Leoni laughed, punching him on the shoulder. ‘Of course I can. Honestly, you’re so rude sometimes, I don’t know why I put up with you.’
Following her back down the garden towards the house, Ashton stared after her thoughtfully. Giving his mother a bright, warning smile, he headed indoors.
Slightly chilly in a pair of white trousers and a baggy beige jumper, Cat was immersed in a book called The Emperor of Scent by Chandler Burr. Sitting by the pool on one of the luxurious loungers, she was surrounded by books about perfume. She’d been at La Fleurie for nearly a month now and she felt the need to do something with her time until her new passport arrived. And at this time of year, Cat couldn’t imagine it would take too long now that she’d sent all the forms back to Bella.
Still feeling trapped and claustrophobic at La Fleurie, Cat couldn’t help enjoying the book she was reading. Perhaps it was because the ball was now rolling again in terms of her departure or maybe it was because Leoni was in England and the atmosphere in the house suddenly seemed less intense. Leoni was so uptight, she had a way of making everyone around her feel like a coiled-up spring as well. Delphine was also still giving her a hard time, throwing frosty looks in her direction at every opportunity and Cat was beginning to wish she could escape from the château, even for just a few days to release the tension.
She glanced down at her book again. The perfume business was fascinating and under different circumstances she knew she would really enjoy immersing herself in it. She had only happened upon the books when, furiously visiting Olivier’s headstone again, she had discovered the nearby library that overlooked the private Ducasse graveyard. On a whim, Cat had picked out three books on perfume to take her mind off her dead husband’s betrayal. As a result, she now knew about top notes, middle or ‘heart’ notes, and base notes.
She had learnt that the top notes of a scent – the tête or départ, as they were known in French – were the most volatile odours and the first to make themselves known. They then faded into the background to allow the heart notes – the heart and soul of the perfume – to take centre stage, before the base notes, the most persistent, revealed themselves. They lingered and ‘fixed’ the scent. This was also apparently known as the ‘dry down’.
Cat flipped through another one of the books she had borrowed. An ‘accord’, she saw, was a composition of harmonious notes which blended to form a perfume, and an ‘absolute’ was a term used to describe a pure substance which, once obtained and refined by rinsing in alcohol, smelt exactly like the plant from which it had been extracted. Florals, citrus, chypres, orientals – there were so many different fragrance families, all with their own unique identity. Cat couldn’t help feeling swept up by the romance of scent and its creative process.
She heard her phone beep over the sound of rustling almond trees beyond the swimming pool and was pleased when she saw a text from Bella saying she’d sent the passport forms off. Apparently, Prism, the rival advertising agency Ben had been liaising with, were putting a job proposal together for her to review as soon as she was back in England. Bella also gleefully reported that the word on the street was that Cat was sorely missed at her old job and that the ad agency had gone spectacularly downhill since she left. Who knew if that part was true, but Cat appreciated Bella’s efforts to cheer her up.
A shadow darkened the page of her book and Cat looked up to find Xavier towering over her, darkly handsome in a black shirt and jeans.
‘What are you reading?’ he asked. Picking up one of her books curiously, he raised an eyebrow. ‘You look as though you’re studying for an exam.’
She really was beautiful, Xavier thought, taken aback, and mainly because of her eyes, which sparkled and changed colour like the sea. Xavier dismissed the poetic notion. He had a job to do.
‘I’m reading up about perfume and how it’s created,’ Cat explained, realising it must seem strange that she was suddenly so interested in the family business. ‘Not so I can take Olivier’s share away from the family or anything,’ she added defensively.
‘Of course not,’ Xavier said politely. ‘Not all of us think that.’
‘No,’ Cat replied. ‘Some of you just think I’m completely mental for marrying someone I barely knew.’
‘Ah, yes . . . that.’ Xavier met Cat’s eyes, inwardly cursing the twins for letting his thoughts about her slip. He wasn’t sure how to smooth the waters. He still thought Cat was foolhardy for marrying Olivier but if he didn’t make some sort of effort to justify himself, he had no chance of getting her to come to Grasse. Swallowing a sigh, he did his best, hoping his grandmother appreciated his efforts.
