Delphine poured him a strong, black coffee, just the way he liked it and, smiling, she patted the place next to her on the chaise longue. She admired his ability to look so stylish considering he had probably only just got up. She wondered if his unsavoury girlfriend was waiting for him in bed. The girl was reasonably pretty but she was hardly good enough for someone as handsome and gifted as Xavier.
Xavier sat down and picked up the delicate cup warily. The informal setting, the antique china – he was right, something was definitely up.
‘Thank you for joining me at such short notice,’ she said, her hazel eyes warm. ‘I felt we should talk after that terrible meeting the other day.’
‘Oh?’ Xavier regarded her coolly.
Delphine nodded. ‘Yes, I was so upset after . . . after everything that happened and I wanted to ask your opinion on it.’
Xavier drank his coffee. ‘I see. And which particular aspect would you like me to comment upon?’ He sat back, his manner casual but his eyes alert. ‘Are you after my opinion on Leoni’s extravagant but quite possibly sound ideas for the business? No? Perhaps you’d like me to assess the sales figures for the last quarter.’ Xavier met her eyes. ‘Or would you like to discuss what to do about Cat Hayes, especially since she had the audacity to speak up and make her presence felt in a family meeting.’
Delphine smiled approvingly. Xavier might have spent the last two years doing nothing apart from sunbathing and sleeping around, but he was as sharp as a tack. And contrary to what her son Guy thought, Delphine was certain Elizabeth’s death wasn’t the only reason for Xavier’s indifference towards the perfume business. That was another matter, however, and one Delphine planned to deal with once this particular problem had been resolved.
‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ she said. ‘You’re right, Cat Hayes is posing a problem. As you know, she turned down the money Guy offered her and she is keen to leave as soon as possible. Her passport is missing but I’m sure it will turn up shortly. In any case, she has probably been on to the British authorities to organise another one.’ Delphine glanced out of the window thoughtfully. ‘In the meantime, Miss Hayes is at a loose end. Or rather, she is a loose end.’
Xavier didn’t smile at the weak joke. ‘What does this have to do with me?’
‘What it has to do with you is that bearing in mind Miss Hayes’, shall we say, insight into the perfume business the other day, it made me wonder if she might be useful to us while she’s still here.’
‘Useful? In what way?’
Delphine refilled his cup and offered him a plate of exquisite, handmade macaroons which he refused. ‘No? They are your favourites. Anyway, as I was saying, I am loathe to admit it but the girl did come up with some interesting thoughts about the business. Even Leoni’s idea seemed to make more sense once it was explained properly.’ Delphine pursed her lips. ‘I can’t say I fully approve but I can see the sense in maximising the business and I suppose we should be grateful that Miss Hayes pointed out the anniversary of Rose-Nymphea. What about a little trip to Grasse? You could take her to the perfume factories. You could tell her all about the art and science of creating scents.’
‘And why would I want to do that?’
‘Because you don’t have anything better to do,’ Delphine fired back crisply, the warmth evaporating from her voice. ‘Guy and Leoni are far too busy to undertake such a trip.’ She sipped her coffee, regarding him over the paper-thin rim.
Xavier stared at her. He knew exactly what she was up to. His grandmother thought that if he went on some trip to the place he had learnt his craft, he would fall back in love with the perfume-making process. She hoped he would get so carried away telling Cat Hayes all about his apprenticeship and about his passion for scents that he would come back renewed, refreshed and raring to get back into his lab again. Filled with contempt at the obviousness of her plan, his lip curled.
Delphine guessed what he was thinking and stared him down. ‘Cat Hayes might be able to assist with the business and if anyone can get her to do it, you can.’ Delphine raised her eyebrows delicately when she saw Xavier’s expression. ‘No one is asking you to sleep with the girl, Xavier! That would be highly inappropriate. She was married to your cousin, however briefly. No, I am simply asking you to be persuasive, to see if she can tell us anything useful. Blind her with science, give her the whole, heady perfume experience.’ Delphine flapped her hand in the air. ‘If nothing else, I want her to understand why this is all so important to us, and why we need her to sign those papers as soon as Pascal can arrange them. It is in the family’s best interests.’
