‘Everything,’ he snarled at her. His lips were inches from her face and he stared down at her semi-naked body for a moment. Tearing his eyes away, he met hers unflinchingly. ‘And you know it.’
Angelique tore her arm free from his grasp, her cheeks stained red. ‘Fuck off, Mason,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t you dare ruin what I’ve set up here! There’s more at stake than just Xavier Ducasse. You have no idea what I have planned.’
With that, she stalked back to her room, leaving Mason clenching his fists impotently.
Arriving breathlessly at the building in Paris, Leoni was disappointed not to find Ashton there. She had already tried his apartment but no one was home so she had assumed he might be at the property. She glanced down at herself, feeling foolish – for once, she had abandoned her black dresses and had donned a pretty green one that made the most of her slender figure and boyish cleavage. She suddenly felt incongruous and vulnerable without her usual uniform. Also, she had no idea why she’d made such an effort. Ashton wasn’t around and the building looked to be under renovation with dust flying everywhere. Work was clearly underway – inside, builders were banging and crashing and there was plastic sheeting and scaffolding wrapped round the front. On the ground was a large sign covered with bubble wrap and, holding her breath, Leoni lifted the wrap to look underneath.
‘Ducasse-Fleurie Perfumes’, the sign said in distinctive, flowing writing. Leoni’s heart skipped a beat. Ashton had acquired the property! Why hadn’t he told her about it? She flushed. Maybe because they were barely speaking any more.
Feeling upset, Leoni wondered how things had got to this stage. How had they let such a good friendship fall by the wayside? Too much focus on work, for a start, and also her relationship with Jerard, Leoni admitted guiltily. Jerard was now in Japan, finalising the details of the deal that had interrupted him at the party and no doubt looking for even more business. They had spoken several times on the phone and Jerard had sent flowers, chocolates and even a stunning diamond bracelet – the packet that had arrived before her departure to Paris. Leoni glanced at it on her wrist. It was stunning but it was no substitute for the real thing.
She still couldn’t believe they hadn’t slept together. How had there not been enough time for such an important event to take place? Shouldn’t they be desperate to rip one another’s clothes off and tumble into bed? They were young, they had their own apartments and they should fancy the pants off each other at this early stage in their relationship. Leoni knew this was something they needed to talk about when Jerard returned from Japan. She needed him to know what she wanted from the relationship, that however much she cared about business and work, she wanted more than that.
Stepping inside the building, Leoni asked one of the builders about Ashton’s whereabouts. She added that it was a personal visit, lest they think she was some sort of building official, but no one seemed to know anything. Not sure what to do next and beginning to think she had been hasty turning up in Paris without letting Ashton know first, Leoni turned to find a glamorous redhead watching her.
‘Is Ashton around?’ the woman asked, her keen green eyes running over Leoni with interest.
‘No, I was looking for him myself.’ Leoni stared at the woman, realising she was Marianne Peroux.
‘I am Marianne Peroux,’ the woman confirmed, smiling as she held out a hand with scarlet-tipped fingernails. She winced as some concrete fell next to them. ‘We don’t have hard hats – let’s go outside.’
Leoni followed Marianne, taking in her sleek appearance. Wearing a red dress with narrow shoulder straps and a full skirt, her figure was womanly and curvaceous. In spite of her green outfit and heels, Leoni felt rather drab and unfeminine by comparison. She could see exactly why Guy – and even Ashton – might have been captivated by her. Marianne was difficult to ignore; even in a shop full of building work and noise, she stood out like a colourful butterfly. Leoni had no idea why but the thought of Marianne and Ashton together suddenly seemed like a horrible idea. And not just because Marianne had been after the building.
‘Leoni Ducasse,’ Leoni said, remembering her manners and holding her hand out.
So this is the infamous Leoni Ducasse, Marianne thought to herself in surprise. She inspected Leoni from head to toe, not bothering to hide her stare. Goodness, but she was plain! The glasses she wore did nothing to enhance her looks and the chin-length bob emphasised rather than hid the strong jawline. Her petite, slender figure no doubt lent itself to French fashion, which seemed to be designed for small children, Marianne thought disparagingly, thinking of her own ample hips, but Leoni was certainly not what she was expecting.
