I’d done the same thing myself to look busy when I felt like the odd one out, so I introduced myself, only to have her nod as if dismissing me on sight. So much for feeling emboldened.

  ‘And you are…?’ I pressed on not ready to give up, on pride alone.

  ‘Anastacia.’

  ‘From?’

  ‘Moscow.’

  It was like talking to a rock. And she was the one they were worried about? Boredom shone from her half-lidded eyes, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  Part of me wanted to walk away, but another part told me to persevere, maybe Anastacia felt wildly out of place and her silence was all an act.

  ‘I’m from Michigan,’ I said.

  Again, the brief nod.

  Clementine chose that moment to wander over, she must have sensed my unease. ‘Del, come and try the canapés, they’re divine.’

  At the sound of Clementine’s voice Anastacia’s head snapped up, and the pair stared each other down, a bitterness charging the air. I had the distinct impression Clementine was envious of the girl, or felt threatened by her, and that’s why she was telling anyone who listened to watch out for her.

  With one last withering stare Clementine grabbed my elbow and steered me away. ‘Isn’t she icy cold?’ she said in a stage-whisper loud enough to bounce around the room.

  ‘She’s probably out of her comfort zone.’

  ‘Non, non, don’t be fooled. You have to remember this is a competition.’

  I shrugged. Clementine would have had you believe we were contestants on Survivor the way she acted, and it dawned on me that I’d have to be careful around the beautiful Parisian girl, and keep her onside so I wasn’t suddenly offside.

  Before long we were huddled with the management team who were intent on grilling us all over again. We’d answered their questions enough, hadn’t we? Couldn’t we let our perfumery talk for us here? One of them, Luc, a tall blonde man with a pinched face took me by the elbow. ‘Del,’ he said, in a deep voice. ‘How do you think you’ll cope here, without the comforts of home?’

  ‘Great,’ I said, trying to make the lie sound genuine. ‘I’m ready to forge ahead now, step away from what I know.’ Truth be told, I worried I’d freeze up. Forget everything Nan taught me. Be so far out of my depth I’d drown, but I had to keep my game face on for now, and hope it all came together.

  ‘So would you say you’re ready to break the rules?’

  ‘My nan never followed the rules, she made her own, and I am very much the same.’ I lifted my chin. Luc smiled. ‘Good, very good. You are our wildcard. The one who could go either way.’ He drifted off and I was glad he couldn’t see the hurt on my face.

  The wildcard? Did that mean I wasn’t as talented as the rest but they’d been prepared to take a risk on me? Whatever confidence I’d had vanished, taking the breath from my lungs. Despite my bluffing, they’d picked up on the fact I’d struggled with perfumery since my nan died. It just wasn’t the same without her. I could mix oil blends, and simple scent remedies but the more complex perfumes eluded me. Without her it was like working with my eyes closed, I’d lost that vision. Had my sister noticed that too? And was that why she hadn’t wanted to risk money she’d been saving for years? Suddenly I felt impossibly alone, and close to tears.

  As the night wore on my feet ached and my eyes grew heavy, I longed for escape. When dinner was finished and the Lecléres still hadn’t arrived, I made my excuses and left them all gossiping heatedly about where the Lecléres were and why they hadn’t shown up to host their own welcoming party. No two ways about it, it was strange, but gossip wasn’t my thing, and the answer would arrive eventually whether we clustered around guessing or not.

  My heels bit into my feet as I walked, making my hobble from earlier more pronounced so when I came to a wine bar right near my apartment, I stopped, and peered in. Only a handful of people dotted the place, so I ventured in and took a stool at the far end of the bar. I wasn’t one to drown my sorrows at the bottom of a wine glass, but tonight it seemed the tonic. One glass of wine and then bed. It wouldn’t do to start the first challenge fuzzy headed.

  The barman took my order and poured me a glass of white wine and placed a small bowl of peanuts next to it. I took a handful, and munched away, mind spinning at all that had happened, and grateful for the space to think without the contestants nearby.

  Part of me wanted to relish this new persona, this girl who sat in wine bars late at night in exotic locales. Why not? Just hearing French accents spring about the room was intoxicating. I could have listened to it all night and it stopped me from worrying, as I got lost among their musical accents.

  ‘Are you following me?’

  I turned to a velvety French voice. Oh, jeez. If Jen was here she’d be harping on about fate and divine intervention. The fact that I’d run into this guy three times in one day! ‘I was here first, so you must be following me.’

  He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes, as though he’d shrugged off the stresses of his day and was relaxed and amiable, different to the stiff-shouldered, smoldering-eyed guy in the daylight. ‘I promise I’m not,’ he said. ‘I live around the corner.’

  ‘I’m close by too,’ I said, feeling a little buzz that I could say I lived in Paris. ‘Have you just finished work?’ Despite the hour he wore a dark suit, his tie loosened off a notch as if it had been strangling him and he was finally free of it.

