‘How did he die?’
‘Gunshot wound,’ Sebastien said, he was as morose as if he knew Vincent personally, and I warmed toward him because of it.
‘Suicide?’
He gave a small shrug. ‘It’s believed to be that way, but there’s always those conspiracy theories that he was shot by an enemy of some sort.’
‘People believe what they want to believe. I remember reading that his brother died not long after.’
Sebastien nodded. ‘They say he had a disease of the brain but it was not so. He died of a broken heart at only thirty-three years of age.’
Goosebumps raced the length of me. Those poor brothers, both so young.
After a couple hours of walking around the beautiful town, we got back in the car and went to visit our first lavender field. Sebastien was testing me. Out of the five fields we were to visit, he wanted me to tell him which one Leclére Parfumerie used for their lavender. Just how the heck I’d know was beyond me, but I was up for the challenge, and secretly relishing spending time with him when he was this carefree, this happy.
‘So,’ I said. ‘This first field, how long has it been operational?’
He gave me a quick as if glance.
‘Too obvious?’
‘Oui.’
We exchanged grins. ‘I wonder if I’ll get a sense, you know, or if after a while all I’ll see is a purple-blue blur.’
‘I think you’ll surprise yourself.’
‘Shucks, what faith you have in me.’ We shared a meaningful look, and I quickly turned way. Focus. I told myself not to read into a feeling that wasn’t there.
We turned down a pebbled drive, with sprawling fields of lavender as far as the eye could see. As we got close you could make out the blue sprigs dancing on the wind, a burlesque just for us. ‘Gosh, it’s absolutely breathtaking.’ Lavender was distinctive and with such abundant fields of it, I wondered if I’d be able to really mark those few variations in scent.
Sebastien parked the car in front of a stone villa and a couple came out to greet us.
‘Welcome,’ the man said. ‘We’re the Miliots. Let us show you around.’
We did a tour of the property, and they showed us how they harvested the crops, and some of the products made from the oils extracted from lavender.
I picked a bud, sniffing it, then broke it to release the oils. I wasn’t sure this was the right place, it didn’t ring true for some inexplicable reason. We thanked the couple and moved on, and I crossed that farm off the list.
When we reached the fifth field, home of the Lillettes, I’d made up my mind. This was the place. The mistral, when it came, would blow hard from the north, but the fields were protected by a mountain range nearby. The flowers wouldn’t suffer the wooly weather as much as they would in the other fields, here they’d keep their spikes and buds intact.
This farm gave off a certain vibe, almost cocooning the blue dream.
Another couple came to greet us, rugged types dressed in old jeans and tees, and plastic boots, their smiles as certain as I was.
Still, I questioned them about their processes and did a tour out of genuine interest.
After effusive thanks we left them and headed back to the villa.
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table. ‘It was the last farm.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
I explained about the mistral winds and the damage they could wreak, and how the mountain range protected the lavender.
With his poker face, it was impossible to tell, but I pressed my lips together and waited. Which lasted exactly half a second before I burst out with, ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
He bit down on a smile. ‘Far too much to be healthy. And you’re correct, we chose that place because of the protection the mountains offer. The mistral is fierce and can damage the buds or ruin crops completely.’ His eyes shone with a sort of pride. ‘It’s organically farmed and the property has been in the Lillette family for three generations.’
‘Yay! Who knew I’d have farmer material written all over me!’
He raised a brow.
‘OK maybe farmer is a stretch.’
We laughed. ‘I can see why you love it here.’
‘It’s not just the quiet,’ he said. ‘It’s a sense of belonging,’
‘Lavender fields, olive groves, sunshine and friendly locals. I can see the appeal.’
He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured us two glasses of rosé. ‘But you only have eyes for the bright lights of the city?’
