by Katie Fforde
‘Cool. Traffic in towns can be a bit unnerving.’
‘I’m used to central London,’ said Caro. ‘Although I avoid taking the car if I can, when I do, I can get down and dirty with the best of the white vans.’
‘You are so multi-talented!’
‘I like to think so! Shall I head for the motorway? Towards Grasse?’
‘That should do it. I’ll give you directions as we go.’
Sharing a car, in these circumstances, was a bit like sharing a bathroom, Caro thought – potentially very threatening to the relationship. Fortunately Alec was a good passenger and navigator. Soon Grasse was appearing on signposts and after less than an hour, they were negotiating the steep and narrow streets of their destination.
‘Shall I go to that car park?’ asked Caro. ‘It would probably be easier to find where we want to go on foot from here.’
‘Absolutely.’ Alec glanced at her. ‘I must say you’re a whizz at these little roads.’
‘I learnt to drive in London and Cornwall. Traffic for one; narrow, steep and twisty roads for the other. Now, where are we meeting Pascal?’
‘I wrote it down somewhere.’ He studied his phone for a few moments. ‘I think it’s this way.’
When they had locked the car and made a note of where they’d left it, he took her hand and they set off.
Caro was feeling like a teenager in love. She wasn’t absolutely sure if Alec was holding her hand because he wanted to touch her or if he was just worried about her getting lost but she didn’t care. She was in France, the roses were out and she was with the man she loved.
She was aware that the roses were lost on Alec, but she would never forget that night they spent together in Greece. There had been a rambling rose, pale pink with tiny pom-pom blossoms, where they were sitting. It had dropped petals like scented snowflakes, on and off through the hours.
‘Pascal works in a very small perfume factory,’ Alec explained, still holding on to her. ‘Ah! Here it is!’
Caro tuned out a bit as Pascal and Alec hugged and they spoke French at a hundred miles an hour. She did smile at herself offering to be Alec’s translator back on the barge – he was so good at it! But as she relaxed she began to understand a bit more. When Pascal turned to her, held her arms and then kissed her cheeks three times, she was able to greet him in French.
‘Ah! Vous parlez français couramment!’ he said delightedly. ‘But will you allow me to practise my English?’
Although pleased that she had held her own up to that minute, Caro was quite relieved not to have to speak French any more. In a couple of days she would have got her ear in and would be happy to focus and speak the language, but just now it was proving quite an effort.
‘Let me give you a quick tour and then it will be time for an aperitif,’ said Pascal. ‘I will show you the laboratory tomorrow but now, come and see our antique scent bottles. Allons-y. Of course the perfume museum nearby would deny this, but I think our collection is possibly better than theirs.’
They were works of art. Caro could have spent ages looking at the wonderful porcelain and glass that had once held perfume. It seemed at one time the vessel was as important or even more important than its contents. Animals, people, every sort of house: all were represented. ‘Now I see how important the Lalique glass swan that was made for Serena Swan’s perfume was,’ said Caro. ‘It wouldn’t have seemed special if it had just been in a generic bottle.’
‘It’s easy to get distracted,’ said Alec, ‘but we’re looking to recreate the lost perfume created by Anton Dolinière for one of the most famous film stars of her generation – possibly the most famous.’
Pascal shrugged. ‘It will not be easy. Even if you know what you are hoping to achieve, the ingredients will be different today.’
‘And unfortunately the only sample we know of is in private hands in America,’ said Alec.
‘Ah!’ Pascal made a gesture that reminded Caro of an old-fashioned magician. ‘You are in luck! I know the grandson of M. Dolinière and I strongly suspect that his grandpère would not have obeyed the order to destroy all of his creation. What perfumier would do such a thing? It would be a … a sacrilege! So he may well have a small bottle. But what condition would it be in by now? Who can say?’
‘But that would be amazingly good luck!’ said Caro.
‘Not good luck, but good management, do you not say? In England?’
‘Sometimes we do,’ Caro agreed.
