Heaven Scent

by Sasha Wagstaff

  Leoni looked up his website. Jerard wasn’t just quite successful, he was a self-made millionaire, she thought with a gulp. He might have come from relatively humble beginnings and he might dress casually in the office but he was very rich. Leoni frowned, not sure how she felt about Jerard not telling her the extent of his business. But perhaps he was just modest. After all, how was he supposed to drop being a millionaire into the conversation? And she didn’t make a habit of talking about her own substantial wealth, so why should Jerard?

  Hearing a sound outside, she looked up. It was quiet at the château; the twins were at college and Xavier was still in Grasse with Cat Hayes, by all accounts. A head poked round the door and Leoni immediately recognised Jerard’s tufty brown hair.

  ‘What a lovely surprise! Come in, come in.’ Quickly closing the internet page down, Leoni smoothed her hair and hoped her red lipstick was still in place.

  Jerard grinned. ‘Ah, hard at work, I see. A woman after my own heart.’ He leant in and kissed her, his hands moving round her waist. Leoni kissed him back, pleased that he was being so tactile.

  Pulling away reluctantly, Jerard tucked her hair behind her ears, the gesture oddly distracted when it should have been intimate.

  Leoni discreetly let her hair fall back around her chin. She hated showing her ears; she always thought they stuck out.

  ‘Sorry I’ve been so busy,’ Jerard was saying. ‘This deal is taking up all of my time at the moment. I can’t believe it, just as I meet you, my company takes on the biggest contract it’s ever seen.’

  ‘But great for your company,’ Leoni told him, delighted that he felt the need to explain himself. It was almost as if he had known she was anxious about his feelings for her.

  Jerard kissed her again. ‘You’re very understanding, Leoni. I can’t believe we’re so compatible.’ He glanced at her teetering pile of paperwork and pulled a face. ‘Don’t you just hate paperwork? My assistant files everything for me, thank God, otherwise I think I’d drown under it all.’

  Leoni frowned at the thought of Jerard’s very pretty assistant Suzanne.

  ‘Hey, I was just about to invite you to a party,’ Leoni said, changing the subject. She handed him an invitation, hot off the press. ‘My grandmother is organising it to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of Rose-Nymphea. It was an idea Olivier’s widow had, believe it or not, but I have to admit it’s a good one. It’s creating such a positive buzz about Ducasse-Fleurie, and all the attention will be fantastic for my campaign.’ She hoped her grandmother had remembered to send Ashton an invite and made a mental note to check with her. Maybe he would bring a girlfriend . . . maybe he would even bring Marianne, Leoni thought with some distaste.

  Jerard read the invitation, looking impressed. Taking out his phone, he checked something and Leoni realised he was scrutinising his calendar.

  ‘Oh no, can’t you make it?’

  ‘It’s fine. I have a big dinner the night before but it seems I’m free on this date, so I’ll book myself in right now.’ Leaning over, he gave her another kiss, noticing the lilies in the vase behind her. ‘You got my flowers, I see. Do you like them?’

  Leoni hesitated, about to say she hated lilies but she nodded instead. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Great.’ Jerard’s phone went off and, glancing at it, he let her know he needed to take it. ‘Sorry,’ he added. ‘I was on my way to a meeting, but I really wanted to see you.’

  Leoni smiled as he left. Things were on track between them; she was sure of it.

  When Cat arrived back at La Fleurie, she just wanted to disappear to her room to get her head together. She was dying to call Bella to tell her what had happened but, more to the point, she needed to get away from Xavier and the crackling tension that sat between them. The silent drive back had been almost unbearable. But they were greeted in the hall by Guy who looked suave in grey trousers and a pale pink shirt. His silver-grey hair was neat and his brown eyes lit up at the sight of them.

  ‘You’re back! Did you have a good trip?’

  Xavier nodded, not looking at Cat as he put their bags down. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He sighed to himself as Delphine appeared, resplendent in an apricot woollen suit and court shoes. The last thing he needed was his grandmother stirring things up.