Xavier stiffened. He wasn’t ten years old any more. The emotional blackmail she always fell back on had worked then because he had been too young and immature to spot it. These days, he recognised that the family’s ‘best interests’ simply meant his meddling grandmother had no other argument to get her own way.
Xavier stood up. He could say no but the fact was he didn’t have anything better to do and he probably was the best man for the job. His expertise in the perfume business was second to none and a part of him resented Cat Hayes’ obvious low opinion of him as an empty-headed philanderer. He just wished his grandmother wasn’t so manipulative.
‘Fine. I’ll do it,’ he said with bad grace. It would get him away from Therese, at least, and as soon as his duty was done and he was back at La Fleurie, he could give Monique a call and go out on the town.
Delphine nodded. ‘Thank you, Xavier. I knew I could rely on you.’
Xavier paused by the door, feeling the need to score a point of his own. ‘Are you organising anything, as Cat suggested, to celebrate Rose-Nymphea’s half-century?’
Delphine bristled. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘A party. Guy thinks it’s a splendid idea and I suppose I can see the appeal. I intend to create a spectacular event, one befitting our signature perfume.’
As Xavier left the room, Delphine decided to put to one side the fact that Cat had been the only person to notice the anniversary. It was too vexing for words.
‘So why were your family initially so against your home fragrance idea?’ Ashton asked Leoni as they stood outside Jo Malone in Sloane Street. As usual, Leoni was wearing a stark but tight-fitting dress, in slate-grey this time, with a black wool coat over the top and a Hermès scarf knotted at her throat. He caught a waft of her perfume, L’Air Sensuel, which she sometimes wore.
Leoni’s lips tightened. ‘They were against the idea because they don’t like change. Anything new and daring has them retreating into safety, especially when it comes to the visions I have for the perfume business; you know that.’
‘They clearly don’t know they have a genius idea in their midst.’ Ashton threw her a smile. ‘It’s a shame Xavier has ducked out of the business because otherwise I’m sure he’d stick up for you.’
Grateful for Ashton’s support, Leoni wrapped her coat more tightly round herself. February in London was predictable for its unpredictability and although she had anticipated a chill in the air, she was astonished to find herself in sub-zero temperatures with the threat of sleet overhead. She glanced at Ashton. He was wearing a dark overcoat with a cornflower-blue shirt from Pinks that matched his eyes. A group of girls teetered past in high heels, giving him quick, appreciative glances. His preppy blondness and lovely eyes probably made Ashton quite a catch when he was on home turf, Leoni realised.
‘So the family meeting was stressful?’ Ashton asked as he rubbed his hands and blew on them for warmth.
‘Terrible!’ Leoni replied with feeling. ‘That girl, Cat Hayes, came up with all sorts of suggestions and really made her presence felt. Very inappropriate.’
‘I thought you said she supported your ideas?’
Leoni relented. ‘Well, yes, she did actually and it was very generous of her in the circumstances. I suppose I just thought she’d sit back and say nothing. Grandmother was in charge as usual and you know how scary she can be.’
Ashton did a mock s
hudder. ‘God, yes. She’s absolutely terrifying.’
‘It’s just . . . Cat Hayes made it obvious she didn’t want to be at the meeting and that she just wants to come back to England but I have to admit she made some very good points,’ Leoni said grudgingly.
Ashton smiled at her unwillingness to admit that Cat Hayes had impressed her. He opened the door to the Jo Malone store and they went in.
Leoni admired the light, airy space and the calming cream and mirrored decor. If only she could have the chance to create a shop like this! One step at a time, she reminded herself. She needed her family to agree to the idea before she started planning her own shops in Paris and London.
‘Wow, this place is amazing,’ Ashton exclaimed.
Leoni nodded. A woman was receiving a luxurious-looking hand and arm massage in one corner and another – a bride, if the bulging folder of coloured swatches and sample invitations was anything to go by – was sitting at a counter having a skin consultation. Fragrances mingled in the air and their combined scent was enticing rather than overpowering. A table in the centre of the shop had a neat crescent of fragrance bottles displayed on it. They were identical in appearance but Leoni knew that each one contained its own identity, totally different from the scent in the bottle next to it.
