Heaven Scent

by Sasha Wagstaff

  ‘Well, you missed English, Maths and Art, so you must have been somewhere good.’ Max bit his fingernails. ‘Whoever he is, he doesn’t give a shit about your education, does he?’

  She pulled her jeans up discreetly, not really able to disagree with her twin. She’d been thinking the same thing herself recently. But then, her boyfriend worked strange hours so she really didn’t have too much choice when it came to arranging their dates.

  ‘Did you have fun?’ Max asked belligerently.

  Seraphina chewed her lip. Fun? She wasn’t sure if she would describe her dates as ‘fun’. Going out with someone so much older had seemed exciting at first; she had imagined being taken out to classy places, eating out in elegant restaurants, dancing, perhaps . . . Eliza Doolittle to her very own Professor Higgins, Seraphina thought with a smile as she remembered her mother’s favourite novel.

  But the reality was very different. There was the odd elegant restaurant and classy bar but there was also a lot of making out . . . and a fair amount of pressure to go all the way. Seraphina stared back at her reflection, feeling gauche and unsophisticated. Still a virgin, the thought of sleeping with someone was both thrilling and terrifying and she was only just managing to hold her boyfriend at arm’s length. She felt totally out of control and she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

  But I can’t hold him off forever, Seraphina fretted, coaxing her hair back into a ponytail. A sob caught in her throat. She wished her mother was still here so she could talk to her about it. She couldn’t exactly discuss such things with her father. Imagine the look on his face if she asked him about sex!

  Turning to Max, Seraphina wondered if she should confide in him. They rarely had secrets from one another, so he was the natural person for her to turn to.

  ‘I’ve got this . . .’ Noticing his distant expression, Seraphina faltered. Staring past her, Max was lost in thought. She had no idea what was on his mind but she sensed that now wasn’t the time to dump her problems on him. She didn’t want to worry him when he seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Snapping to attention, Max straightened and frowned at her.

  ‘Nothing.’ Seraphina shook her head and picked up her bag. ‘Haven’t we got another lesson?’

  As Max sloped off, Seraphina pushed down her worries and followed him.

  Hosting a cocktail party at La Fleurie the following day for some of her more influential friends, Delphine was in her element. Yves was due to visit again soon with an update. She contentedly sipped her Black Rose cocktail, a revival of an old-time Parisian classic made with French vermouth and blackberry cordial. She had no idea what she was expecting Yves to find but she felt certain there had to be a loophole somewhere that would remove Cat Hayes from their lives completely. The thought filled her with happiness and she smiled benevolently at her affluent friends. An eclectic group of rich wives sporting handmade shoes and husbands and exhusbands of varying importance, they were rather like a well-shod mafia; they shot victims down without preamble and thought nothing of turning on their own if need be.

  ‘What a wonderful idea to celebrate the launch of Rose-Nymphea,’ announced Delphine’s good friend Cybille, the one who had recommended Yves. ‘Ducasse-Fleurie’s signature scent, an absolute classic, in my view,’ she added in a way that suggested she was bestowing some sort of honour. She lit a cigarette airily, forgetting to ask if she was allowed to smoke inside the château.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Delphine replied, pleased, and prepared to let Cybille off for smoking indoors. ‘My little notion for a celebration is just what the family needs after everything we’ve been through.’

  Her friends murmured their sympathies.

  Guy, unaware there was a cocktail party in progress, strolled in to help himself to a glass of wine and found himself surrounded by fluttering old ladies. He wished he’d stayed in his office and cringed as all the perfumed geriatrics flocked round him in delight.

  ‘Oh, Guy, how lovely to see you again!’

  ‘It’s been so long!’

  ‘How are you managing after Olivier’s death?’

  Guy smiled with an effort. ‘I’m very well, thank you, ladies. I had no idea you were all here, actually. Do forgive me for intruding.’ He attempted to leave and found he couldn’t without being rude.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Cybille. ‘Delphine was just telling us all about her idea to celebrate Rose-Nymphea.

  Guy shot his mother a look. So she was taking credit for that now, was she? He shook his head at her in mock disapproval.

