The Summer House of Happiness

by Daisy James

  Gabbie offered Marianne a sympathetic smile, yet she crossed her fingers that Monsieur Gasnier was saving his effusive praise for the perfume in phial number four, the one she had sweated blood and tears over – literally. Her offering was a blend of jasmine, mandarin, green leaves and linen fragrances, melded together to suggest that ‘just out of the shower’ freshness for the summer months.

  The next perfume was Jean-Pierre’s masterpiece. Gabbie mouthed ‘good luck’, but Jean-Pierre’s dark gaze remained glued to Jules’s facial expression as he inhaled a deep breath, taking the aroma deep into his lungs. As they all waited with bated breath, blades of golden midday sunshine sliced through the skylights overhead, but not one person was interested in anything other than the imminent pronouncement. Gabbie’s heart pounded so hard against her ribcage that she thought Monsieur Gasnier would hear it and send her out of the room with a vicious reprimand for disturbing the creative process.

  ‘Do I detect pink peppercorn?’

  Jean-Pierre flicked a quick glance at Marianne before stepping forward from the line, his eyes widening with excitement. ‘Oui, Monsieur…’

  ‘And narcissus?’

  ‘Oui, Monsieur,’ repeated Jean-Pierre, his voice climbing an octave. Unfortunately, Monsieur Gasnier was clearly immune to the electricity of hope that sparkled from every pore in Jean-Pierre’s gym-honed body.

  ‘I thought so. This concoction of swamp water is nothing more than a poor imitation of last year’s L’Amour Antique, do you not think? It would be commercial suicide to replicate something that already forms part of our range. Please remove this from my presence! Next!’

  Heat flooded Jean-Pierre’s cheeks as he grabbed the glass phial and ran from the room to nurse his shattered dreams. The third perfume belonged to Fleurette. By this time, Gabbie felt as though her chest had been invaded by a gang of marauding monkeys and she struggled to control a sudden bout of trembling.

  ‘Mmm, this one is interesting… very interesting. Humour me. Did I ask for snow-topped mountains and cosy log cabins as the inspiration for our summer fragrance? Anyone? Non! Do any of my employees actually listen to me? Eh?’

  Monsieur Gasnier threw up his hands before eyeing the final glass tube with disdain. Gabbie tried to quash her rampaging emotions but found her throat was dry and constricted. Her breathing had become shallow and she began to feel lightheaded, as if she was about to spontaneously combust. She watched him lift her precious fragrance to his nose – the nose she knew was insured for over two million euros – before closing his eyes and puckering his lips in avid contemplation.

  ‘Who is the creator of this parfum?’

  ‘I am, Monsieur.’

  ‘Fetch me a bottle of frangipani oil!’

  Gabbie stared at her boss, shocked at his abrupt tone of voice and the way he tapped his foot impatiently on the marble floor, palm outstretched as he rolled his eyes at the time she was taking to respond to his order.

  ‘Go on! What are you waiting for? Chip chip!’

  Fortunately, Marianne defused the burgeoning tension by handed Jules Gasnier the oil he had demanded and the three women stood silently, watching as he added two drops of the precious liquid to Gabbie’s phial, then inhaled a second time.

  ‘Ahh, l’arme d’été. C’est presque parfait!’

  Gabbie’s stomach performed a somersault of excitement. Was this her chance? Would she now be permitted to introduce her summer fragrance to House of Gasnier’s customers, to reconnect with the people she made her perfumes for, to reignite the passion that had been waning over the last few months while she had been confined to the lab? She managed to find her voice but when she spoke it was as though someone else was talking. ‘Merci, Monsieur Gasnier, I…’

  ‘I said almost perfect. There is still a great deal of work to be done before this parfum can take its place alongside its peers. However, I am prepared to allow you the opportunity to work on its enhancement, mademoiselle. You will present yourself at nine a.m. on Monday morning at our headquarters on Rue de Rivoli.’

  ‘Rue de Rivoli? In Paris?’

  ‘Oui, à Paris!’ Monsieur Gasnier tutted and rolled his eyes at Marianne. ‘I anticipate your relocation will be for an initial period of three months, during which time you will be working in our on-site laboratory as part of our award-winning perfume development team.’