In the fading light of Provence I felt relaxed, dozy as a cat in sunshine. Time moved slower here, there was no rush, people meandered, unlike Paris where everything was a desperate rush. Don’t even get me started on catching the Metro at peak hour. That was a mistake I would never make again. You could really think in a place like this. ‘I thought I knew what I wanted, that my plan was foolproof, but doesn’t life just surprise you when you least expect it?’
We locked eyes and the air grew heavy. ‘It certainly does.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the little Provençal perfumery studio I was doing as promised, taking risks, blending notes I usually wouldn’t pair up, experimenting, and thinking outside the box. As a mentor Sebastien had given me something money couldn’t buy, confidence! He made me think about perfumery in a completely new light. Every stage was crucial from the farms themselves, to the extraction techniques, and even the mood of the perfumer. Suddenly the block that had been holding me back lifted, and I felt like I had half a chance of staying in the competition, if only I could hit the brief.
‘You must be happy in the moment of mixing, and shut off any outside worries. If you’re angry, sad, frustrated, it will show in the perfume. It’s all about temperament.’
‘What?’ I cried, it was such a whimsical thing for him to say. ‘What do you mean, temperament?’
Sunlight shone in the window behind him turning the black of his hair silver. ‘If the perfumer isn’t happy, it reflects in their product.’
I cocked my head, and held a laugh in check. Nan and I had a few fragrance quirks between us but I didn’t expect Mr Serious to believe in something so frivolous. Secretly I felt the same, but I couldn’t help tease this whimsical side of him out more. ‘And how can that possibly be?’
‘Well,’ he said, his cheeks pinking. ‘It’s like cooking with love, that’s a common saying isn’t it? If the cook is rushed, or harried the food tastes bitter. The same with fragrance. If the perfumer isn’t happy, then their sense of smell is off, and they can’t blend perfection. It will always be tinged with that unhappiness.’
Somehow I managed to keep a straight face but my heart just about exploded. That! That was passion! That didn’t sound like the words of a man who wanted no part in perfumery… My nan would have jumped up and cuddled the guy. The idea crossed my mind too.
‘I agree,’ I said.
Goosebumps prickled my skin, and I had the most curious sense someone was standing just off in the distance… It dawned on me that Vincent knew all along what his son needed.
While Vincent might not have been as available as he should have, he still knew his son’s heart. Aurelie too had had a hand in it. I had to resist the urge to clap a hand over my mouth as all the puzzle pieces fit into place. The competition was never about finding an unknown perfumer, even though it would open doors and be a great benefit to us, it was about helping their son rekindle his love for perfumery, without his father.
The man who broke his heart was attempting to put it back together – from the afterlife.
That’s why they suddenly opened up their long-closed doors to us. For their son, the boy who’d stood at that doorway lost and alone. Vincent knew he’d made a mistake in not spending time with Sebastien and he was trying to fix it the best way he knew how…
Instead of feeling duped I felt this great sense of complicity. I could be a cog in the machine that helped Sebastien let go of h
is past and live for his future. The love he had for his craft shone in his eyes, and I knew he just had to open his heart to it once again.
The Lecléres had sacrificed the one thing they cherished, their anonymity, by offering the winner a chance to design a perfume range for the house. It seemed a fitting compromise, and I loved them all the more for their foresight.
So now under the guise of mentoring me, I had to lead him back to the world in which he claimed he wanted no part of.
‘So shall I leave you? To experiment some more?’
‘Oui,’ I said, watching him walk away, a smile on my face. I needed time to think! How would I go about helping him rediscover his love for fragrance? Perhaps I could make a restorative for him to wear that would help things along… An oil blend of black spruce, coconut, vanilla, and juniper would invigorate his senses, give him clarity once more. I set to work, shelving my own perfume for later, and made it with all the love I had in my heart.
When it was done, I sat back, smiling. I had the feeling things were on the up for Sebastien, but he just didn’t know it yet.
My phone beeped with a message. Jen!