  ‘I do so love Rose-Nymphea,’ commented Cosette, the wife of the owner of one of France’s largest chain of department stores. ‘It’s always been my scent of choice.’

  Delphine frowned, well aware that Cosette had worn Miss Dior for years. A singularly inappropriate fragrance for her aged friend, Delphine felt; it was a timeless but rather powdery chypre, not something Cosette could pull off at all. Delphine also thought her friend was letting the side down by being so overweight. She watched Cosette tucking in to the miniature but highly fattening pastries that were doing the rounds and frowned. All the other women knew they were just for show.

  Cybille cocked her head one side astutely, considering Delphine. ‘Are there any new scents planned?’ she asked in a sweet voice, knowing it was a thorn in Delphine’s side that no new fragrances had been created since Elizabeth’s death. ‘It would be so lovely to report back to society that Ducasse-Fleurie has created something original.’

  Guy raised his glass cheerily at Delphine. How was she going to get out of that one?

  ‘Actually, I think there might be a few little surprises on the horizon,’ Delphine hinted coyly.

  ‘Really? How thrilling!’ Cybille declared, already taking her small, expensive-looking phone out of her pocket.

  Guy was alarmed. ‘Mother, what are you doing?’ he asked, taking her to one side. If she wasn’t careful, she would sabotage herself – and the family business.

  Delphine threw him a triumphant glance. ‘I spoke to Xavier yesterday and I heard the passion in his voice. He’s all set to create a new fragrance, I just know it!’

  Guy scoffed. The only thing that got his elder son’s juices flowing these days were gorgeous women. Guy thought it was far more likely Xavier’s new-found passion was for the pretty English girl he was spending time with, not a renewed vigour for blending aromas.

  ‘Mark my words, Guy,’ Delphine told him, supremely confident. ‘We will have a new scent to promote before the year is out.’

  Guy shook his head. ‘It can take two years to create a new fragrance, five years, in some cases.’

  Delphine dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. ‘Xavier has many half-started formulas, probably even some scents that are near completion. He just needs something to kick-start him and get him back in the lab.’

  Guy stared at her. How did she know such things about his son when he didn’t have the first idea? And why was she so sure Xavier was about to get working again?

  Guy’s scepticism turned to concern. What games was his mother playing with Xavier?

  ‘So what has been your favourite moment so far?’ the interviewer asked, practically falling into Angelique’s gravity-defying cleavage.

  Angelique considered, leaning forward and affording him an even better view. In his sixties, Robert Duland was one of the biggest talk show hosts in France and she was overjoyed to be on his show because of the profile it would afford her.

  ‘Well, Robert,’ she said with a smile, ‘I think the film I’ve just finished is one of my favourites. It’s so raw . . . so sexual.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Robert could barely keep his groin under control. If she leant any further forward, he was certain he was going to get a first-hand glimpse of her raspberry-pink nipples. Under her cream silk dress, it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra and Robert could barely concentrate on his notes.

  He cleared his throat an
d made an effort to get the interview moving. It was live and being watched by millions and if his boss didn’t stop screeching in his ear . . . ‘Do you feel you can relate to the character you play in this movie?’

  Angelique let out a throaty laugh and covered his hand with hers. ‘Oh, Robert, not really. No man has ever left me for another man! But you never know.’ Batting her eyelashes coquettishly, she gave him a ripe smile. Inside, she was aching with boredom. She was so fed up with portraying and talking about sordid sexual issues. It was about time people respected her.

  ‘I can’t imagine that ever happening,’ he told her gallantly, flattered she hadn’t let go of his hand. ‘And what’s on the horizon for you now?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Angelique finally let go of his hand but she did so with mock reluctance. She crossed her legs slowly, watching as he salivated. ‘Offers are coming in all the time, of course, but I’m feeling the need to branch out a little . . . to show my audience something different.’

  Robert wondered if she was wearing any knickers and his penis jerked at the thought. ‘I’m sure we’ll all look forward to whatever you decide to do next,’ he said, hoping she would come for a drink with him after the show.

