Heaven Scent

by Sasha Wagstaff

  As for Max, Guy thought, swerving to avoid a car that was on his side of the road, he had such an attitude – all that scowling and backchat. If he behaved like that at school, he’d get thrown out if he wasn’t careful.

  Xavier worried him too. He had gone badly downhill since Elizabeth’s death. Who would have thought he would stop working in the business the way he had? Was it really just Elizabeth’s death that had affected Xavier? Guy wondered. He vaguely remembered a woman Xavier had been seeing at the time, a stunning, sexy girl who did something arty for a living. She had disappeared around the same time they had buried Elizabeth but if it had damaged Xavier in some way, he wasn’t talking about it.

  Taking a hairpin bend at speed, Guy smashed his hand on the steering wheel. What had gone wrong with his family? They were out of control – all somehow lost and screwed up. Guy felt tears pricking his eyes and he wiped a hand across his face, hearing a loud horn as though it was in the distance. Quickly, he grabbed the steering wheel again and his eyes widened in horror as he realised he was millimetres from smashing into a sleek red Ferrari. Veering wildly to avoid a collision, Guy briefly saw the bald, ageing man who was driving the Ferrari mouthing off to his bimbo girlfriend. Shuddering to a halt, Guy felt his heart racing. That had been a close call. He had taken his eye off the road for a mere second but he had been driving so fast, he had nearly caused a major accident.

  He got out of the car shakily. He leant on the bonnet, yelping as he burnt his hand. Fuck! The Bugatti’s engine was hot enough to sear a steak on. He stared out across the Provençal countryside desperately. Why was he alone? Why wasn’t Elizabeth here to help him, to guide him towards making the right decisions for their children? Not even realising his cheeks were wet with tears, Guy stood by his car helplessly. Elizabeth was gone and he was going to have to face up to it. And somehow, he needed to figure out what it was his children needed.

  More discipline, he thought grimly as he flung himself back in the car. That was what Max and Seraphina needed, at any rate. As for Xavier . . .

  Feeling heavy hearted, Guy realised he had absolutely no idea how he could reconnect with his elder son.

  Leoni was on her way to a candle shop to meet the owner, Jerard Monville. In her sports car with the top down and an Hermès scarf fluttering behind her, Leoni looked glamorous and in control. She still felt Olivier’s loss acutely but she was determined to get on with her life and prove to her family that she was capable of masterminding her home fragrance idea.

  Leoni thought about the trip to England. It had been wonderful, and just what she had needed. Her research had gone well; visits to Jo Malone, Miller Harris and a few other stores had been both productive and inspiring. Ashton had been a good friend, listening patiently to her rants about Olivier, and Joyce and Arthur had been the perfect hosts, attentive, friendly but not too intrusive, and Leoni had eaten heartily, better than she had in a long time.

  She let out a sigh of satisfaction. She was glad Ashton had suggested the trip. It had been good to get away from home and everything associated with Olivier, Cat Hayes included. And more importantly, creative thoughts about possibilities for the Ducasse-Fleurie line had been flowing ever since the trip. Leoni’s notebook was positively bulging with ideas and sketches. She wanted to make sure her home fragrance concept had something different, something which made it stand out from other products on the market. What exactly she needed was eluding her for the time being, but Leoni was confident she would come up with a winning formula by the time she presented the campaign to Guy.

  She glanced down at her mocha-brown dress with matching heels in soft brown suede and checked that her trademark slick of red lipstick was intact before getting out of her car. Standing outside the shop, Leoni thought it looked rather unimpressive; it was small and the sign above the main window badly needed painting. But as she stepped inside the cool, darkly lit building, Leoni caught her breath.

  Candles in all shapes and sizes sat on every available surface in the slightly rounded room, and with its low, starstudded ceiling, Leoni felt as though she had stumbled into a magical cave. Behind the counter, black and white boxes were stacked up on top of one another and there were piles of glossy tissue paper in all the colours of the rainbow for wrapping.

  ‘Hello,’ said a pleasant-looking man of around thirty with light brown hair. He was wearing scruffy jeans and a black T-shirt with multi-coloured splashes of candle wax splattered from neck to hem. ‘Leoni Ducasse, I assume.’ His eyes twinkled at her in the dim light, their colour unidentifiable. ‘I’m Jerard Monville. Welcome to my shop.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ she responded formally. ‘Sorry I’m a few minutes late.’

