The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-Élysées

by Rebecca Raisin

  ‘I’ll drink my own blues away then, you traitor!’ she called after me, and I shivered. I’d avoid her as best I could for the next little while, but I felt certain I was next in line for her bullying.

  With the afternoon stretching blissfully in front of me, I walked into the bright Parisian day. I was almost back to the apartment when I ran into Sebastien.

  ‘Bonjour, Del. I’m so sorry I missed the challenge today. How did you go?’

  I gave him a broad smile.

  ‘That good?’ he laughed.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I felt like it came naturally, I didn’t have to force it, it was instinctive. And I can breathe again! Where are you going?’ I asked.

  ‘To a friend’s shop, will you join me?’

  ‘Sure.’ Gone was the plan of changing into a summery dress, and flip-flops. I didn’t want anyone to see him waiting for me. Better if we hightailed it from there fast. I’d have to make do with my jeans, and sneakers, not very glamourous, but more comfortable for walking.

  ‘What kind of shop is it?’

  ‘It’s a little antique shop under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. Anouk, the owner, thinks she’s found one of the very first perfumes my papa ever made when he worked for Coco Chanel. Of course, everything he made stayed in the lab, he was just an underling then, but apparently this has his initials on it. We will see.’

  ‘Wow, that’s exciting. Do you think you’d recognize his style, even if it was from back then?’

  ‘Oui. I will know.’

  Sebastien strode purposefully, turning down a small avenue, and leading me along cobblestoned laneways, the Eiffel Tower visible above the rooftops.

  ‘Maybe I can find my sister a gift, I haven’t had a chance to buy anything for her yet.’

  ‘I’ll have to get permission for you, but it should be OK.’

  Confused, I asked, ‘Permission for what?’

  ‘For you to shop there.’

  A gentle Parisian breeze blew bringing with it the scent of the Seine as we got closer to the centre of Paris. ‘Why do I need permission to shop there?’

  He laughed, his sea green eyes brightening. ‘It’ll sound crazy, but you see, Anouk is traditional and very particular about her clientele. She cherishes her antiques and will only sell to certain people if she feels she can trust them. She also prefers them to stay on French soil if possible, so there’s always this sort of distrust with strangers, especially foreigners. She’s quite formidable but her heart’s in the right place, I guess.’

  Another French foible? ‘Trust them with what?’

  ‘Trust them with the antique, knowing they’ll treasure it and protect its heritage.’

  Laughter burbled out of me, was he spinning me a story? What kind of businesswoman only allowed certain shoppers? ‘I don’t believe you.’

  He raised a brow but his lips twitched as though he found it an amusing anecdote. ‘She’s quite famous for it these days. Her shop is in all the travel guides, people are drawn there because of Anouk’s beliefs. All joking aside though, she does procure a number of antiques that would otherwise be lost and with it their history. She doesn’t like the spotlight, but people are fascinated by her.’

  I had never heard of such a thing. Surely a shop sold its wares and that was all there was to it? How did she make a living if she turned people away?

  ‘Will she let me in?’

  ‘Ah.’ He held up a finger. ‘You need an introduction from a loyal and trusted customer…and then she’ll scrutinize you, you might get inside but you probably won’t be able to buy anything.’

  The idea fascinated me, and I suddenly wanted to be given the right to shop there and I hadn’t stepped foot in the store yet. What if she deemed me not worthy? I wanted to prove myself but I hadn’t the faintest idea what that might entail.

  We came to a pastel pink shop, the door firmly closed and a sign announced it was only open by appointment. I turned to Sebastien. ‘Looks like we’re out of luck.’

  He shook his head. ‘Non, it’s just a deterrent.’ He pushed open the door, and said quietly, ‘Just be yourself.’

  Well who else would I be? Was my hesitation obvious?