  ‘Not quite,’ he sighed and scrubbed at his face. Just then his phone buzzed but he ignored it. ‘I have a few more things to do when I get back. I needed a break, to step away from it all.’

  ‘I know how you feel,’ I said. ‘I’ve just come from this dinner, and suddenly it was all too much.’

  ‘Why?’ He sipped his red wine. His phone buzzed again and this time he switched it off.

  How to tell him? We weren’t supposed to advertise the fact we were working with Leclére Parfumerie, as per the competition rules. The team didn’t want rogue reporters getting any inside inf
ormation. ‘Well, it was just a little overwhelming. I’m not used to being among such competitive people. I’ll have to learn how to handle that.’ Oh, god I sounded like some backwater hillbilly.

  ‘Paris is a good place to discover who you are. And competitive people usually show their hand early on and then fizzle out.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I need to be one step ahead of them. My whole future depends on it.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ he asked, his fingers worrying the stem of his glass.

  I told him all about my sister, and our doomed plans, leaving out any talk of perfumery itself. How I had to make a go of it here, or else there was nothing left for me. It sounded dire, so I tried to laugh it off as if it was nothing.

  ‘Why can’t you go alone to New York if that’s your dream?’ The wildcard thing flashed in my mind. Maybe I wasn’t as gifted as I thought, and everyone but me knew that. I pushed that anxiety down once more. Nan wouldn’t have boosted me up all these years if I was mediocre, would she?

  I realized I hadn’t answered him. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘I see,’ he said but clearly didn’t.

  He’d never understand, he was probably born with a trust fund by the looks of him and probably dabbled in the stock market or something equally high flying. Still, it was nice to chat with someone who didn’t know me but listened intently as if he cared.

  Usually I’d never confide in a stranger, but Paris made me bold. There was a freedom in sharing, an almost cathartic quality about it. ‘What about you? You said you’ve got more work ahead of you tonight?’

  He nodded, and stared into his wine glass, his demeanor changing at the mention of his work. An uplifting blend of basil, lime and mandarin would lift his mood and galvanize him, but again I didn’t dare mention perfumery because of the rules in my contract, plus the fact he’d probably baulk at the suggestion that a blend of oils could ease his angst. ‘I was supposed to do a lot of things today, but they didn’t happen for various reasons, and I know it’ll make tomorrow so much harder.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do them? Ran out of time?’

  He sighed, and gave me the type of rueful grin that was more a grimace. ‘Some days I find it impossible to do what’s expected of me, today was one of those days. It’s like I’m walking through mud, and I wonder why I’m bothering.’

  I nodded, watching as the green of his eyes clouded, his mood sobered and I got the feeling it was more than just a hectic work day. Like me, he wasn’t giving away much detail and I respected that.

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow will be better for both of us. Aren’t we woeful sitting here, slumped over a bar when we’re in Paris?’ Although I didn’t feel particularly woeful. I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in years. Maybe it was the fact he was a good listener, or that we were both having a challenging day and yet we’d found some common ground. Or maybe it was the amount of alcohol I’d consumed.

  ‘We can only hope.’

  I finished my drink, and jumped when I checked the time. It was past midnight! Contestants were supposed to be back in our rooms well before then. A curfew had been set so we gave the competition our all, and here I was breaking a rule already.

  ‘Thanks for the chat,’ I said, holding out a hand to shake, feeling a distinct spark when he squeezed back softly.

  ‘Thanks, Del. It was lovely to meet you without incident this time.’ His eyes sparkled with mirth.

  I shook my head, he just had to mention it. ‘Au revoir,’ I said smiling and walking into the balmy night. If only I’d met him at some other time, when I didn’t have my whole future hanging in the balance. It was only later, I realized I hadn’t caught his name, but he’d known mine. Too much champagne, I groaned, had turned me into an over sharer of the worst kind…

  Chapter Six

  Brilliant sunlight broke through fluffy clouds while I waited impatiently for the day to begin. Challenge one was here, and I was raring to go, albeit with a slight headache. Still, no one seemed any the wiser that I’d crept in past curfew. My secret was safe and I vowed never to do it again.

  I showered and dressed as quietly as possible as not to wake Clementine who slept like she lived, loudly, her snores and random burst of sleep talking punctuating the space.

  ‘Del, stop with that thing you are doing. It’s driving me crazy!’ she said and held a pillow tight to her face.

  ‘What thing?’ I said, as I sat quietly on the edge of my bed, waiting for the right time to go down to breakfast. I’d already flicked through my nan’s perfume bible and re-made up my face, going from matte red lipstick to nude in an effort to appear barely made up and carefree.