  Jerard smiled, giving her a discreet once-over. ‘No problem at all. Would you like to see the team at work?’ He gestured behind him. ‘This place is bigger than it looks.’

  Leading the way, he showed Leoni round a small workshop which was neatly kitted out with rows of counters and shelves containing moulds of different shapes and sizes. Staff members were lined up behind counters peeling moulds away from candles and efficiently wrapping them in crisp white tissue paper. Another set of people were responsible for packing them up into boxes, which they were doing carefully but with some speed.

  ‘We’re a happy team here,’ Jerard said as he held a door open for her.

  She accidentlly brushed against him as she went into his office and, flustered, she apologised. She noticed that he had quite a Gallic nose, but it suited him.

  ‘No need,’ Jerard said with an easy grin, making it clear he’d be happy if it happened again.

  ‘Right. Good.’

  Edgily, Leoni pulled out the fat notebook she used for all her ideas and took a seat by Jerard’s desk. Her business meetings were usually conducted quickly with suited types who watched the clock even more than she did. ‘I sent you some information but, basically, candles are a love of mine. I’d like us to produce a good range of luxury items using some signature Ducasse fragrances.’

  Instead of taking a seat behind his desk, Jerard leant against it and pushed his hands into his pockets casually. ‘Sounds like a great idea. You sent me some fragrance phials a while back and I’d be interested to get your feedback on the sample I’ve knocked up. While I dig it out, have a look at this. I did some estimates based on the quantities you told me about.’

  Leoni was taken aback at how organised Jerard was. Considering how laid-back he appeared, he certainly knew what he was doing. She skimmed through the numbers and couldn’t help being impressed. To have such detailed figures, Jerard must have done a great deal of research into Ducasse-Fleurie.

  ‘And what sort of deal could you offer for orders of a much larger size?’ she asked aggressively when Jerard returned bearing a box. She felt the need to assert her authority.

  Before he could answer, a pretty brunette entered the room carrying a cup of coffee. ‘Here you are, Jerard,’ she said, handing him the cup. She was dressed in a simple yellow T-shirt and jeans that somehow looked provocative on her curves. She gave Jerard a wide smile before turning to Leoni. ‘Er, sorry. Would you like something to drink?’

  Leoni shook her head.

  ‘My assistant,’ Jerard explained as the girl disappeared. ‘Now, where were we? Ah, yes, a deal. Well, we can discuss that as and when it happens.’ Jerard pushed the box towards her. ‘Go ahead, open it.’

  Leoni lifted the lid and pulled out a bundle wrapped in snowy white tissue paper. She gasped as the tissue came away to reveal a beautiful white candle, encased in glass, with a small white and lilac label on the front. There were three wicks poking out of the top of the candle and it felt heavy and luxurious.

  ‘Wow.’ Leoni caught a waft of something familiar and moved her nose closer. The candle was imbued with the aroma of L’Air Sensuel and it smelt divine. Delighted, she looked up at Jerard with shining eyes. ‘It’s lovely . . . really. Perfect, in fact.’

  Jerard grinned. ‘Glad you like it. The de
sign can be changed – the candles can be any colour you like and any shape. Here’s a brochure. We can do it in glass, silver, trio box sets, single items in packaging of your choice . . . so many decisions.’ His eyes twinkled at her again. ‘Perhaps we should go out to dinner so we can talk about it properly.’

  Leoni almost dropped the candle. Was he asking her out? No one ever asked her out! Men tended to find her intimidating, especially when they met her to discuss business, but Jerard seemed completely at ease with her. She blushed as Jerard’s blue eyes flirted with hers. Was he genuinely attracted to her or was this just a ploy to get a better business deal? She was hardly dressed to seduce; her brown dress suited her figure but it wasn’t exactly sexy. It was professional and formal, just the way she liked to appear.

  Jerard leant forward, his expression now sober. ‘I am passionate about business . . . I’ve built my company up from nothing and it’s my life. Nothing is more important. I’d still like to take you out to dinner, if you’d like to come?’