  A beautiful blonde woman with curled hair and bright pink lipstick came to the counter, her gaze piercing as she gave me the once over. My toes curled, but I was distracted by all the wares on sale. Gilded ornate mirrors leaned against walls, reflecting my surprised expression. A couple of antique world globes spun softly in the breeze we carried in, and I watched transfixed as they both halted on the outline of Australia. A gramophone sat patiently in the corner, its brass bell polished to a shine. What music would it make?

  The shop had a peculiar smell, it was dust of the ages, the lemony tang of polish, brightened with the perfume of fresh roses in bloom. My gaze fell on a table of knick-knacks; gold letter openers, jewellery boxes in burnished silver, and the most exquisite antique perfume atomizer, with a beaded silver pump and ruby red tassel. The bottle itself was adorned with clusters of diamantés which blinked under the dimmed lighting. I had to have it. I had never wanted anything more in my life.

  ‘And who have we here, Sebastien?’ Anouk came around the counter and gave Sebastien the three kisses, left cheek, right then left again. I noted ruefully she knew exactly which way to turn her head. But weren’t three kisses for other parts of France, not for Paris? I would never understand!

  ‘Bonjour, Anouk. This is Del, a very good friend of mine. A gifted perfumer.’

  ‘Bonjour,’ I said, unsure of the protocol; did I kiss her, did she kiss me, or should I hold out a hand to shake? Instead of doing anything sensible, I clutched onto my handbag like a safety blanket and tried not to impersonate a deer caught in headlights. The woman intimidated me, there was no two ways about it. It was the stare me down tactic she used. She was good, I was absolutely terrified she’d send me back in to the square out front.

  Anouk continued to survey me like she could see into my soul, and I found it all a trifle amusing and worried for a second that I might burst out laughing. The French and their foibles never failed to delight me.

  ‘Bonjour,’ she said, her expression haughty. ‘You like the atomizer?’

  ‘Erm, oui,’ I said. I’d only looked at it for a split second, but I guess a perfumer and a perfume bottle were an easy match to make.

  ‘It’s not for sale.’

  ‘Oh.’ What the heck?

  ‘It might be later, I don’t know.’

  ‘Of course. I understand,’ I lied.

  I’d been dropped into a parallel universe, nothing quite made sense. I tried not to fidget and watched as Anouk picked up the atomizer and lovingly untangled the tassels. ‘This piece came from a woman in Montmartre,’ she said. ‘She cleared out a storage room in her art gallery and found a trove of wonders from the previous owner. Being an artist herself she recognized the craftsmanship of the items and knew they were valuable, maybe not in a monetary sense but valuable in a sentimental way, and she wanted to protect these trinkets.’

  The atomizer was empty of perfume but its faded oriental notes were still discernible.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘And good of her to bring it to you.’

  She smiled and her face softened. ‘The previous owner of the gallery was around Paris in the Twenties. And so this is part of her story, this is a layer of her life we can hold on to, and remember her by.’

  I was touched that Anouk thought so deeply about her antiques and their owners. What did any of us really leave, if not memories – and what if no one was there to protect them? I suddenly understood with a bright clarity how important Anouk’s eccentricities were, and why she was careful about her antiques. They were more than just things, they were a bridge to another life. A link to the past.

  ‘I find out the history of every piece I own,’ she said, her voice wistful. ‘Otherwise how can I find the right buyer for the next stage of the heirloom’s life?’

  Wondrously, I gazed around
the shop, knowing that each piece here had its own unique story, that people long since gone from this world once cherished these things so completely and the lives they lived weren’t forgotten, at least not by Anouk, who was biding time until the right person came along and a new life started afresh in a different house, with another owner who knew the history and respected it.

  ‘How do you know if they’re the right buyer?’

  ‘I can sense it, I can see it in their eyes, the way they move their hands, the way their gaze darts back to a piece. And then I have to decide if they’re trustworthy, if they want something for its history, or for its monetary value. I can usually tell, I’ve been wrong before of course, but most often a feeling washes over me, almost like a daydream and I know why they’re looking for something. It’s usually more about what they lack, a hole they need to fill, than materialism. Or on selling for a hefty profit.’