It must be sickening for her that the rest of her family were so startlingly attractive, Marianne decided, slightly affronted that Ashton had rejected her in favour of this plain child. He was a gentleman, of course, but still, he must love this girl very much to turn down free sex with her.
Did she love him back? Marianne wondered. She wasn’t sure. Ashton had mentioned a boyfriend but there was something in Leoni’s eyes, a yearning, that suggested maybe she felt something for Ashton. Or maybe she didn’t know it yet, Marianne guessed astutely. She shrugged; each to their own. Still, thoughts of Ashton’s rejection, as well as Guy’s all those years ago, flooded into her mind and she couldn’t resist meddling. Just a little.
‘I was hoping to find Ashton here so I could thank him,’ Marianne explained to Leoni chummily, her green eyes alight with mischief. ‘I really hoped to purchase this building, you see, but we managed to find a way to accommodate one another.’
‘Really? That’s . . . er . . . that’s great.’ Leoni’s stomach shifted uneasily.
Marianne smiled at Leoni, unable to help toying with her the way a cat did with a bird caught in its paw. ‘He made a huge sacrifice, and I appreciated it so much, I let him have the building.’
‘I see.’ Leoni was beginning to feel a little sick. She really should have had more than a black coffee on her flight to Paris.
Marianne ran an idle hand down the skirt of her dress, the gesture somehow suggestive. ‘I wanted something he had and he gave it to me.’
What did she mean? Leoni swallowed.
‘It was a very satisfactory arrangement all round,’ Marianne added for good measure. ‘Satisfying and very, very enjoyable.’
Her meaning was clear, leaving Leoni in no doubt as to the kind of transaction that had taken place. ‘Did you . . . did you sleep with Ashton?’ Leoni was taken aback to find her voice croaking slightly.
‘I think it would be tacky of me to discuss the details,’ Marianne murmured. ‘But suffice to say, we came to an arrangement and it worked out very well.’
She was surprised when Leoni backed away, muttering something about needing to get back to Provence. Marianne had assumed Leoni would be like Guy; tough, unapologetic and totally in control. Even Ashton had painted a picture of Leoni as a ballsy businesswoman with an emotional deficit, yet here she was, looking as though someone had put her bunny in the furnace.
Marianne watched Leoni stumble away in her high heels, feeling oddly uncomfortable. Had she done a terrible thing? Surely not! Leoni had a boyfriend, and Ashton had said Leoni didn’t even know he existed. But something about the way Leoni had recoiled suggested she might have feelings somewhere deep down inside, which would explain her reaction just now.
‘Marianne.’ Seconds too late, Ashton arrived, looking none too pleased to see her. ‘What can I do for you?’
About to confess all, Marianne thought better of it. If Ashton and Leoni were meant to be together, they would find a way. She had told herself that when Guy left. Marianne inwardly shrugged. That was love for you; it was a cruel bitch that ate up some poor mortals and spat them out. Leoni needed to toughen up and sort her life out.
‘I have the paperwork here,’ Marianne stated, pulling it out of her handbag.
‘Right.’ Ashton sniffed the air and frowned. That scent smelt just like Leoni’s! But how co
uld that be? She was in Provence, no doubt in Jerard’s bed. Feeling a pain in his heart, he turned back to Marianne. ‘Let’s get this over and done with,’ he said in a muted voice, holding his hand out to take the papers.
Wondering if she’d gone soft, Marianne nodded wordlessly and followed him inside the building.
Wandering through the medina in Marrakech wearing a loose linen shirt and trousers, Xavier felt his senses reeling. The trip reminded him so tangibly of his mother. They’d taken the trip several times together before her death in the pursuit of exotic oils and the trip felt both sad and cathartic. Xavier was also aware that he had decisions to make back home, and his mind was all over the place as thoughts of Cat’s aquamarine eyes and Angelique’s knowing blue ones swam across one another.