  ‘Thank you so much, Robert,’ she simpered. ‘You’re very kind.’ Angelique tossed her blond hair over her shoulder and sparkled at the audience as the cameras continued to roll. As soon as they shut down, her expression changed and she stood up.

  ‘Do you fancy a drink?’ Robert said, his balls aching with lust. ‘Or . . . something else?’

  ‘No thank you,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘I do not fancy a drink or “something else”.’

  Stalking off, Angelique left Robert scarlet in the face and with an erection he didn’t quite know what to do with.

  ‘What a pervert!’ Angelique sniped, taking refuge in her dressing room.

  ‘You’ve had a few calls from your agent about some Hollywood films,’ her assistant Celine said. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’ She handed Angelique a note with some carefully written messages attached and consulted her BlackBerry again. ‘And Delphine Ducasse called. Several times in fact.’

  ‘Delphine Ducasse? Really? How very interesting.’

  ‘I have no idea who she is,’ Celine was saying. ‘Some deranged fan probably but I told her you wouldn’t be calling her back anytime soon.’

  ‘You did what!’ Angelique leapt out of her chair and snatched Celine’s BlackBerry from her, her dress slipping off her shoulder. ‘You don’t make decisions like that for me, do you understand? Do that again and you’re fired.’

  Celine nearly burst into tears. At that moment Angelique’s agent arrived. Mason Tyrone was an American, a big man with a hooked nose. He favoured sharply tailored, pinstripe suits and his neck was thickset, like a rugby-player’s. Mason lived in Paris because he liked it and in Los Angeles for business – he travelled between the two constantly. Angelique had chosen him partly for his reputation for ferocious negotiating and also because of her aspirations to break America one day.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Angelique as Celine made herself scarce. His voice was loud and rasping.

  Angelique gave him a withering glance, never sure whether she found him repulsive or disturbingly sexual. She had often wondered if he was gay as he seemed so unmoved by her but he was so manly and butch, she couldn’t imagine he was anything but heterosexual.

  ‘My assistant is making decisions for me and as I don’t even let you do that, you can understand why I’m annoyed.’

  Mason’s eyes darkened and he bristled at her rudeness. Angelique might be sexy but she was a bitch. He’d love to tell his most lucrative client where to go, but he knew which side his bread was buttered on. ‘Of course. I’m sure she won’t do it again. What decision did she make for you, out of interest?’

  ‘She told a very good friend of mine not to call me,’ Angelique replied tersely. Delphine Ducasse wasn’t a good friend but she couldn’t really explain the nature of her relationship with her to someone like Mason, who was nothing more than a brute in a suit.

  Angelique couldn’t help wondering why someone with Delphine’s influence liked her. Women usually despised her, especially ones of Delphine’s age. Although perhaps older women admired her for her success. Delphine obviously didn’t know the full story from her time in Provence, that much was obvious, but then only one person did. And Angelique was pretty sure he wasn’t about to tell. Nor was she going to bring it up and ruin everything.

  Angelique started to undress. ‘I’m changing my clothes,’ she pointed out deliberately to Mason. God, the man was a Neanderthal!

  Mason folded his arms. ‘So what? I have business to discuss and no time to waste. Other men might find you irresistible but I think I’ll cope.’

  Angelique pulled her dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Standing in nothing but her heels and a pair of virginal-looking, cream silk French knickers, she regarded Mason coolly, her nipples tightening as she felt his eyes on her.

  Mason’s expression remained blank, however. ‘As I said, I have some business to discuss. I’ve heard rumours of a big Hollywood film and some of the bosses at Paramount want to talk to you.’

  ‘Really? What do they need? The token French actress who’ll get her clothes off?’ Furious that Mason found her so unappealing, Angelique hooked her thumbs into the edge of her French knickers and insolently shimmied out of them.

  Mason’s expression was impassive. ‘So what if they do? It’d be madness to turn it down.’

  Kicking her knickers away, Angelique gave Mason an unadulterated view of her enviably flat stomach and the thin strip of hair she tolerated because her films tended to demand some show of adulthood. Turning away from him and exposing her smooth buttocks, Angelique wriggled into a bottle-green jersey dress.