‘It is too late to call on my friend today – he is elderly and he sleeps in the afternoon – but we will see if we can persuade him to let us borrow his bottle tomorrow. If he has one, of course. Although I warn you, he may say no.’
‘A sniff of it would help,’ said Alec. ‘And if we all smell it, we have a chance. And Caro will know if the scent is right for Scarlet or not. She has a very good memory for fragrance and a special instinct about what works and what doesn’t.’
Caro felt herself go warm with pleasure. She had been feeling a bit like a third wheel on this adventure and Alec had made her feel important and necessary. If she’d needed any more reasons to love him, he’d just provided one.
‘I have a few things to finish up here and then you can follow me home.’
Alec and Caro went back to the museum part.
‘I reckon Pascal’s old friend does have a sample, don’t you think?’ said Caro.
‘It sounded like it,’ Alec agreed. ‘I think he’s giving the old man a chance to keep it to himself so he doesn’t have to share it with us if he doesn’t want to.’
‘I’d love to see the original swan bottle,’ said Caro. ‘The containers were obviously such an important part of it.’
‘There’ll be a picture of it somewhere, I’m sure, but I wonder if Scarlet should have something a bit different for her perfume? It’s very unlikely that I’ll be able to recreate the fragrance exactly; maybe the bottle should reflect that difference?’
‘It’s up to Scarlet ultimately. I wonder what she knows about the bottle. I’ll email her and find out.’
‘It’s good to have you here, Caro,’ said Alec.
Caro sighed with pleasure. ‘It’s good to be here! Lovely weather, lovely France, roses out: it’s all gorgeous.’
To their surprise, Pascal didn’t seem to have a little flat in Grasse, which was what they had both expected. Caro followed him out of town and up into the hills, having to drive just slightly faster than she was comfortable with.
‘These must be the Alpes Maritimes,’ said Caro, negotiating a sharp bend. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’
‘I’m surprised he lives so far from his work though,’ said Alec.
‘Not that far, he’s turning off … down a long drive,’ she added, surprised. ‘Alec!’ she said urgently a couple of seconds later. ‘You didn’t tell me Pascal lived in a chateau.’
At the end of the drive was a beautiful building, like a child’s drawing of a palace: symmetrical, with shuttered windows on three floors and towers at either end. It was set amongst parkland with outbuildings on either side. There was woodland and, behind, the mountains. Caro stopped the car so she could take it in.
‘I swear I didn’t know about this,’ said Alec. ‘He’s always had small apartments before. I was rather surprised when he said he could put us up, but this explains it.’
‘It’s gorgeous!’ said Caro. ‘And I really hope he bought it with the proceeds of perfume.’
‘I’m afraid that is really unlikely. Pascal could get a job with one of the major perfume houses but he prefers to do his own thing.’
Caro sighed. ‘Oh well, we get to stay in it, however it was paid for.’
She parked the hire car next to Pascal’s little sports model.
‘Hey! Pascal! When did you buy this?’ asked Alec, gesturing towards the chateau.
Pascal shrugged. ‘I didn’t buy it. My sister and I inherited it from our uncle. It is a money pit but very beautiful, so we forgive it.’
&nb
sp; A woman appeared on the front steps. She was probably in her late thirties, wearing dungarees with a scarf round her head. She had dark hair and was very attractive and French-looking. She spoke to her brother in rapid French, shooting apologetic glances towards Alec and Caro as she did so.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said in highly accented English. ‘Pascal is not supposed to have guests unless he gives a lot of notice. The rooms we have are not ready. They are full of spiders and smell of damp.’
Before Caro could somehow extricate them from the situation, the woman went on.
‘But if you are true friends, you will forgive a little mess, non?’ Her smile was wide and very warm.
‘It’s so kind of you to have us,’ said Caro. ‘But if it’s at all difficult, we could go and find a hotel or a B and B in town.’
‘Pas du tout!’ said the woman. ‘We are going to offer chambres d’hotes – we can practise on you.’