  I’d googled the best way to tie scarves (French women are born knowing such a skill and I didn’t want any more roadside scares while I chased an errant piece of fabric!). I’d also settled on wearing a beret for all of three minutes until I realized I was trying too hard. Being a morning person had its fallbacks. And I was not under any circumstances thinking of the guy the universe had flung in my path three times, because I wasn’t here for love. Those deep unfathomable green eyes of his though…

  ‘Stop that clink, clink, clink!’

  ‘What clink?’

  ‘Your bracelets!’

  Oh! ‘Sorry. Nervous habit. Well you’re awake now, it’s time to rise and shine, Clem.’

  ‘I’m not awake!’ she hollered. It was evident Clementine only had one volume, loud.

  ‘Clem. We have to go soon.’ It wasn’t my place to babysit her, but I didn’t want her to miss the first day.

  I opened the curtains and sunshine brightened the room. She tunneled further under the blanket, swearing at me in French.

  ‘Non, non, non! Shut them!’

  ‘OK, fine,’ I said, breezily. ‘I’ll be the first one at breakfast and I’m sure I can find out what the challenge is today. I’ll be one step ahead! I’ll probably win this week…’ I let the words hang in the air as she sat bolt upright, her once heat-styled curls a bird’s nest atop her head, smudges of mascara in panda rings around her eyes.

  Raking her fingers through her hair and wincing, she said, ‘Argh. You’re right. Give me an hour.’

  ‘An hour? It’s already seven-thirty. We’re supposed to be at breakfast by eight and be assembled out front of Leclére Parfumerie at nine.’

  ‘Mon dieu, OK, thirty minutes!’ With a groan she dragged herself from bed and surveyed herself in the mirror, gasping at the sight of her semi-dreadlocked tresses. I shuddered to think how much time Clementine spent on her morning toilette: intensive hair dressing, the over the top outfits, make-up application including dramatic fake lashes, and color coordinated nail polish.

  I let out a long sigh, more for effect than anything. ‘Don’t fuss with your hair, just put it in a ponytail.’

  She reeled back as if I’d suggested she go running through the streets naked. ‘I don’t think so, ma cherie. Run the iron over my pink dress.’ She hopped into the shower, steam filtering out the open door and filling up the small space.

  ‘No, Clementine!’ I yelled over the hissing water. ‘I’m not your parlor maid! Just wear something casual.’ Still, I flicked through Clementine’s clothes out of curiosity, each of her dresses more outlandish than the last, but stunning in their extravagance. I envied her confidence, to wear such fabulous clothing.

  ‘Pah! I don’t do casual, Del! Did you see a pair of jeans or a sweater in my collection? Non, because I am French and…’

  Before she could start on one of her monologues, I pulled the pink dress from its hanger, and laid it on her bed. ‘All right, relax, it doesn’t need ironing. Just hurry up.’ Honestly, she acted as though she was used to having hired help at her beck and call.

  Miraculously she showered in under five minutes and, wrapped in a towel, sauntered back into the room, bare faced and beautiful. Without all the make-up and the thick ebony eyelash extensions she was lovely, like something out of a Botticelli painting.

  ‘Merci, Del,’ she s
aid quietly. ‘Without you, I might have missed the first morning.’ She gave me a grateful smile.

  As she pulled the curling iron through her hair, she sung softly to herself. There was no sign of the previous evening’s abundance of vin rouge and lack of sleep, and she looked every inch the bright-eyed sunny Parisian once more. Life was so unfair. If I didn’t sleep well, the next day I resembled the walking dead no matter how much make-up I applied, and today was no better. My eyes resembled a puffer fish in protect mode that no amount of concealer could fix. But I reasoned the French probably grew up quaffing wine so it had no adverse effects on their complexions.

  ‘We’re roommates so we have to stick together, right?’ I said, knowing I had to be careful of Clementine and keep friendly.

  She broke off her song. ‘Oui. You’re mon amie, and I am yours.’

  Friends? Perhaps we would be. Once the shutters came down and Clementine wasn’t on show she was calmer, more real. In front of others she was a caricature, a big, bold woman of the world. Was it a ploy, that drama, to get noticed in the competition, to stand out in the group of perfumers? Hard to tell at this early stage.

  Outside, birds chirped, their mellifluous musical chatter drifted in, as they gossiped among themselves and we joined in too. Clementine gave me the low-down on everyone in her overzealous way. She thought Lex was too old to be a threat (he wasn’t that old, and he most certainly was a contender) and Lila was too timid. And Clementine believed that Anastacia was the danger. She’d studied under some formidable perfumers and didn’t give much away about technique or skillset, so she thought we should freeze her out.

  ‘Freeze her out? Clem, that’s school yard behavior.’

  She frowned. ‘Oh, Del, you’ll never get anywhere with an attitude like that! Don’t come crying to me when she wins, then.’