A haze of heat sat around the medina which was characterised by low, terracotta houses and tall palm trees, and the honeyed smell of cedarwood hung in the air, along with the rich, sensual aromas of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. Sacks of herbs and spices lined the alleys, wafting their aromas to passers-by, mixing with the familiar smell of hash smoked by students in furtive corners.
Aware the many sellers procured their fragrances from Grasse and passed them off as their own, Xavier knew he had to go into the very depths of the souk to find the real perfume sellers. Morocco was one of the biggest producers of essential oils and the raw materials of scent but actual perfume itself was hard to come by – original versions, at any rate. Serge Lutens, the famous senteur, lived in Marrakech and Xavier could understand why. The exotic smells couldn’t fail to inspire and the earthy scents were so complex and erotic, it was impossible not to imagine them blended and wafting off warm, bare skin.
Xavier refocused his mind on what he had come to Marrakech for: neroli, one of the four essential oils that came from the orange. The other three were bergamot, which was extracted from the rind and was rich and aromatic; orange flower absolute which was floral; and petit grain, distilled from the leaves and unripe fruit, which had bittersweet, woody qualities. The process of distilling orange blossoms to produce neroli was a complicated one: the blossoms needed to be picked dry, not wet, and the leaves had to be removed. The flowers would be spread out and turned overnight, and then boiled in water to yield both orange flower water and, eventually, neroli oil which was skimmed from the top of the water.
Xavier continued through the maze of alleyways that told him he must be close to the souk El Attarin, where all the perfume-sellers were located. They sat behind white curtains that protected their precious perfumes from heat and sunlight and Xavier ducked into each one, stating his interest in petit grain and neroli. Refusing to be anointed with oily scents, Xavier stuck to his guns and sampled only the aromas he was interested in.
Passing on a bergamot petit grain which was too strong and a citrusy one that was too sharp and a dozen others that were too sweet or woody, he was drawn to one that was distilled from orange flowers and petit grain oil. It was delicate and floral, with a deliciously bittersweet heart note. Xavier couldn’t stop breathing it in. He knew he needed something rounded to complete the fragrance, a scent that wouldn’t overpower the other components but would complement it and give it an elegant edge.
Xavier found himself lost in thought as he remembered the brief he had put together a few years ago, the one he’d tailored with something – someone – very specific in mind. He hadn’t known what her face looked like or what her name would be but he had known the sort of woman he had in mind, the sort of woman who would wear a fragrance such as this. His mind flitting between Angelique and Cat, Xavier forced himself to be truthful with himself about which woman truly represented the inspiration behind his new fragrance.
Was it based on a lingering memory of something heady and sexual, something he might now rediscover should he choose to, or was it based on a romantic fantasy, set out in the brief he drawn up in a moment of sheer hopefulness, long before that woman had presented herself to him? He and Angelique had history, they had shared something so personal and intimate it was difficult not to feel drawn to her because of it. Seeing her again had brought up both good and bad memories, and even without the added complication of Cat, Xavier knew he would be in a mess because of Angelique’s sudden reappearance in his life.
But Cat . . . Cat was something else entirely. She was Olivier’s widow, but so much more than that now – almost part of the family, Xavier thought, stunned. With a flash of insight, Xavier knew without doubt where his heart lay. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get back to La Fleurie so he could make his feelings known. It had taken this journey to clear his head but now he knew exactly where he wanted to be and, more importantly, who with.
Knowing he had tracked down the perfect final ingredient for his fragrance, he made the perfume seller’s day by informing him of his identity and the quantity of the order he required. Fully aware of the need for tough negotiation, Xavier bartered expertly, having watched his mother doing exactly the same thing over the years. Securing a deal he knew his father would approve of – and his mother, if she were still alive – Xavier emerged from the souk feeling calm and triumphant. He could fax the details back to the factory tonight and be on the first plane home. He also had something else for the fragrance that always eluded him – the name. He’d been battling with himself for ages but as the realisation about who he was meant to be with slotted into place in his head, so did the name for the fragrance.
Tiredly heading back into La Sultana, the five-star hotel his family always used, Xavier was surprised when he was stopped on the stairs by Rene, the owner. He was a small man with a rotund stomach and eyebrows like the scarab beetles found in the Moroccan desert.