  Gabbie knew she should be feeling euphoric. Jules Gasnier had chosen her perfume for the summer collection! Wasn’t that what she had wanted? Why she had temporarily crammed her most fervent wish to spend more time with their customers into the box labelled ‘To be dealt with later’? She could see the delight written across Marianne’s face, and the broad, excited smile on Fleurette’s lips needed no translation, but she shared neither of those emotions.

  ‘I must warn you, however, that your focus on this project must be absolute; there will be no time for the frolics I have no doubt you and your friends enjoy down here on the Cte d’Azur!’

  ‘Will I have the opportunity to work with any of House of Gasnier’s Parisian customers? To gather feedback as the perfume is developed?’

  Jules Gasnier looked scandalised at the audacity of her question. ‘Non, you will not! We have a separate team who will carry out this task. Your skills will be required solely in the laboratory.’

  The conflicted feelings that had been brewing since Gabbie woke that morning rushed to the surface and something inside her snapped. While she loved creating perfumes, much more important to her was interacting with the customers she created the fragrances for; taking the time to understand their hopes, their dreams, their innermost desires, so she could blend the perfect combination of aromas that would lift their spirits, just as she had done for her mother during the most difficult period of her life. How could she continue to conjure up amazing fragrances for House of Gasnier if she was constantly denied contact with the very people who would be enjoying her creations?

  She sensed she stood at a crossroads, peering into a future that held differing options. She had no idea what to do and a helix of panic began to curl through her abdomen. She glanced at Marianne and suddenly knew the question she needed to ask herself.

  What would her mother have done if she were standing in front of Jules Gasnier, the man who was glaring at her with such patent dislike? She didn’t have to try very hard to come up with the answer and immediately a sense of calm suffused her whole body. If staying at House of Gasnier meant she had to ditch her long-held dreams as well as risk losing her passion for something she had loved since she was a child, something that was as much a part of her as breathing, then it was too high a price to pay.

  ‘Thank you for your offer, Monsieur Gasnier, but no thanks.’

  ‘No thanks?’ spluttered Jules Gasnier, his eyes bulging from their sockets in disbelief and his expression darkening with repressed anger. ‘No thanks? No one in the history of House of Gasnier has ever rejected such a prize! I will not permit it! If you do not accept this position, I will fire you!’

  ‘No need. I quit!’

  Chapter Two

  No one spoke, everyone just stood motionless, jaws slackened in surprise, waiting for the verbal fireworks Jules Gasnier was famous for to erupt. Gabbie tried to leave the room but her feet felt like they were encased in concrete and refused to obey what her brain was desperately trying to tell them to do. She held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity and saw his surprise morph into fury and finally display a sprinkling of malice. While she knew she should get out of the firing line as quickly as possible, she couldn’t ignore her mother’s voice reverberating in her ears, telling her to stand her ground, to explain the reasons for her decision.

  ‘Monsieur…’

  ‘Get out! Get out of my sight, mademoiselle. You will not remain at House of Gasnier for one moment longer!’ he snarled, clearly taking her impromptu resignation as a personal insult and not in the slightest bit interested in hearing her explanation. ‘Did you hear me? Out! Now!’

/>   This time, Gabbie’s feet responded immediately and, with a swift glance in the direction of a very shocked Marianne, she strode from the room, a sensation of lightness, of freedom, rushing through her veins, a thrill of elation settling in her chest. For a brief moment she felt the presence of her mother, smiling at her side, congratulating her on her decision to pursue what made her happy – creating bespoke aromas for real people. She had the training, she had the contacts, but she also had something she had come within a whisker’s breadth of losing – her passion for perfume!

  She paused briefly at the end of the pristine white marble corridor to catch her breath and the dulcet tones of Jules Gasnier floated to her ears.

  ‘Marianne, please ensure that imbécile does not show her face here again! She is finished in this industry – I will make sure of that. Nobody quits House of Gasnier!’

  Gabbie’s mood swiftly plunged from the heights of euphoria to the lows of panic. What on earth was she thinking? She had no pot of gold with which to purchase the essential oils needed to start such a business. And without her salary, how was she going to pay for her half of the rent on the little attic studio she shared with Jasmine? An explosion of alarm ricocheted through her body and she only just managed to make it to the bathroom before a wave of nausea enveloped her.

  Seconds later, Fleurette burst into the room, concern etched on her attractive features. She reached for Gabbie and pulled her into a rib-crushing hug.