‘Look, all I meant was that marrying someone so quickly comes with . . . consequences. I don’t mean because Olivier died; I mean because you can’t have known him that well. Even when you know someone intimately, they can still do something unexpected and surprise you.’ He linked his fingers together tightly. His words had conjured up memories he’d rather forget. ‘And when you don’t know someone, the only result you can count on is getting hurt.’
Cat looked away. ‘Yes, well . . . you’re right there,’ she admitted, still smarting. ‘I had no idea Olivier had so many women on the go at the same time. Runs in the family, I see,’ she added without a smile.
Xavier’s eyes became hard. ‘Well, we all have our cross to bear.’ He felt his temper rising but reined himself in, remembering the task in hand.
‘Look, I wondered if you might be interested in taking a short trip. I . . . suppose I know a fair amount about the perfume business.’
‘Seraphina says you’re one of the best “noses” in the world.’ Cat said the words with slight scorn.
Xavier bristled. ‘My sister is biased, but I do have some sort of talent. My mother, now she was impressive. She knew exactly what ingredients blended together, how one odour can intensify a scent, how the velvety tone of a fragrance can be changed to a sensual one by just a fractional addition.’ He paused. ‘My mother was a true senteur because she was both a chemist and an artist. Everything I know, I learnt from her.’ Xavier stopped talking abruptly. What on earth was he doing, talking about his mother and what she could do?
‘Is that your lab?’ Cat pointed at a nearby barn that had remained under lock and key since her arrival.
Xavier glanced at it and nodded, wondering where this was leading.
‘It looks deserted. As if no one cares about it any more.’
He narrowed his eyes. She was trying to wind him up; he could tell. ‘Would you like to see it?’
Cat seemed bemused that he had called her bluff. She shrugged non-committally, but followed him to the lab which was at the edge of the pool area.
Outside the door, Xavier hesitated. He hadn’t been inside for two years now. Did he really want to go back in there and rake up all those old feelings? He drew out the key he always carried around in his pocket and slotted it into the lock. The door opened easily and he stepped inside. Cat followed him in, glancing around as she did so. Inside, it was deadly quiet, almost as if it was sound-proofed. As Cat strolled past him, Xavier caught a waft of the Jo Malone perfume she wore.
‘Wow,’ Cat said, impressed in spite of herself. She sniffed. The air inside the lab smelt strange – clean but imbued with something else. She supposed it was probably many other aromas mingled together. She walked over to a counter, intrigued. Its rows of gleaming equipment would have looked more at home in a school science class. There were several computers lined up on the counter and hundreds of boxes of white blotting paper, cut into thin strips like wands. There were bottles labelled ‘Essences’ and ‘Absolutes’, some from obscure places in the world. She read some of the labels. Beeswax . . . leather . . . champagne . . . blood orange . . . marigold . . . galbanum . . . The essences and aromas were grouped together under headings like ‘Citrus’, ‘Animal Sources’ and ‘Resins and Balsams’.
‘You can really use all these sorts of things to create a fragrance?’ she asked, tryin
g to sound casual.
Xavier nodded. ‘Of course. Sage, wheat, sesame, cardamom – you name it, you can blend it. You’d probably be surprised if you knew what was in some fragrances, not just the ingredients themselves but how many of them are used in any one perfume.’
Cat frowned as she discovered a large section labelled ‘Chemicals’. The bottles were called things like ‘Aldehydes’, ‘Cashmeran’ and ‘Ambretone’. ‘I had no idea it was all so technical, so scientific,’ she commented, bewildered by what she was seeing. ‘It feels almost clinical. But making fragrances is surely a creative process?’
Xavier picked up the bottle marked ‘Galbanum’. Removing the lid, he inhaled the distinctive bitter scent. ‘Scent creators are essentially skilled chemists,’ he explained, ‘but they are also creative. You need an in-depth knowledge of a vast number of materials and you need to be able to recognise and compare, as well as measure out the correct quantities of your ingredients to create your fragrance. I usually map out my vision of a scent on paper first before moving into the lab to try out different combinations.’ A shadow passed across his face. ‘Or rather, I used to.’
