by Katie Fforde
‘Oh! That is weird,’ said Alec, distracted from his vials, pipettes and scales for a minute.
‘I can smell nice things too though. The Chelsea Flower Show is lovely! But more to the point, I can remember what Scarlet needs in a fragrance. I can remember the ones she didn’t like and my weird fragrance thing means I know what won’t work.’
‘So we could just make something up for her and abandon all this faded writing and illegible numbers.’
Caro knew he wasn’t seriously suggesting they did this. ‘That would be cheating and she’d know it wasn’t the fragrance she wants. But I’m sure we could adapt it a bit, to suit her.’
Alec nodded. ‘OK. Now I’m going to find us a bottle of water and then we’ll press on.’
Caro took the opportunity to take off her jeans. She no longer cared about showing a lot of leg, she just wanted to be cooler. She took off her sandals too and twisted her hair off her neck, securing it with an elastic band she found in a drawer. Now she was cooler, she felt her brain and, more importantly, her nose, could function better.
Sadly for her peace of mind Alec’s eyebrows shot up when he came back into the lab with the water. ‘You look like a Bond girl.’
This was a shock. ‘What?’
‘You know, the one who’s working for the head of SMERSH or something, before she meets James. Although you should really be wearing oversized glasses.’
Caro found herself blushing profusely. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, hoping this didn’t seem disingenuous. They had a job to do; she needed to concentrate, she couldn’t let the suggestion that he found her sexy enter her consciousness. Although not being quite so hot did help.
‘What do you think of this?’ said Alec after another half an hour or so, holding a paper tester under Caro’s nose.
‘It’s lovely. I really like it and I think it’s almost right,’ she said, thinking hard about Scarlet as she sniffed. ‘But I think it needs more of an edge. A hint of bitterness.’
‘Some petitgrain maybe.’ He extracted a few drops from a bottle. ‘Maybe half a gram?’
Caro wrote this down.
‘Now, how about this?’
Caro sniffed, her eyes closed. She didn’t speak immediately. ‘That really is lovely,’ she said eventually. ‘And perfect for Scarlet. But how like the original do you think it is?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I suspect it’s a bit too modern. It’ll settle a bit and we’ve got another couple of days. The original could have taken weeks to create.’
Caro looked at the clock on the wall. ‘Oh golly! It’s six o’clock. We should be getting back for dinner.’ And then she became aware that Alec was staring at her. ‘What?’ she asked, a bit anxious.
‘Nothing really.’ He smiled. ‘I was just wondering if what they say about hedione is true.’
‘That’s the very green fragrance, like jasmine, isn’t it?’ She’d learnt an awful lot about perfume in the last few hours.
Alec nodded.
‘So what do they say about it?’
‘That it activates receptors in the nose that are supposed to be a bit of an aphrodisiac for women.’
This could definitely be construed as flirting and Caro began to speak rather too fast. ‘I’m never quite sure how I feel about those white flower fragrances myself, like lilies. There’s a hint of decay about them which can get a bit too much. Although I don’t get decay in this.’ She sniffed at the wand again.
‘I think we should leave it now and see how it smells in the morning.’
Caro yawned suddenly, overcome by heat and concentration.
‘I’m going to take you home now,’ said Alec. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a glass of something fizzy waiting for us at the chateau.’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘I can’t believe we’re staying in a chateau,’ she said, although the chateau was only a small part of her reasons to smile. ‘But I’d better get dressed first.’
Caro let herself relax as they whizzed through the countryside of the Côte d’Azur. She’d never been one for expressions like ‘living in the moment’ but she felt now she understood what it meant. All her senses were more finely tuned. It could have been the green, floral scent, the hedione (which sounded a bit like hedonism to her), that was affecting her. Or it could just have been the South of France at its most romantic and a man she fancied very much indeed. Beautiful surroundings and the thought that the man possibly fancied her, just a little bit, was enough to make anyone smile.