Hey Del,
I’m just falling into bed after a long shift but all is well here in sleepy-ville. Grandpop says hi. Mom and Dad are on some road trip to visit some of their tree-hugging hippy friends for a full moon party… James and I are going well, too well, and sometimes I wonder if I’m dreaming it all up. How can a man make you feel just so? Anyway, I know we’re both busy, but let’s talk as soon as possible? Miss you like crazy.
Jen xxx
I replied: Miss you too. Give Pop a hug from me and tell him to keep an eye on the snail mail. And about James…you deserve a guy who sweeps you off your feet and makes your heart sing. May it long last.
Urgh, may it long last, sounded like a line from The Hunger Games. Suddenly I understood her a little better though. As if this time apart had given me room to grow without her.
I spent the next few hours with my lavender perfume, happily lost inside my mind, concocting this and that, hoping to find a balance between risk and reward. As it often did with perfumery, time slipped from my grasp.
When I finally came up for air, he was there, a silhouette in the doorway, Sebastien patiently waiting for me.
‘Would you like to take a walk, Del?’
‘Sure. It’s just what I need,’ I said, tidying my things away. ‘I made you this.’ I handed him the little bottle. ‘It’s just an experiment, nothing to do with the competition…’
His lips curved into a deep smile. ‘Merci.’ He removed the stopper and dabbed the oil on his pulse points. ‘A perfect blend…’
‘I hope you’ll wear it and it makes you smile.’
He thanked me again and I beamed, hoping the blend would do its trick and awaken the dormant perfumer in him.
We wandered through rows of olive trees, their trunks reflecting a diaphanous orange of a setting sun. Down to the lavender fields, the flowers waving in the wind like they were saying hello. Something had changed, and I couldn’t decide if it was me, or my perfumery, or Sebastien and his journey. But I felt lighter, like I was letting go of the reins, and that was OK. Or maybe it was trusting in the process more and enjoying the ups and the downs.
The sun sank behind the mountain range, orange glowing above it like the tips of a jeweled crown.
He turned and looked so intensely at me, a flush crept up my cheeks. He was so close, a half step away. I knew right then, I needed to express these feelings, one way or another. The sun had set and the blue of sky deepened to lilac. I wanted to feel his lips against mine. Just this once, just to feel the emotion in my heart, my soul.
‘Del…’ he said my name like an invitation.
Before he could say anymore I stood on tiptoe and pressed my mouth against his. I could taste the sun and the sea, the earth and the sky on his breath. His fragrance was musky with desire. I kissed him as long as I could, melting against him.
I broke away, breathless, but he caught me again, and kissed me back softly this time. My legs already jelly-like, threatening to bow under me, so I held him tight, and all the while wished the moment would never end. But of course it did. Abruptly.
‘Del, we shouldn’t. It’ll ruin everything.’
I blinked back surprise. What had I expected? He’d already told me in so many words! The unfairness of it all made my chest tighten. Why now, why him, and why could it not be reciprocal? Mortification colored me scarlet.
Seriously what had I been thinking? ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘You’re right. It would complicate things.’
‘It’s not that I don’t feel…’
I pressed a fingertip to his lips. ‘I know.’
That wasn’t in the five-year plan, was it? Silence fell and I reminded myself of it, to get it through my thick knucklehead once more.
Step one: win the competition. Step two: find a job as a perfumer. Step three: build own perfume empire. Step four: be fabulous. Step five: I’d forgotten step five. But regardless, there was no love on that list. And no time for it.
And yet…
The next day I waited for Sebastien in the perfume studio, but he didn’t appear until mid-morning, once again with cell phone pressed to his ear. He wore a besieged expression as if Paris was pulling him back.
With a sigh he hung up the phone and pocketed it, opened the studio door.
‘Del,’ he said apologetically and I knew what was coming.
‘Good morning,’ I said, having noted he was wearing the oil blend I’d made for him the day before. ‘Why the long face?’