Cat wanted to ask him about that but she didn’t dare.
‘For example,’ he said, his voice animated as he found himself back on familiar and much-loved territory, ‘what does a woodland smell like? Woody, of course, but it’s more than that. Mossy, perhaps? Fresh because of the air, but also sensual, due to the earthy aromas of the bark and the muddy ground underfoot.’ Xavier felt his senses stirring as he spoke. ‘This has to be captured but other elements must be added to layer the fragrance and give it character and body. Floral tones, as an example, or maybe something musky to give it a really erotic hit.’
He picked up an empty perfume bottle and held it up. ‘Once the bottle is opened and applied to the skin, the scent will change, depending on the skin’s acidity. Which is why the most exquisite of perfumes can smell divine on one woman and like cat piss on another.’ Abruptly, Xavier laughed.
Cat was startled to hear his laughter. He hadn’t so much as smiled in her direction before. ‘I know what you mean. I really want to love Chanel No. 5 because it has this glamorous image – Marilyn Monroe famously only wore it in bed, et cetera – but it smells terrible on me. Disgusting.’
‘Chanel No. 5 can be difficult to wear.’ Xavier ran his hand along the clean, empty counter rather as if he was caressing the slender waist of a lover. ‘It’s a floral,’ he informed her, ‘but a powdery one containing rose and jasmine. And, so legend has it, an accidentally generous slug of aldehydes.’
‘Right.’ Cat felt rather dizzy from all the information. ‘I can’t imagine you in a chemistry class as a kid,’ she teased. ‘Can’t really see you in goggles and a lab coat.’
Xavier held up a pristine white coat. ‘Really? I think I used to carry it off well.’ He hung it up, the ghost of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He paused, looking uncomfortable as he remembered his task. ‘Would you like to join me in a visit to Grasse? It’s the perfume capital of France. I think you’d find it very interesting.’
Cat eyed him suspiciously. What was he up to? Why was he suddenly being nice?
Xavier avoided her eyes. ‘We could visit some factories. I could tell you a bit more about the history of fragrance, that sort of thing. I just thought until things were sorted with your passport … who knows, you might be able to come up with some other brilliant ideas.’
Cat was puzzled. She couldn’t help thinking there was something else behind Xavier’s offer but she didn’t have a clue what it could be. She didn’t trust him – that was for sure.
‘Maybe,’ she said, off-handedly. It would be a good excuse to get away from La Fleurie for a while. The tension in the air was unbearable and she had never felt more unwelcome in her life. Could she tolerate Xavier for a few days? Cat reckoned, at a push, she could manage it. ‘I suppose I haven’t anything else to do,’ she added.
Xavier nodded curtly. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange everything.’ He turned to leave.
‘Why don’t you make perfumes any more?’ Cat blurted.
‘What?’ Xavier returned her stare coldly.
She gestured at the rows of bottles. ‘It seems a bit silly if you’re so good at it. Any particular reason?’
‘Not one I wish to discuss with you,’ Xavier snapped, his blood racing.
Cat couldn’t believe his rudeness. ‘Not very nice when someone thinks decisions you make are total nonsense, is it?’ she retorted.
Xavier’s dark eyes flashed at her dangerously. ‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ he shot back. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no fucking right to question me like this.’
Cat swallowed, realising she had obviously hit a very raw nerve.
Before she could apologise, he stalked out of the lab, slamming the door behind him.
Boy, did he have a temper! Cat thought. Could she really see herself going to Grasse with this man?
Cat headed out of the lab and sighed gloomily as she contemplated her options. She could stay at the château and be frozen out by Delphine and Leoni when she returned from England or go to Grasse with Xavier who exploded if anyone dared to challenge him. Not for the first time, Cat cursed Olivier for putting her in this situation in the first place.
Chapter Eight
Back at boarding school, Seraphina emerged from a classroom clutching some books. Checking her phone, she found she didn’t have any messages. Disappointed, she tossed her phone back into her school bag.