Amalie was waiting on the steps of the chateau as they drove up, obviously very pleased to see them. She was by the car door before the gravel had had time to settle.
‘Pascal’s girlfriend is here. I am so sorry to inflict her on you. She is a not very nice person.’ She spoke very quickly and her gaze flicked over Caro through the open windows. ‘You have had a very long day and worked very hard. I hope you were successful?’
Alec got out. ‘Fairly successful,’ he said, before going round to Caro’s side and helping her out.
Caro couldn’t decide if this was chivalry or if he was finding excuses to touch her. Either was good, she concluded, before realising how sticky and untidy she must look compared to Amalie, who had apparently changed for dinner.
‘Come and have a drink,’ said Amalie, still urgent. ‘I know you want a shower and I promise I’ll let you have one, but do come and talk to this woman for a few moments. She is a dreadful snob and has no feeling for old buildings at all. Currently she is planning to demolish the orangery and put a conference centre there.’ Amalie flashed a desperate smile. ‘But the good news is, I have made a new sitting place. The one thing the chateau is very good at is sitting places. This one has a fountain. Come with me.’
Caro would normally have felt a degree of discomfiture at the prospect of meeting a woman like the one Amalie had described, but she was so happy that being sweat-stained with dirty hair didn’t matter. The prospect of meeting a glamorous Frenchwoman when she was wearing the clothes she’d put on that morning was nothing. Thanks to Alec’s recent attentiveness and apparent interest in her she felt sexy and powerful and there was nothing any Chanel-suited girlfriend could do to make her feel different.
She wasn’t wearing a Chanel suit but Laure’s silk sweater and skinny jeans that appeared sprayed on to her bony legs, worn with very high heels, were a casual equivalent. Her chunky gold jewellery probably increased her body weight by several kilos. Her faint disgust as they were introduced just made Caro want to laugh.
When the introductions were over, Laure said, ‘It will be a relief for you, no doubt, to discover that I speak perfect English. I am aware that British people struggle with languages.’
Caro really hoped that her French was as perfect as Laure’s slightly stilted English. ‘Thank you but no. I have been speaking perfect English all day. Now I want to speak the beautiful language of a beautiful country.’
Laure’s exquisite eyebrows raised a fraction and Caro had her reward.
Pascal winked at her as he handed her a glass of champagne and replied in French: ‘It is always such a surprise when an English person speaks French. And so charming. But would you permit us to practise our English?’
Caro took the glass and raised it to Pascal. He was a star. He knew she did speak quite good French but that maybe it wouldn’t hold up all evening, when she was tired. ‘That would be my pleasure.’
But as she sipped her champagne she wondered what Pascal saw in Laure and, watching him, decided he was not quite as enamoured as Laure would have liked. For Amalie’s sake, she was pleased.
Caro and Alec had both had showers and changed. Caro had put on her dress – a simple floral number that had been very well reduced in the Boden sale, not caring that it probably said ‘shabby chic’ instead of the other kind. And yet Caro felt it was more fitting for their surroundings than Laure’s high heels and jeans were. She had always felt the combination was a bit tarty, anyway. They were ush
ered into the dining room.
Amalie, while looking quite as well groomed as Laure, managed to produce a meal that would satisfy the most gourmet Frenchman. Caro wasn’t a bad cook herself, but she’d have been looking quite a lot more red-faced and harassed by the time she’d brought that lot to the table.
They started with home-made chicken liver pâté served with brioche toast. After that was a perfect carré d’agneau, pink inside, fat perfectly crisp. And finally, after a green salad, and cheese, was a chocolate mousse.
‘I see it is true that Englishwomen enjoy their food,’ said Laure, who had eaten the salad and the asparagus that came with the lamb cutlets. She was looking at Caro disdainfully.
‘It’s certainly true that Englishwoman like to honour the chef by enjoying their food,’ said Caro with a smile. She was immune to Laure’s barbs, she liked her food and was perfectly happy with her figure, even if it was considerably more substantial than Laure’s, who probably thought anything bigger than a size zero was a failure.