  ‘And with me, can you tell what I’m lacking?’ The words escaped before I could snatch them back.

  She cocked her head and measured me for the longest time that I hardly dared to breathe.

  ‘You feel like the atomizer will bind you to someone so when you touch it, you’re almost touching them. And you want it very much.’

  My nan. My breath left my body with a whoosh, and a fine trail of goosebumps broke out on my skin. How did she know that?

  She placed a hand on my arm. ‘It’s not so hard to see if you take the time to really look at a person.’

  ‘I understand.’ I smiled. ‘I have a similar theory when it comes to scent. It can be a tonic, a cure all, if you understand the person well enough.’

  The Frenchwoman leaned her elbows on the counter. ‘Interesting. And what do you feel with me?’

  I studied her for a beat. Her cheeks bloomed as though she was in love, her eyes sparkled with a vitality that suggested good health and wellbeing, but there was something bubbling just below the surface, something she yearned for… But what was it? My gaze dropped to the drumming of her bare fingers on the counter top. Ah! ‘You’re wondering if he’s The One?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You want to propose?’

  She stood and folded her arms across her chest. ‘It might have crossed my mind. Why can’t women be in control of their love life? Why should we wait for a man to ask? But what if I’m wrong about him? I’ve been wrong before…’ While Anouk tried hard to mask her vulnerability by clipping her words, you could see she was at a crossroads.

  ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘So many things! What if he changes, or isn’t who he seems?’

  ‘What if I told you I could make you a special perfume that would give you clarity? Would you wear it?’

  She scrunched her eyes as if she was suspicious, but even I could tell she’d give it a shot. ‘I would give it a try…perhaps.’

  I smiled. ‘Perfume has a miraculous way of awakening the mind and body and with the right blend, it can also erase doubt. What you need, Anouk, is a fragrance that will clear your confusion, a blend of clove, orange blossom, green tea, sweet musk, and melon will do the trick.’ I gave her a little eyebrow waggle for good measure. I sensed Anouk was a whimsical soul just like me, and we were merely playing our parts by not admitting we were similar in that regard.

  ‘It sounds like a charming fragrance, I would like to try something like that…’Anouk smiled and this time there was real warmth in her eyes, like I’d passed some test I didn’t know I’d been taking. ‘And, Del, you may come back again soon. Perhaps I’ll put the atomizer to one side just in case.’

  I nodded my thanks, understanding that I hadn’t quite proven myself to Anouk, or perhaps she couldn’t give in straight away to save face, and loving the subterfuge of it all the more.

  ‘I’ll come back soon,’ I said. ‘Merci.’

  After we left we walked along the river Seine. Sebastien had the bottle of perfume that had indeed belonged to his father. Something so special Anouk simply gifted it to him and refused to take any money for it. She claimed he was the rightful owner and it had been restored to the person who always should have had it. There’d been a real happiness in Sebastien’s eyes. It linked him to his father once more, so brilliantly, that it took my breath away.

  Sebastien’s mood changed and rippled in the wind, while the delicate cherry blossom note of flowers along the Seine mingled with his eau de parfum. He radiated the love of a son for his father, and even if I hadn’t been able to sense it by smell, I’d have been able to see it in his eyes.

  This precious relic from the past was helping him close another door on his grief. Almost like a gift from his papa, a message to say continue on, I am always with you. At least that is what I took from emotions dancing about.

  With the unshakeable knowing, I slung a friendly arm around his waist to comfort him, and tell him without speaking that I cared. That I understood. The scent of butterscotch permeated the air and with it came his bittersweet smile. Sebastien wandered down the long road of acceptance and had just come out of the darkest tunnel to the light brightness of the other side. He had a way to go but he would get there.

  ***

  There was a knock on our door. Clementine buried herself deeper under the blankets, but I’d been up for ages, the curse of a morning person. I opened the door to find Aurelie standing there, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Surprise challenge,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  She raised a brow. ‘You and Clementine are to head to Leclére Parfumerie and spend an hour there. Who knows what’s in store for you?’ Her voice had a mischievous trill to it.