Pascal seemed to find this all very amusing. ‘This is my sister, Amalie. Amalie, this is Alec, my old friend, whom you have heard about, and this is Caro.’
There was a lot of kissing and hand-shaking and Caro realised that Amalie was actually very pleased to see them.
‘We have one room finished,’ Amalie explained as she led them up a beautifully curved staircase with a highly polished bannister that just asked to be slid down. ‘And next to it, we have a work in progress. I think I will call all the rooms “work in progress” when we have paying guests. Then they cannot complain if they are not perfect.’
Pascal, who was following with the bags, said, ‘Nothing will ever be perfect enough for my sister, which is why having a chateau is good for her. She will have to learn to live with imperfections.’
‘But it’s so beautiful,’ said Caro, in awe. ‘No one would care about anything crumbling or not being finished.’
‘That is my master plan!’ said Amalie, twinkling. ‘I see it is working already! Et voilà!’
She opened the door to an enormous bedroom. From the door Caro could see a huge sleigh bed, a wonderful view from the windows and some antique wallpaper behind a huge, ancient mirror.
‘Alec? I suggest you take this room.’ Amalie revealed a slightly smaller room. As yet there was no wallpaper but the bed was huge and the view was as stunning.
‘Come down to the terrasse at the back when you’re ready,’ said Pascal. ‘We will have champagne to celebrate seeing our old friend and meeting Caro.’
‘Wow!’ said Caro when she and Alec were alone. ‘I feel a bit overwhelmed!’
‘Don’t be. They are really lovely people. You’ve seen how warm and friendly they are. Why don’t you wash your hands or whatever, while I have a quick word with Pascal? Will you find your way? Or would you like me to come and fetch you?’
In her heart, Caro felt she would like him to come and get her, but she just smiled. ‘I’ll follow the sound of corks popping and find you.’
Caro took her bag into the larger room. She allowed herself a few moments to take in its grandeur. It was sparsely furnished but it was all antique and high quality, from the chaise longue draped with a pale-pink mohair blanket to the gilt dressing table that had three mirrors and three little drawers.
There was an open door that led to an en-suite which was as modern as the bedroom was period. Caro felt that putting on more make-up might look a bit wrong when Amalie was so enchantingly dressed in her work clothes. So she just washed her hands, wiped the mascara that had moved under her eyes, crunched her hair a few times and decided that would do. Then she took a breath and set off for the terrace.
Chapter Twelve
They had all had a glass of champagne, the conversation was general – about the journey, the wonderful weather, the history of the chateau. But when Pascal had refilled the glasses, Amalie got up.
‘Caro? I know from experience that these boys want to talk about old friends and what is new in the world of perfume. Would you like a tour instead? We can take our drinks. I am longing to show off my efforts to someone who appreciates the finer points of wallpaper and fabric.’
Caro got to her feet. ‘That sounds like me. I’d love a tour!’
‘Come, then.’
Caro happily followed as Amalie led the way back through the salon with the double doors and into the hall.
‘This is gorgeous.’ Caro gestured to her surroundings. ‘That candelabra is amazing.’
‘We found it in one of the old barns. It took a lot of sweat and effort to restore it and even more to hang it.’ Amalie looked up with a satisfied smile.
‘I love restorations,’ said Caro. ‘When my father was alive I used to help him do up boats and barges. I was mostly the finisher; I did French polishing, veneer, things like that.’
‘Why don’t you do it now?’ Amalie studied her as if she was really interested in her answers. ‘It sounds as if you miss it?’
Caro shrugged. ‘I wasn’t interested in taking on my father’s business after he died, and I have a daughter, I wanted something a bit more regular. I got a job selling artists’ supplies. I really enjoyed that and did it for years, but sadly, the shop closed.’ Just for a second she allowed herself to think about Alec’s ancestral home. A little subtle restoration would make a huge difference there.
‘So how long have you and Alec been together?’ Amalie asked.
The question came as a bit of a shock – the assumption that they were a couple. ‘We’re not really together like that. We’re more like – colleagues, I suppose.’