  ‘How lovely to see you . . . both,’ Delphine said. ‘I do hope your trip was successful. While I remember, Xavier, a girl came looking for you while you were in Grasse. Monique, I think her name was. Pretty, but rather cheap looking.’

  Xavier looked pained. He didn’t dare look at Cat.

  ‘Therese also called many times – didn’t you have your phone with you?’ Delphine seemed determined to make him look like the gigolo Cat obviously thought he was.

  Xavier stiffly thanked her. ‘I’ll deal with my calls later, Grandmother. For now, I’d like to get unpacked and grab a bite to eat.’

  ‘I assume my passport hasn’t arrived? I need to get on to my friend about it,’ Cat muttered, about to head towards the stairs.

  Delphine reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Actually, I wanted to have a chat with you about something, if you could wait a moment.’

  Cat noticed Xavier hesitate, as if he felt he should stay. Then he clearly thought better of it and disappeared upstairs. Guy also made his exit, leaving Cat alone with Delphine.

  Cat bit her lip. A cosy chat with Delphine was the last thing she wanted right now.

  ‘So, how do you think your trip went?’ Delphine asked.

  Cat shot her a suspicious glance.

  ‘It was . . . fine,’ she provided with a frown. ‘Very . . . informative.’

  Delphine nodded slowly. ‘And how did Xavier seem?’

  Cat was beginning to feel exasperated. What was Delphine driving at? ‘I don’t know. He was happy when he was talking about perfumes, I guess.’

  ‘I see.’ Delphine’s eyes seemed to brighten and, for whatever reason, she looked satisfied. ‘Preparations for the Rose-Nymphea party are fully underway,’ she added. ‘I insist you stay for it.’

  ‘Er . . . well, if my passport arrives . . .’ Cat felt panicked. As soon as she had her passport, she intended to leave.

  Delphine waved away her hesitation. ‘Please, you must. It was your idea to mark the anniversary. Let’s call it a farewell to your time here.’

  ‘I’ll see,’ Cat muttered non-committally. Why on earth did the old lady want her to stay for the party all of a sudden?

  Up in her room, Cat began to put her clothes away in the drawers of the dresser by the door. The belt on her jeans caught on something in one of the drawers and she bent over to look inside. There, at the back, caught between the bottom and the end part of the drawer, was something small, flat and burgundy coloured. Tugging it out, Cat stared at her passport in utter amazement. Had it been there all along? Surely not. She had checked the drawers in the dresser, even right at the back . . . hadn’t she?

  Sitting back on her heels, Cat couldn’t be sure. For a moment, she wondered if someone had planted her passport in the drawer to make it look as though it had been there all the time.

  Was she being totally paranoid? Cat quickly dialled Bella for a second opinion. She was in the toilets at her work reading Heat magazine. Cat filled her in on recent events, turning beetroot as she recounted the kiss, and waited to hear Bella’s response.

  ‘Well, firstly, are you insane? What the hell did you kiss that Xavier bloke for? I know you said he was handsome but he sounds like a total dickhead . . .’ Bella sighed. ‘Or he is actually drop-dead gorgeous and you fancy the pants off him?’

  ‘No way, he’s totally infuriating. Look, I know it’s not my finest hour – can you imagine what the family would think if they found out?’ Cat shook her head gloomily. ‘Anyway, enough of that. What about this passport business? Do you think Delphine is behind it?’

  Bella made doubtful noises. ‘I don’t know, Cat. Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?’

  Cat realised she probably wa
s. ‘I’m just feeling really paranoid right now, Bel. I can’t work out who I trust here and who even likes me. It’s tough.’

  ‘The sooner you get home, the better, right?’ When Cat didn’t respond, Bella pressed her. ‘Trouble is, now that we’ve applied for a new passport, the one you’ve just found will have been cancelled.’

  ‘Damn,’ Cat said, vexed. ‘I forgot about that. Any news on the job?’