  ‘OK, so should we…?’

  With a shake of her head she pressed a finger to her lips. ‘I won’t say another word about it. Go there now and see.’ With that she turned on her heel and sauntered away.

  ‘Clem!’ I said, wrenching the covers from her. ‘We have to go! Did you hear Aurelie?’

  She groaned, the warmth of sleep evaporating. ‘Oui, I’d better hurry. Why could they not give us more notice?’ She grumbled but even in her half dozy state she smiled at the mystery.

  ‘Quick,’ I said. ‘We’ll go together.’ I still hoped there was a good side to Clem, and I was determined to keep things friendly.

  Clementine got ready at Olympic speed (praise merciful gods) and soon we were at Leclére Parfumerie.

  The shop assistants whispered behind their hands before strutting to us, their lips twisted into smirks. Oh lord, what did they have planned?

  A girl with soulful brown eyes, and glossy hair said, ‘So, we are to let you take control of Leclére for the next little while. What the customer wants, the customer gets, so do your best to fulfill any need they have. Oui?’

  ‘OK,’ I said, glancing around the store trying to familiarize myself with the perfumes, and where everything was situated. If I had to work the cash register, which was all computerized, how would I manage the French? I didn’t know if Clem and I were supposed to work as a team or against each other, but I could guess she’d look out for herself before me. ‘What about…?’

  ‘We will be back soon,’ the assistant said, grabbing her handbag from behind the counter. ‘Do not upset our clientele now, will you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I said, but then remembering I was in fact lumped with Clementine and anything could happen with the likes of her. She’d been short with me lately, impatient, but I’d let her moods roll right off me.

  Clementine yawned prettily and then set about spraying herself liberally with perfume.

  ‘What do you think this about?’ I asked. ‘Surely, it’s not simply serving customers? None of our challenges have ever been straightforward or easy…’

  She shrugged. ‘What this entails, I do not know.’

  I walked around the store, delighting in having the time to cradle each bottle and read the story behind the fragrance. In the dim light of the store it was easy to be transported by smell alone, a summer fragrance, salty and s
andy, took me straight to the beach. And then a grassy, herbaceous thyme scent and I was wandering in the wild of northern France. My favorite was a bright, punchy citrus scent that conjured fresh fruit so ripe you could almost taste it.

  There was no time to test them all as a group of customers entered the store. Before long I was chatting away to a variety of people from all over the world about perfume and the various lotions and potions on offer at Leclére.

  They exclaimed when I showed them a picture of the perfume wheel, everyday people who had no idea that each fragrance had certain elements that grouped together as part of scent family.

  There was a tap on my shoulder and I turned to a woman with a grave expression, and anxious eyes.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I asked politely.

  ‘I need a perfume,’ she said, in a thick French accent.

  ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place.’

  ‘Non.’ She shook her head. ‘I need you to make it for me now. I want something that no one else has.’

  I frowned. Were there even ingredients here? Leclére didn’t make bespoke perfumes, did they? But I did, and I knew suddenly this was the test. Could I think on my feet, keep the customer satisfied, and have her leave with a high quality fragrance that might just fix her problems?

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and motioned for her to follow me to a small chamber behind the front counter. On the desk sat a box I hadn’t noticed before and I picked it up. Sure enough, it was filled with everything I’d need to make a perfume oil on the spot.

  I glanced over my shoulder, Clementine was chatting to customers who milled by the door. She shot me a questioning look but I let it pass. I had to concentrate.

  ‘Tell me what you’d like,’ I said.

  ‘You tell me.’

  I hid a smile and surveyed the customer. The woman’s stony face gave nothing away on first glance, but if you looked closer the clues were obvious. Anxiety, eyes that darted here and there, the inability to sit still, a busy life with the thought there was always something to catch up on, more work to do. Fatigue.