She moved over to the home fragrance area and paused by the section devoted to candles. She loved candles; they created such a warm, inviting atmosphere and having a subtle fragrance drifting in a room somehow transformed it from drab to cosy.
‘I like the way they’re divided up into home, luxury and travel,’ she commented to Ashton as she picked one up. ‘By doing that, you’re covering all angles, from an affordable, everyday luxury to a more extravagant treat at home or abroad. Fruity, citrus and floral – something for everyone.’
Ashton sniffed one. ‘Have you arranged a meeting with that candle-maker chap yet?’
Leoni shook her head. ‘No, I must do that. Guy wants to see samples and Jerard is supposed to be one of the best so I’m sure he can create something beautiful to show off my ideas.’
They wandered around the shop together, inhaling the scent of zesty linen sprays and ‘Living Colognes’ in sensual Amber and Sweet Orange and heady Blue Agave.
‘The perfume you have on today would be good in one of these,’ Ashton said, gesturing to a candle. Looking up, he caught the surprise on Leoni’s face and flushed slightly. ‘You . . . often wear it,’ he explained, wondering if he’d made a mistake. ‘Don’t you?’
She nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right, it would make a lovely romantic candle, wouldn’t it? We could promote it that way, maybe with a book of matches with the Ducasse-Fleurie monogram on it . . . or maybe a silk flower.’
‘Sounds good. Maybe instead of marketing the candles in terms of where they’ll be used, you could focus on the mood,’ Ashton suggested. ‘You know, romance, relaxing, that sort of thing.’
‘Genius,’ she exclaimed. ‘As you would say. Hey, I thought you were just coming along for the ride. I didn’t realise architects knew about marketing.’
Ashton laughed. ‘We don’t. I just had a moment of brilliance, that’s all. Make the most of it.’
They mooched around the shop and then Ashton hurried Leoni outside. ‘We need to jump on the train,’ he said, checking his watch and turning up his collar.
The journey slipped by in companionable silence, with Ashton responding to messages on his phone and Leoni leafing through the brochure she’d picked up in Jo Malone. In Surrey they caught a cab. Leoni enjoyed the scenery as it zipped past the windows, even though it was almost dark. With its wide expanses and interesting green and brown tones, it was very different to Provence but she liked it. Ashton’s parents’ house, which she hadn’t visited before, was neat and understated. It was also tiny compared to La Fleurie, but then, most places were, Leoni acknowledged wryly. The Lyfield residence was cosy and welcoming and that was the main thing.
‘Leoni, how wonderful to see you again!’ Joyce Lyfield, Ashton’s mother, bustled forward, wiping her hands on an already floury apron. ‘Gosh, it’s been so long, darling, five years maybe, since we visited you and the family in Provence?’
Leoni kissed her cheeks politely, letting out a squeak as Joyce hugged her enthusiastically. This wasn’t what she was used to; at La Fleurie, everyone was so self-conscious and painfully formal. Leoni wasn’t sure if it had always been that way but she certainly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her a rib-crushing bear hug.
‘I’ve been baking all afternoon,’ Joyce was saying as she took Leoni’s coat and led her to a comfy armchair by a lovely period fireplace. ‘I’ve made some cheese scones, some cupcakes and, if I say so myself, a very tasty banana loaf.’
Ashton’s father, Arthur, a nice-looking man in his fifties, rolled his eyes. ‘The kitchen looks like a bloody bombsite,’ he chided, giving his wife a wink. He shook Ashton’s hand heartily, delighted to see him after such a long time. ‘Really good to see you, son. Still loving Paris?’
Ashton nodded. ‘God, yes. You must come and visit again soon, the spare room’s all done now. Oh, and I’ve seen this incredible building . . .’ As he still hadn’t mentioned it to Leoni, Ashton took his father into another room to show him some of the photographs he’d taken on his phone.
Joyce brought a tray to the table by the fire. ‘I hope you’re hungry, darling,’ she said, slathering some butter on to a thick slice of banana bread. She gave Leoni a critical once-over, observing her thin calves. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you could do with putting on a few pounds, Leoni. I know you French women don’t eat much because you want to wear those lovely dresses – and you look gorgeous, don’t get me wrong – but I just worry about you not getting all your vitamins . . .’