  ‘Ah, about that.’ Bella swiftly explained that the head of the company had put a freeze on all recruitment until the team had completed a campaign they were lagging behind on. ‘It’s a really stroppy client, apparently, but they still really want you to join them. Ben checked they weren’t mucking you around and they’re not at all. It just might be another month or two before they can offer you something.’ There was a rustle as Bella rolled up Heat magazine and tucked it in the back of her skirt. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. Cat?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do me a favour? Please try your hardest not to snog any other members of the family before we talk again?’

  A few days later, feeling slightly hesitant, Xavier turned the key to his lab and went in. He hadn’t said a word to anyone about returning to the lab, not Cat, not his father and most certainly not his grandmother, but it felt like the right thing to do. The visit to Grasse had unlocked a door in his mind and he was totally consumed by thoughts of perfume-making, particularly the half-finished fragrance he’d abandoned when everything went wrong.

  Well, that wasn’t strictly true, Xavier admitted to himself. He had also thought quite a lot about that kiss with Cat, that reckless, erotic, wonderful kiss they’d shared. But what was the point? Cat thought he was ‘emotionally retarded’. Xavier winced. He had no idea how to change her opinion of him without revealing everything about his love life and he really wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. Who was Cat Hayes to him, anyway? She was Olivier’s widow and he’d do well to remember that.

  He put on his white coat, a shiver of anticipation filtering through him. The coat felt like a familiar friend; comfortable, safe and like coming home. He dug out some of the formulas he had developed a few years ago before his mother’s death and went through them, discarding some and selecting the ones he kept going back to. The air became thick with aromas and he was soon totally immersed in the perfume-making process all over again. Scents of vanilla and caramel emerged, immediately summoning up childhood days spent in the family kitchen; bitter-sweet, orangey petit grain and almond blossom, reminiscent of La Fleurie in full bloom; and the distinctly oriental aroma of rich, musky jasmine.

  Angelique. Xavier grimaced, holding the phial at arm’s length before daring to inhale again. The scent of jasmine was synonymous with her and a mere waft of it brought memories thundering back into his mind. When they were together, she had drenched herself in jasmine oil and every inch of her skin had been imbued with the heavy, exotic aroma. Angelique had adored perfume with a passion; it had been one of her favourite indulgences. She had even talked about creating her own fragrance one day.

  At the time, Xavier had found her obsession with perfume exhilarating; it had almost felt as though they were meant to be together. His work became an extension of their relationship, a heady compulsion that, like Angelique, Xavier had been almost powerless to resist. It was only later that he realised her interest was merely self-serving. What she wanted was the place in society that the perfume business brought with it. For her, bringing out her own perfume was a means of introducing herself to the world in a way that might give her the accolades she felt she deserved.

  Sitting in his lab, assailed by memories, the strong, unforgettable aroma of jasmine wound around Xavier’s throat and almost choked him. This was the woman who had crucified him emotionally. If he was ‘emotionally retarded’, Angelique was the reason. She had destroyed him just after his mother had died, hurting him more than any other woman in his life had before. Xavier couldn’t bear being reminded of her. Revolted, he tossed the phial of jasmine oil into the bin.

  He let out a breath. Could he do this again? Was he capable of making a new fragrance, one that would make the world sit up and take notice? It was time to turn his back on the past and embrace something new, he decided, trying to find the courage from somewhere. Finally, it felt right to let go, and this fragrance, one with not a drop of jasmine to its formula, would mark the start of a new beginning.

  Xavier pulled out the notes relating to the fragrance he’d talked about in Grasse. Yes, it was just as he’d remembered it, heady, memorable and intoxicating. The perfect scent . . . conjuring the perfect woman. Xavier knew he was an ingredient or two away from absolute perfection.

  The new fragrance needed to be special, it had to be dynamic enough to pull Ducasse-Fleurie into the modern age.

  Xavier started to jot down words as they came to him. Classy. Romantic. Sexy. Unforgettable. Timeless. Sensual. Ideas were bubbling up and he struggled to capture them all as his mind raced ahead. Beach, rain, earthy, fresh, clean. Did he need peony, gardenia or geranium? All three? Pink honeysuckle, marigold . . . moss, musk, cedar. No, none of them was right.