‘Alec and Caro have been creating perfume all day,’ said Pascal. ‘It would be disappointing if they were not hungry.’
‘And what do English people know of perfume?’ Laure asked.
‘About the same as the French,’ said Alec, ‘but then I’m a Scot.’
Laure seemed confused and Amalie drew the meal to a close.
‘Go and sit by the fountain,’ she instructed. ‘I will bring coffee and liqueurs.’
‘You must let me help you!’ said Caro, getting up. ‘You’ve done enough.’
‘No thank you, Caro. It is very kind of you to offer but my kitchen is not tidy. I don’t want anyone to see it but family. Pascal? How do you say it? Will you give me a hand?’
‘Forgive him,’ said Laure, in French, ‘but I wish him to show me our apartment, so would you object if he didn’t help you?’
Caro guessed that Amalie would forgive her brother but not his girlfriend. She also noticed that the two women were still ‘vousvoyezing’ each other.
‘I shall pour the brandy,’ said Pascal, ‘coffee can wait.’
So it was that Caro and Alec were alone by the fountain with glasses of cognac, waiting for coffee to be brought. Amalie had insisted that coffee was essential and that she would make it.
The new sitting place was truly lovely. Further from the chateau than other places to sit and enjoy the view, this seemed part of a disused walled garden but one that grew roses as well as vegetables. An old stone arch was covered with them, tiny, pale pink blossoms and large, dark-red velvet ones. Heavily scented, the fragrance was enhanced by the warm stone.
Someone, presumably Amalie, had placed a wooden bench covered with faded cushions under the arch. The roses enhanced the natural arbour, falling down to almost hide the bench. It was like a room partially hidden by roses.
If Caro had been happy before, she was even more so now. She was entirely relaxed (a couple of glasses of wine had helped) but all her senses were on high alert. She heard the birds, she saw the beauty around her and, most of all, she smelt the roses. She sipped her brandy but didn’t speak. The only potential fly in this ointment of bliss was the prospect of Laure and Pascal joining them. But she suspected Amalie of being a matchmaker at heart, determined to bring her and Alec together.
Alec put his arm round her and hugged her to him. Then he cleared his throat. ‘This is nice, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, wishing he wouldn’t talk and kiss her instead.
But in spite of saying ‘it was nice’ he seemed tense. While Caro felt they’d gone beyond the need for polite conversation, he apparently did not.
‘It’s been a long day,’ he said.
‘But a successful one, don’t you think? You’ve very nearly got the perfume right.’
‘Mm, not quite near enough.’
‘But we’ve got at least another two days to get it perfect, haven’t we?’ Caro was beginning to feel impatient. She really wanted them to have a couple of nights sharing the gorgeous bedroom she now had on her own. At this rate it may never happen.
‘I’m going to need that and possibly a bit more if I can.’
‘I’ll have to get back though,’ she said. ‘Scarlet’s course wasn’t very long and then she’ll have to go back to America. I can’t leave Rowan and Joe on their own or Skye will eat me.’
He laughed. ‘And me.’
She took another sip of cognac. ‘Amalie’s taking her time with the coffee. Maybe I should go back and help her.’
He put his hand on her arm to stop her moving. ‘Listen! There’s something I’ve got to ask you.’ He sounded so urgent that Caro’s heart began to pound but with anxiety, not excitement. ‘What is it?’
He cleared his throat. ‘It will sound a bit weird.’
Caro’s heart began to sink. She felt she knew what was coming but Alec did not seem a bit happy about it.
He took a breath. ‘Once, when I was a very young man, on a Greek island, I spent the night talking to a young woman I didn’t even get a proper look at. I told her everything, all my hopes and dreams. You know in the way people do when you don’t think you’ll ever see them again.’
Caro was silent. She couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say.
‘That woman was you, wasn’t it?’