Warmed by the flow of friendly chatter, Leoni took a small bite of the banana bread. It really was delicious and even though she didn’t usually eat cake, she found herself demolishing an entire slice.
‘It really is good to see you again, darling,’ Joyce said, perching her bottom on the edge of a red sofa. She placed her hand on Leoni’s. ‘We were so sorry to hear about Olivier. You must miss him very much.’
Leoni gulped, almost choking on the last of her banana bread. She nodded.
Joyce squeezed her hand. ‘Brave girl. It’s tough when you lose someone. I lost my brother when I was young. Tommy, his name was.’ She looked upset for a moment then pressed on. ‘Ash told us about Olivier’s new wife – what a shock for all of you! I do hope she’s a genuine girl and that she cared about him.’ Joyce got up and bustled around, pouring tea and fussing over Leoni. ‘I’m so excited about this home fragrance line you’re researching . . . oh, I know all about it because Ash told me. I hope that’s all right.’ She looked at her guest. Leoni smiled and, satisfied she hadn’t put her foot in it, Joyce handed her a large mug of tea.
After tea, Ashton invited Leoni out for a walk in the garden while Joyce prepared dinner. Arthur was a keen gardener; the earth in the flower beds was moist and full of freshly planted bulbs, and roses in every colour sat in large, glazed pots.
Leoni looked pensive. ‘That relaunch Olivier’s widow suggested, the one for Rose-Nymphea . . .’
Ashton stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m guessing you hate the idea.’
Leoni laughed. ‘Actually, no. I only wish I’d thought of it myself! Grandmother’s furious that Cat dared to make a suggestion about the business but Uncle Guy put his foot down so now she is arranging the biggest party France has ever seen.’ She pushed a log with the toe of her shoe. ‘Cat is still at La Fleurie. She’s lost her passport. I’d think she was making it up except for the fact that she’s been in a monumental strop ever since.’
Ashton watched as the wind lifted Leoni’s hair from her face. He realised she was still talking and forced himself to listen.
‘I feel so resentful towards her, Ashton, but I don’t know why.’
Ashton thought for a second.
‘Maybe you feel jealous of her.’ The words came tripping out before he could stop them. Seeing the colour rise in her cheeks, he backed away, laughing. ‘Bloody hell, L, calm down! I just meant that perhaps the thought that someone . . . someone who wasn’t you, I mean, spent so much time with Olivier before he died is eating away at you.’ He watched her polish her glasses on the sleeve of her dress, something he knew she did when she felt emotional. ‘You were very close, the two of you,’ he added gently. ‘It’s natural to feel anger towards Cat when she got to see him at the end and you didn’t.’
Leoni tugged at the collar of her coat with shaky fingers. ‘It’s not just that, it’s the fact that he didn’t even tell me about his marriage. I mean, we all know he was a liar but he never lied to me.’ She sniffed. ‘At least, I thought that was the case but it obviously wasn’t. I was just the same as everyone else in his eyes . . . I must have been.’ She let out a bitter laugh. ‘And there was me thinking I was special to my brother.’
Ashton didn’t know how to respond to that. What could he say? Olivier had been his best friend and he hadn’t known about his marriage to Cat Hayes either. Ashton was aware that Olivier had lied to him on several occasions but he’d put it down to Olivier’s devil-may-care attitude and had never taken it to heart. But for Leoni, he knew, it was different.
Knowing that words couldn’t make things any better, Ashton pulled Leoni into an awkward hug. As expected, she stiffened, but as he held her, she relaxed and leant against him, crying quietly into his shoulder. Ashton said nothing; he simply held her because he knew that was all Leoni needed at times like these.
‘Dinner’s ready!’ Joyce called out through the kitchen window, starting as she noticed them embracing in the garden.
Ashton drew back and, using his thumbs, wiped the tears from Leoni’s cheeks. ‘Now, do you think you can hold it together enough to eat a massive plate of my mother’s shepherd’s pie? No one likes a sissy.’
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