‘I have to head back to Paris, the situation with the copied formula has become more complex, and the management team have asked me to return to talk to our lawyers. I’m so sorry about this. I’m not being much of a mentor to you.’
My heart dropped at the thought of leaving, but I understood. ‘It’s fine,’ I said, waving him away. ‘We had a great session yesterday, and I think I’m on track anyway.’
‘Would you like to continue working on your perfume here, or in Paris?’
‘I’ll stay,’ I said, staring past him, through the window, to where lavender shimmied and swayed in the breeze like a hula dance. ‘This perfume is all about Provence, and I’m inspired here.’ As much as I’d miss him as a mentor, a friend, and whatever else I couldn’t quite name, I wanted to soak up the atmosphere, and pour that feeling into my work. The quiet sort of crept up on you here and seeped into your bones, making you relaxed and sort of starry eyed with it all.
‘You’ll be happier, Del.’ He had a sparkle in his eye I hadn’t picked up on before. Was he relieved I was staying and he was going? That we wouldn’t have to sidestep around each other? And then we’d avoid talking about a kiss that shouldn’t have happened? ‘Jean Marc will return for you.’
I turned away. ‘Safe travels.’ With a lump in my throat I went back to work, only stopping for a moment when I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel as he left.
Stop kissing him then, Del!
I returned to my perfumery, but had to stop and let that lonely feeling pass lest I taint my perfume with it. While I contemplated it came to me… I should have known all along, lots of people dealt with heartbreak, loneliness, fear, and grief, and I’d been trying all along to make a blend to help them heal, making tonics, tinctures, aromatherapy oils. But surely they needed a perfume that bolstered them, boosted their mood and made them remember the good times, the fact that love was always worth it no matter what it cost you?
Invigorated, I set to work, recalling the mentoring session from the day before and everything Sebastien had taught me…
Chapter Twenty-Three
Back in Paris, Provence was just a lavender scented memory. The quiet had done me the world of good, I felt recharged and relaxed and ready to tackle the competition in earnest. I’d had an Oprah light bulb moment, and I felt I could achieve anything just as long as I remained focused.
My laven
der perfume had hit the brief, and I felt a surge of confidence. It was such a change from my previous submission that I felt like I should celebrate the moment. Maybe I was becoming a little French, enjoying the good of every day.
Out front of the Leclére apartment I waited for the other contestants to join me for our group excursion to the Musée du Parfum. Aurelie was to be our guide, and I was relieved I wouldn’t have to face Sebastien today. Time apart had made me realize I was muddying my perfumery dreams with my involvement with him, and it wasn’t appropriate.
What had happened to the clear-headed ambitious girl? She’d had a wobble, the first flush of what love could be, and been so easily distracted, but that was over now.
I shot off a text to Jen to pass the time.
Hey sleepyhead, while you’re catching Zs, I’m waiting for the group. We’re off on an excursion which are always fun. The week went well, and I’m looking forward to the judging this time around.
Why haven’t you called or texted? I miss hearing your voice, and listening to your terrible jokes. Is it James? He’s stolen you away from me, hasn’t he? Next I’ll get a call saying it’s time to knit baby booties, and can I be home to help your rush down the aisle. Imagine that! It’s hideous, isn’t it? Anyway, call me when you can. Love you xxx
Clementine was first to arrive, and wore a thunderous expression. ‘Del,’ she said, sashaying over in a satin teal dress, and white faux fur coat, quite the ensemble for a summer’s morning. She air kissed my cheeks.
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ I said. ‘How’d you do?’
She rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath, chest heaving, it was monologue time, and I couldn’t help grinning as I waited for a dramatic retelling of her week with Lex. ‘That man, that…old man, well he tried to tell me what to do, ’ow to think all the time, like I don’t ’ave a brain in my own head.’ She pointed to her temple. ‘Does it look like I don’t ’ave a brain?’ she demanded. ‘Because that’s ’ow he was treating me! Brainless!’
The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-Élysées Page 15