  ‘And since when have you cared about showing your tits?’ Mason demanded in a raspy voice. ‘You’re hardly the shy and retiring type.’

  Angelique dismissed him with a flap of her hand. ‘Oh, what would you know about it, Mason? You have no idea what I want out of my career. I should fire you, really.’

  Mason rolled his eyes. ‘No one else would put up with your shit. And I know exactly what you want from your career – you want to be taken seriously. But stripping off is what you do.’ He shrugged. ‘You have a good body and you use it. End of. So what’s the problem with getting your tits out in Hollywood? No one said you had to show your fucking bush which is an improvement on what you get up to here.’

  Angelique flushed. God, the man riled her! ‘I’m just saying that it doesn’t have to be written into every contract I get given. Maybe I’m fed up with it. Maybe I want to take a different direction.’ She gazed at her reflection, touching a hand to her perfectly coiffed hair. ‘How about Angelique, the brand? How does that sound to you?’

  ‘Arrogant,’ Mason barked in response. ‘Do you really think people want that? What did you have in mind? Clothes by Angelique? Sex toys, perhaps?’

  Angelique almost hurled a bottle of champagne at him. Who did Mason think he was? He was supposed to have her best interests at heart. Instead he was like a one-man assassination crew, determined to bring her down.

  Mason’s expression softened slightly. ‘It’s Hollywood, Angelique. The big time. Maybe you’d have to do some nudity once or twice but so what? It didn’t kill Halle Berry’s career, and it won’t kill yours.’

  It was certainly tempting, and she had wanted to break America for so long. But the timing was all wrong. She couldn’t risk screwing up her opportunity with the Ducasse family, not when it might result in her being set for life.

  ‘I need to make a call in private,’ Angelique snapped. ‘Please can you fuck off, as you vulgar Americans say?’

  ‘You’ve got a cheek calling me vulgar,’ Mason growled. But he left her to it.

  Angelique dialled quickly. ‘Delphine! How lovely to hear from you,’ she purred. ‘Yes, I have five minutes. Please go a
head.’ Listening intently, her mouth curved into a smile as Delphine outlined her proposal.

  She had been desperately trying to think of a way to get back into the Ducasse family fold and now Delphine Ducasse, the woman who had, mysteriously, always approved of her, had solved the problem for her.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she told Delphine, agreeing instantly. ‘Yes, really. I can’t wait.’ She finished the call and handed the BlackBerry back to a trembling Celine who had reappeared. Angelique could tell her assistant was worrying about losing her job.

  ‘You are forgiven,’ Angelique told her curtly, ‘but don’t ever do that again.’

  So grateful she was moved to tears again, Celine shook her head. ‘I won’t.’ She wouldn’t; all her friends envied her for her spectacular job. ‘Um . . . did you tell Mason you’d start the Hollywood talks?’

  Angelique shook her head. ‘No. I’ll be in the south of France for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘The south of France?’ Celine looked bemused.

  ‘That’s right. Now get me a glass of Veuve Clicquot.’ Angelique crossed her legs and stared into the distance. It had been a long time since she’d been at La Fleurie and she could barely wait to get back. It didn’t matter what offers she’d had from across the pond; there were more important things at stake. How lucky that Delphine had phoned when she did.

  Chapter Eleven

  Leoni headed into the restaurant to meet Jerard. She liked his choice; it was cosy but smart. She was due to fly to Paris the following morning, the flight booked purposefully so she had a good excuse to get home at the end of the night. It was important not to let Jerard think she was a pushover.

  Wearing a classic black Dior dress with a scooped neck and a low back, Leoni felt sexy for the first time in ages. She wore high heels and sheer black stockings but she kept her jewellery chunky so she looked on-trend and chic. Leoni had debated wearing contacts but decided not to bother; she didn’t want to look as though she’d tried too hard. She’d also decided against taking a car so she could drive herself – another way to ensure she didn’t get too drunk and make a fool of herself.