‘God, that was boring!’ Max moaned, sloping out behind her. He chucked his bag over his shoulder, almost smacking Madeleine in the face. ‘Who gives a fuck about history, anyway?’
Seraphina wasn’t listening and she fiddled with her hair distractedly. She found most of her lessons dull but she had learnt to switch off and think about other things when time was dragging. Thoughts of modelling and fashion kept her going if she needed to daydream, but today, Seraphina’s mind was occupied with something quite different.
‘See you later,’ Adele called as she and Felicity shot past in their gym clothes.
Seraphina raised a hand and, seconds later, her mobile rang and she scrabbled around in her bag to locate it.
‘Hello?’ she said breathlessly, turning away from Max.
He frowned, not used to his twin being secretive. Since when had she needed to hide the identity of a caller from him? he thought moodily. Barely noticing Madeleine hovering nearby, Max watched Seraphina turning pink with pleasure as she chatted to whoever was on the other end of the phone. Hearing her cagey, monosyllabic answers to whatever she was being asked, Max wondered uneasily if it was the guy from the modelling agency who’d approached her on the beach. He wouldn’t dream of admitting it but on this particular issue, Max agreed with his father for once; the guy sounded like an opportunistic pervert. Seraphina was only sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Dirty bastard, he thought angrily.
‘Who’s on the phone?’ he demanded, grabbing his sister’s arm. Whoever she was speaking to was turning her into a simpering flirt and he didn’t like it one bit.
Seraphina finished her call and spun back round to face Max. She was positively glowing and her brown eyes were sparkling.
‘Who was it?’ he repeated doggedly. His sister might be more mature and sensible than him but she was also incredibly fragile. He didn’t want some dirty old man taking advantage of her. ‘Was it that dickhead from the beach?’
Seraphina frowned. ‘What? Oh, no, it wasn’t him.’ Her mouth curved up into a mysterious smile.
Max scowled. ‘It had better not be. If he lays one finger on you, I’ll kill him.’
‘It wasn’t him,’ Seraphina insisted. ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Max.’
Max stared at her. Not once, in all their sixteen years together, had Seraphina ever kept a secret from him.
‘You’re not still thinking of doing modelling, are you?’ he dem
anded. ‘It’s not safe, anything could happen to you.’
Seraphina frowned. ‘Not you too, Max! I thought you were on my side.’ She couldn’t believe it, not her twin as well! The one person she could usually rely on to take her side, and now even he seemed to feel the need to warn her against the career she had set her heart on. Seraphina felt let down and all at once she realised why Leoni was always so resentful. It was crushing not to be taken seriously by one’s own family, especially when it concerned an important issue like a career.
‘I am on your side,’ he told her intently. ‘I just don’t want you to come to any harm.’
Seraphina shook her head in exasperation at Max’s assumption that she was too immature and gauche to handle a career in modelling and turned away to read a text message. Disturbed, Max was about to dig deeper when he felt a hand slide into the back pocket of his jeans. It was Vero, her black hair tied up in a sleek ponytail.
‘Fancy going somewhere?’ she murmured in his ear as Pierre and Thierry sidled up behind her with another girl Max didn’t know.
Madeleine stepped forward. ‘We have English next. You should stay for that.’
Max glared at her. Slinging his arm casually round Vero’s neck, he nodded, even though Vero’s unsubtle perfume was almost making him gag. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Please don’t,’ Madeleine said, putting her hand on his arm. Seeing his withering look, she removed it. ‘I-I just don’t want you to get into trouble,’ she stammered.
‘Such a good girl,’ Vero smirked as she and Max swaggered off in the other direction. ‘Go to your class, little girl. We’re off to have fun.’
Max laughed and they disappeared round the corner. Seraphina watched him with some resignation.
‘You’re wasting your time, I’m afraid,’ she told a deflated Madeleine kindly. ‘Max is . . . he has issues. You probably know our mother died a few years back . . . Max is still really screwed up about it.’ And about our father ignoring us, Seraphina reminded herself silently but she wasn’t about to spill the beans to Madeleine, whom she barely knew.
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