‘But you would like to be a couple?’
Amalie’s frankness was irresistible. ‘Well, I would, I’m not so sure about Alec.’
‘I understand. I too am suffering from unrequited love. I had a boyfriend for many years, but he would not commit. I felt I should leave him before my childbearing years were over. But I think of him always.’
‘That won’t be for years yet, surely? Your childbearing years, I mean.’
Amalie shrugged. ‘I still have to find the father. Come and see the orangery; apart from the floors, it’s one of our few completed projects.’
They walked down a corridor the walls of which showed partially stripped wallpaper against ancient plastered walls. It was a finish Caro rather liked.
‘It is easy for Pascal,’ said Amalie. ‘He has a girlfriend. When we have made an apartment for them, she may move in. I hope not. I don’t like her. I would prefer him to have been gay with a lovely boyfriend who could help us with the restoration.’ She paused. ‘But things rarely turn out just right. Here we are!’
The orangery was magnificent. The huge, curved glass roof that became arched windows looked magnificent. The floor had old tiles, a bit uneven and sometimes very broken or even missing, but the effect in the late-afternoon sunshine was that it had all been dipped in gold.
‘I love this!’ said Caro. ‘Are you going to grow oranges and lemons in it?’
Amalie gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘Perhaps. We can’t decide. We could have events here but the floor is so uneven we would have to take it all up and re-lay it. Expensive. Pascal wants to fill it with trees, for the scent, naturellement.’
‘Do you need to rent it out, to make money?’ Caro didn’t need to ask if the chateau cost money to restore and maintain.
‘Yes! Our uncle bought it many years ago, for a very few francs, he had us believe. But he never restored it and just lived in the bits that had a good roof. But if we could have weddings here we have a chance of making proper money.’
‘Re-lay the floor, then,’ said Caro. ‘It would still look beautiful if you didn’t replace the broken tiles, just made it so they were no longer a trip hazard.’
Amalie laughed. ‘I like that expression. I will use it from now on. But now, come into the kitchen. I started there. It isn’t finished but I love it.’
Caro loved it too. It was large and had possibly been something other than a kitchen in its past. The walls were a mixture of fine panelling and rough plaster. Ther
e were double doors out on to the terrace that wrapped its way all round the house.
The furniture consisted of several large armoires that were obviously old, if not antique. A huge kitchen table with chairs took up the middle. It had a large platter of fruit on it and invited long evenings sitting drinking, putting the world to rights.
There were no fitted units, just a selection of cupboards, some of which had surfaces that could be worktops, set around the walls and on either side of a double sink unit. A magnetic knife rack two feet long was studded with every sort and size of kitchen knife. A rack of chopping boards and a batterie de cuisine were set on the rough walls.
‘This is fabulous! Just made for cooking in!’ said Caro. A wonderful savoury smell added to the charm of the room.
‘Oui. My boyfriend was a chef so he had a lot of input into the design.’ Amalie sighed. ‘But he is no longer part of my life now. I must accept it.’
‘But you like cooking?’ It seemed tragic to think of this lovely kitchen not bringing joy to the cook.
‘Oh yes. Of course. How else would we eat tonight? But Pascal also cooks, when he is here.’ Amalie went across to the very up-to-date-looking range cooker and took the top off a pot that looked as if it came with the chateau. The delicious smell increased as she put in a wooden spoon, tasted the contents of the pot. ‘Another ten minutes. Time to look at the salon. The salon and the rest of the rooms are very much works in progress. There is no floor in the dining room. It has rotted …’
The following morning, after a slightly too-late night, with slightly too much wine, Alec and Caro set off down the drive towards the town. Pascal had been in touch with M. Dolinière’s grandson. ‘And yes, in his private collection there is a sample of the famous Swan perfume!’
‘Will he let us use it for our mission?’ Alec had asked, holding his breath.
Pascal had given a shrug as Gallic as his sister’s. ‘He has not yet committed himself, but I am hopeful.’
‘We’ll have to be satisfied with that for now,’ Alec had said.