  Leoni nodded and busied herself putting the candle and her notes into her bag. She was attracted to him; she couldn’t deny it. His passion for business, the way he talked about his company, it was exactly how she felt about Ducasse-Fleurie. Leoni faltered. She had never met anyone whose business focus matched hers . . . well, Ashton, perhaps, but he was an architect; it wasn’t the same thing. Something about Jerard’s intense gaze was making Leoni feel wobbly around the knees. Going against her staunch belief that she should never mix business and pleasure, she found herself agreeing to dinner at the weekend.

  Absurdly flattered, she left the factory on a high. Men so rarely asked her out.

  She felt buoyed up and sparkling with enthusiasm, something she hadn’t felt since Olivier died.

  Delphine put the phone down and surveyed her pristine office with satisfaction. Decorated in cool blues and greys with white furniture and its own balcon overlooking the fields to the side of the stables, it was a serene and restful space.

  Organising the event to celebrate Rose-Nymphea was turning out to be easier than she had thought and it was all coming together nicely. They had the perfect venue in La Fleurie so she didn’t need to worry about hiring somewhere at short notice and the colour scheme was easy because she could simply use the signature Ducasse-Fleurie colours, lilac and white. Several guests had already verbally accepted, even though the invites hadn’t gone out yet, and she had been able to line up a dazzling group of celebrities who happened to be in the area.

  Delphine preened, pleased with herself. In fact, if the suggestion had been made by Xavier, for example, instead of Cat, she would have been over the moon about the party. She loved creating events like this, and celebrating Rose-Nymphea was such a wonderful idea because it was an excuse to dress up and invite the rich and famous to their home. Scribbling down some notes, Delphine decided silver fairy lights would be stunning along the outside of La Fleurie and perhaps fresh sprigs of lavender could be tied together with fragrant bunches of the beautiful Romantica roses that grew in abundance in Provence in pinks and whites . . .

  Looking up, Delphine was surprised to find Yves, the private detective, loitering at her door. ‘Come in.’ She flapped her hands so he didn’t dawdle in the doorway. She didn’t want anyone spotting him and asking questions. Delphine wasn’t afraid to take control of a situation to protect her family but she had a feeling they might all think she’d gone mad if she admitted she’d hired a private detective.

  ‘You have news for me?’ she asked, gesturing to a seat and trying not to take offence at the sight of another of Yves’ shiny suits. This one had a scarlet satin lining that resembled the inside of a tart’s boudoir. Or what Delphine imagined a tart’s boudoir would look like.

  Smoothing his hair back with a smarmy smile, Yves took a seat. ‘Yes and no,’ he said mysteriously, clearily enjoying having knowledge to impart.

  Delphine, irritated by such behaviour, gritted her teeth and waited.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Yves said, flashing her a very charming smile as he took out his notebook. ‘It’s just that I did find out something very interesting about Cat Hayes.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Yves referred to his notes. ‘So far, I haven’t been able to find out anything to discredit her, as such. She was very well respected in her advertising job and she also worked at a design company for a number of years, learning about branding. Both companies had nothing but good things to say about her, even her most recent place of work, who fired her.’

  Delphine sat up, her brown eyes gleaming. ‘They fired her? Why?’

  ‘For taking too long on her honeymoon with your grandson, Olivier,’ Yves explained with raised eyebrows. ‘Hardly a major crime, especially when Miss Hayes hadn’t been on holiday for three years. By all accounts, the advertising firm has lost four major contracts since she left because the clients only wanted to work with her.’

  Delphine stiffened. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear! She had hired Yves on the understanding that he would dig up some dirt on the girl, not arrive with glowing references about her professional capabilities.

  ‘What else?’ she barked. ‘Miss Hayes must have some skeletons lurking in the cupboard.’

  Yves eyed her keenly. ‘She does, but not what you might be expecting.’ He handed Delphine a photocopy of a newspaper. ‘Her parents died when she was a teenager. Quite a horrific accident, by the looks of things. It was in Austria. They were both on a black run and there was an avalanche. Not having any other family, Cat was orphaned.’ Yves shrugged. ‘Sad, isn’t it?’