She sighed. If only he’d sounded happy about it, she could have been too. On the other hand she couldn’t deny it just to make him happy. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Your fragrance. I kept nearly getting it but it’s only now that we’ve got the roses as well that it’s finally fallen into place.’
‘So – how do you feel about that?’
‘Oh God, Caro,’ he breathed and took her into his arms and kissed her.
A few minutes later they broke apart as they heard people coming. They were both breathing deeply and both had ruffled hair. But when they saw Pascal followed by Amalie, they were smiling.
Pascal spoke first. ‘Alec? There’s been a phone call. It’s Murdo. He’s collapsed and has been rushed to hospital.’
‘What?’ said Alec. ‘Is he …?’
‘Non,’ said Amalie. ‘Your sister, she telephoned. She sounded very distressed.’
Laure appeared. ‘I am so sorry. Your holiday in France has possibly been cut short.’
Alec glanced at Caro but didn’t speak. Caro nodded, but didn’t comment that they were here working. They all headed back to the chateau.
Chapter Fourteen
As they walked through the scented evening, Caro felt her dreams fall away, one by one, with every step.
The mood she and Alec had shared so briefly – the evening’s warmth, the roses, the fountain and the satisfaction of having worked hard all day creating something beautiful – seemed to have gone. Maybe she and Alec would never get together properly now. In his mind, she would always be associated with the night his father died – or at least entered his last illness. And if Murdo didn’t regain consciousness, he and Alec would never be reconciled, which would be awful.
It also meant that the perfume may never be made, either, which would be awful for Alec, when they’d got so near it. Scarlet might go off the idea if she couldn’t have it in time for her wedding and he might never be able to prove to people that he could do it.
She felt sad about Murdo, too. She’d grown very fond of him in spite of his irascibility and his dog who weed on people. He was stuck in a previous century, probably very similar to his own father, and yet he was somehow special.
The chateau was dark after the sunshine and reflected Caro’s despondency.
Alec and Pascal disappeared into Pascal’s office, looking up the best way of getting to Scotland in a hurry.
Amalie drew Caro into the kitchen and made a tisane. Caro had distracted her from trying to make tea. Tea was never quite right in France, Caro thought, in her very gloomy mood.
Laure, who had joined them in the kitchen for the tisane, got up. ‘I have an idea,’ she said, and went to j
oin the men in the study.
Caro sensed that she and Amalie were both thinking that Laure preferred male company to female and that was the real reason she left.
‘Will you go with Alec?’ asked Amalie, who had poured Caro brandy to go with her peppermint tea. ‘Or stay here with me? You would be very welcome. You could help me repair my chateau.’
Caro put a grateful hand on Amalie’s. ‘That is a lovely offer, but I have duties at home. But if ever you want to come to London, you could stay on my barge.’
‘I think it is better if you go with Alec. Strike while the iron is warm.’
‘Hot,’ said Caro. ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’
Amalie nodded. ‘Thank you. When your English is good no one tells you when it is not perfectly correct. Then how does one improve?’ She threw her arms into the air in a very French way.
Reluctantly, Caro smiled.
They sipped from their mugs, making polite conversation, waiting for news. Caro would have felt better if she had been the one looking up flight details on a laptop, being proactive, but instead she was discussing the advantages of handmade tiles for floors over a more modern finish. It was killing her.
At last Laure came in. ‘I have solved the dilemma!’
Caro couldn’t help noticing that while Laure’s English was awfully good, it was rather formal.
‘My father is flying to Paris very early tomorrow morning. You will fly with him, in his private jet. And take the flight to Glasgow later.’
Alec and Pascal followed her into the kitchen. ‘It’s an amazing piece of luck,’ said Alec. ‘Laure’s father can give us a lift to Paris. There’s an early flight. We have to go via Birmingham but that’s OK.’
‘You want me to come with you?’ said Caro.
Alec frowned, as if confused. ‘Can’t you?’
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I just didn’t want to be in the way.’