‘Monsieur Ducasse,’ Rene said, shaking his hand warmly. ‘We haven’t seen you here for a long time. Is your cousin with you?’
Xavier raised his eyebrows. ‘Olivier? You obviously haven’t heard.’ He quickly updated the owner who looked shaken at the news of Olivier’s death.
‘I am so sorry,’ Rene said, shaking his head sadly. ‘He was here often but when he didn’t visit for a while, I did wonder what had happened to him.’
‘I didn’t know he visited Marrakech regularly,’ Xavier confessed, realising he hadn’t known Olivier as well as he’d thought. But then, had any of them?
‘Oh yes. He stayed here a few times with his beautiful girlfriend.’ Rene nodded sagely. ‘The one he was serious about.’
Xavier was momentarily jolted. Who did Rene mean? Cat? Surely not. They’d only just met each other in the south of France – hadn’t they? Xavier began to feel rather queasy. Something wasn’t right here. Suddenly he remembered Matthieu, his climbing companion, talking about Olivier a few months ago. Hadn’t he mentioned something about a woman Olivier was serious about – one he regularly took to Morocco?
Rene frowned. ‘Maybe I am mistaken. Monsieur Olivier brought many women here. And he talked about many others. But there was one in particular. He never told me her name but he was smitten, oh yes! Said he was going to marry her one day.’
Xavier thought it was odd, even for Olivier, to bring a serious girlfriend to Morocco before marrying a perfect stranger in St Tropez, but with Matthieu and Rene saying the same thing, he realised it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Rene raised his eyebrows. ‘Did he ever marry her? He talked about her a lot, this one he was serious about.’ His mouth twisted as he tried to remember. ‘Last summer, it must have been. Yes, that was the most recent time he told me about her.’
Xavier felt relieved. Perhaps Olivier had popped to Morocco during the time he’d been in St Tropez. He was most likely talking about Cat. ‘Yes, he married her,’ he said, wincing slightly as he did so. He hated discussing Cat’s marriage to Olivier, however short lived and false it had been.
Rene asked him a few more questions and Xavier wasn’t sure if he had got his wires crossed. Rene was rambling on about Paris and about Olivier’s intentions to get married there but he must be confused. Xavier qu
ickly corrected him.
Rene looked embarrassed. ‘St Tropez, you say? Ah, my mistake, Monsieur Ducasse. Young Olivier was such a playboy, was he not? So many women . . . I must have misunderstood. St Tropez, how funny, that’s not what he told me about the wedding he had planned. Oh, well.’ Ducking his head respectfully, Rene left.
About to take a hot shower before catching a flight back to La Fleurie, a thought occurred to Xavier. It wasn’t a pleasant one but as soon as it had taken hold, he couldn’t let go of it. He did some investigating online but it didn’t really get him anywhere and he realised he might need to go back to Provence before heading off to Paris. Suddenly, things made sense and even though the final picture the hastily assembled jigsaw presented was awful, it all fitted together perfectly.
Tight lipped after his shower, Xavier snapped his battered Louis Vuitton suitcase shut and stepped out onto the balcony of his room. He stared out across the colourful vista of Marrakech, the busy streets lit up by torches and candles and the sky slowly turning from rose-pink to a seductively dusky terracotta. He caught a waft of orange blossom in the air and felt his senses collide. He battled against what his gut was telling him could be the truth, a truth he really didn’t want to face.
Xavier gripped the edge of the balcony with white knuckles. If the jigsaw he’d put together in his mind was the right one, the truth was going to come out. And it would change everything.
Chapter Twenty-One
Waking up in the flat above the newly acquired store in Paris on a partially deflated air bed, Ashton felt as though he had a blinding hangover. He knew he hadn’t, as he’d touched nothing but black coffee in twenty-four hours. He’d been working like a demon to get everything done in time for the proposed launch of Xavier’s new fragrance and he was absolutely shattered. Xavier was still in Morocco and Guy was in the process of drawing up a budget for Leoni’s home fragrance line, but there was so much to do. The building had been stripped down to a shell so a new floor and ceiling could be added, amongst other things, but frankly, Ashton was glad of the distraction.
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