  Xavier suddenly believed in himself again. He felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he felt hopeful. He pulled a box of phials towards him, thinking about the scent. What was missing? What were those elusive final ingredients that would make this scent extraordinary? He would work day and night if he had to until he found them.

  A few days later, Guy received a phone call from Max and Seraphina’s college.

  ‘He’s done what?’ he shouted, almost dropping his phone. ‘Right. I’ll be there as soon as possible.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Leoni was at his side. She had been trying to summon up the courage to approach Guy about her home fragrance line which was more or less ready to present, but Ashton hadn’t been in touch much since Paris and she felt oddly put out and unsure.

  ‘It’s Max,’ Guy snapped, barely keeping himself under control. ‘He’s been expelled.’

  ‘Oh no! What for?’

  Guy’s hands were shaking. ‘Doing drugs on college premises.’ He clutched his hair, making it stand on end. ‘What the hell was he thinking, Leoni! Doing drugs . . . I had no idea. Who would have got him into drugs, for God’s sake? Someone must have made him do it – surely Max wouldn’t be stupid enough to try cocaine without being encouraged?’

  Leoni bit her lip. She remembered Olivier passing a spliff to Max once at a party and she sincerely hoped it wasn’t because of her brother’s cavalier attitude towards drugs that Max now found himself on the same slippery slope. She knew Xavier had swept many of the details of Olivier’s life under the carpet to protect their feelings – hers, in particular. He needn’t have bothered. She had done her fair share of secretly bailing Olivier out of many a dodgy situation; she was all too aware of her younger brother’s more dubious habits.

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ Leoni asked.

  Guy shook his head. ‘I’d rather go alone, thanks.’

  The drive to the school did nothing to calm Guy and he stormed to the head’s office where he found. Max lounging in a chair like the obstreperous teenager he was. His dark hair was a mess and there were shadows under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week and for a moment Guy faltered, alarm replacing his anger.

  What could be so wrong in Max’s life that he had ended up like this? Guy wondered anxiously.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Max stated morosely, folding his arms in the universal gesture of defensiveness.

  Guy’s rage returned. ‘Of course it wasn’t,’ he fired back with steely sarcasm. ‘It never is, is it?’

  ‘Monsieur Ducasse,’ said Madame Muret smoothly. ‘I think it’s important for you to know that Max has apologised for his mistake.’

  Max glanced at her in surprise. He had done no such thing! He half wished he had apologised but he couldn’t exactly do anything about it now.

  Madame Muret pus
hed a seething Guy into a chair opposite her desk. ‘I think we all need to take stock of the situation,’ she began, feeling the need to give Max a fair hearing. What he had done was unforgivable but the family had been through an awful lot recently. She wondered why Guy’s face was slowly turning pale.

  ‘Perhaps I have been a little hasty, talking about expulsion,’ Madame Muret added, frowning at him over her glasses. Honestly! Here she was, doing her best to put things right and all Guy Ducasse could do was stare over her shoulder like a man possessed. What was so interesting beyond her window?

  Max, too, had seen something He stood up abruptly and his mouth fell open. ‘No way,’ he gasped. ‘Seraphina . . .’

  ‘She’s not . . . tell me she’s not doing that,’ Guy gibbered, rising out of his chair slowly.

  Madame Muret whipped her head round. Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she saw what they were looking at. Cantering round the front lawn on one of the college’s best chestnut mares was Seraphina. But that wasn’t what had Guy ashen and Max open mouthed.

  Seraphina was completely naked, her pale skin stark against the dark flanks of the horse. Only her platinum-blond hair stopped the scene from being a centrefold shot. Her small breasts were bouncing, popping in and out of sight as she turned the horse sharply as though she was on a polo pitch.

  Some senior officials were just finishing a tour of the college and were being shown back down the driveway. They stopped as one and gaped. They were soon joined by a crowd of teenagers who shouted and pointed. Madeleine was there, as well as Vero and Max’s friends. Teenagers started flooding out of the building, followed by disgruntled lecturers.

  The window to Madame Muret’s room was open and Seraphina came trotting towards it.

  ‘If Max is being expelled then so am I!’ she yelled spiritedly.