  Delphine nodded. ‘I know about this. She told me herself.’ It did at least prove that Cat was telling the truth, and that Yves was doing his job. Delphine’s mind wandered to Olivier and Leoni. They had been devastated by the death of their parents when they were in their teens and they had been fortunate enough to have a family to support them and pick up the pieces. Whereas Cat had been left all alone to fend for herself with no one else to lean on. It must have been hard for her, not having parental guidance at such a tender age, especially when . . .

  Briskly, Delphine pulled herself together. This was no time for sentimentality or unnecessary sympathy. What Cat Hayes had suffered as a teen was neither here nor there; all that mattered was finding some way to show her character to be immoral or untrustworthy, or that her marriage to Olivier was false in some way.

  ‘Did you find out anything more about their marriage?’ Delphine asked, handing the photocopy about the skiing accident back impassively. ‘That’s what I’m really interested in. There has to be some way we can prove it is not legitimate and then the problem of Olivier’s inheritance will disappear, regardless of whether Miss Hayes agrees to sign legal papers or not.’

  Yves shook his head apologetically. ‘I will look into it further but so far I cannot find anything that indicates the marriage isn’t legal.’

  Delphine frowned at something she’d seen through the window. Yves stood up. ‘Right, I’ll come back when I have more information, then.’

  Delphine waved a hand distractedly. Staring out of the window, she watched Cat strolling to the pool wearing a pair of very unsuitable denim cut-off shorts that were hardly appropriate attire in a chilly February. As she sat at the edge of the heated pool and trailed her fingers in the water, Xavier, on his way into the main house, paused and watched her. It was a brief, fleeting moment and a dark shadow crossed his face before he marched into the house.

  Delphine smiled smugly. Good. No chance of Xavier ending up the same way as Olivier. The trip to Grasse was all arranged and Xavier could pick the girl’s brains while she herself worked to ensure that Cat was out of the family for good. She felt badly for Xavier, though; he never seemed to be happy these days.

  Thinking about Xavier’s love life, an idea occurred to Delphine and she reached for the phone. It is not meddling, she told herself, knowing it was. Still, it was the best thing for the family in the long run. And as her father Maxim had ta
ught her from a very young age, family was all that mattered.

  Chapter Nine

  Excitedly clutching the details for the property in Paris in a rolled-up sheet under his arm, Ashton arrived at La Fleurie in search of Leoni. She wasn’t at her apartment or at the perfume warehouse, so he guessed she’d retreated to the safety of her office at the château. Ashton had an idea Leoni felt closer to Olivier there. Sure enough, he found her poring over some quotes for the linen spray she was designing, her hair falling forward as she frowned at the page. Behind her glasses, her nut-brown eyes looked bloodshot and tired, as if she had been toiling away at her desk all night.

  ‘Hey,’ he called softly.

  Leoni’s head snapped up. ‘Ashton! What are you doing here?’ Remembering her manners, she jumped up and kissed his cheeks, inhaling his aftershave before pulling back. She glanced at her watch. ‘Look at the time. I’ve been here since the early hours. I had this idea and I had to get it down.’ Ruefully, she smiled, realising she must look a mess. Thank God it was her good friend Ashton standing in front of her and not Jerard Monville, otherwise she’d be dying of embarrassment. There was a time when she would have felt that way about Ashton but those days were long gone.

  Ashton grinned at her. ‘Listen, I have some plans to show you. I’ve found this incredible property in Paris.’ He pulled the roll of paper from under his arm and unravelled it across her desk. ‘I think you’re going to absolutely love it.’

  ‘Wow,’ Leoni breathed as she walked round her desk, taking in every angle. There were photographs and sketches and she could immediately see how perfect it could be with the right changes and the appropriate fittings. ‘It’s stunning, Ashton! Where is it?’

  Filling her in quickly on the location and surrounding area, Ashton ran through the ideas he had for the structure and design of the interior. ‘Small shelves here, do you agree? And then a wonderful long counter that curves around this side.’ Moving round the desk to join her as he enthusiastically outlined his thoughts, he pointed to the ceiling. ‘And stunning lights here . . . something like this, I thought.’ He showed her a photograph of some magnificent chandeliers with elegant teardrop crystals.