  ‘Oh, darling! What just happened? Why did you quit? Are you okay?’

  Before Gabbie could connect her brain to her modem and even begin to explain the thought process that had caused her sudden loss of sanity, she heard raised voices coming from the other side of the door. She had to concentrate hard to understand what was being said as the exchange was conducted in rapid, irate French.

  ‘Jules, I implore you to give me the chance to speak to Gabriella, to find out what…’

  ‘Marianne, ma chère, I think you know me better than most, so let me ask you this. Can you recall a time in the last twenty years when I was persuaded to change my mind about anything? Mmm? Non! Jamais! I will interview Hélèna’s replacement myself.’

  ‘It’s Gabriella. Jules, please…’

  ‘Au revoir, Marianne.’

  And a sharp clickety-clack signalled the exit of Jules Gasnier from the corridor – and the House of Gasnier from Gabbie’s life. She looked at Fleurette and almost crumbled when she saw the sympathy in her eyes. They both knew Marianne had put her own career on the line to argue Gabbie’s case, and she experienced a surge of gratitude towards her mentor, swiftly followed by a whoosh of shame for letting her down so spectacularly. She should have taken the time to do things properly. Oh, God! Why hadn’t she insisted on staying in bed that morning? The way she had felt, she should have known something like this would happen.

  ‘Chèrie! Are you in there? Prepare yourself – I’m coming in!’

  Jean-Pierre flounced through the door, his arms in the air as he advanced on a surprised Gabbie and forcibly dragged her to his chest, enveloping her in a rich cloud of the heavy, woody cologne he favoured, which was soothing in its familiarity. Marianne followed swiftly on his heels.

  ‘Jean-Pierre, this is the ladies’ cloakroom! Please vacate immediately!’

  Jean-Pierre opened his mouth to argue, then rolled his eyes and strode towards the door, clearly reluctant to miss any ensuing conversation about what Gabbie intended to do next. Marianne waited until the door had swung shut before turning to face Gabbie, her face pale beneath her immaculate cosmetics.

  ‘Gabbie, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how surprised I am. Tell me, chèrie, is this an aberration because of the stress of this day, or something that’s been fermenting for a while? If it is the former, I will do everything in my power to argue your case with our personnel department, but I have to warn you… Monsieur’s word is usually interpreted as law so I am pessimistic about the outcome. If it is the latter, rest assured I will provide you with the most excellent of references, should you require them.’

  ‘Thank you, Marianne.’

  Gabbie gulped down the emotions spinning through her chest and assured her friend that her decision to quit, while probably not tendered at the most opportune of moments, was something that had indeed been festering for a while.

  ‘The thought of spending eighteen hours a day in a lab, disconnected from our customers, was never part of my dream. I’m sorry, Marianne. I will always be grateful for everything you’ve taught me, but it’s time for me to move on. If Monsieur Gasnier is serious about his threat, then it looks like my future career will not be in France!’

  As the realisation dawned that her sojourn in the perfume capital of the world had come to an end, tears collected along her lower lashes, but she brushed them away, uncomfortable with the sympathy on her colleagues’ faces. She knew her reaction was just the shock of everything that had happened that day rather than regret at her decision.

  ‘I suggest you go home and spend a few days pondering your next step. If I can help in any way, please just ask. Fleurette will accompany you.’

  ‘No, there’s no need. Jasmine will be there – it’s her day off today and she’s waiting to hear about… well, about what’s happened. I’ll be fine, and thank you for intervening on my behalf. It was very kind of you.’

  ‘I did nothing you didn’t deserve.’

  Gabbie followed Marianne and Fleurette out into the corridor where Jean-Pierre loitered, looking almost as distressed as she felt. She leaned forward to deposit kisses on his cheeks, unable to formulate words of goodbye for fear she would succumb to a deluge of sobbing. She hugged Marianne and Fleurette and, with mixed emotions and a final wave, left the cathedral of fragrant dreams on the Rue de Bouvier for the final time.

  It was lunchtime and the pavement cafés buzzed with hungry diners in search of a tasty morsel and a little something to wash it down with. To Gabbie, this part of the town had always seemed to be bathed in a splash of gold, lighting up the shops and restaurants with warmth and welcome. In these picturesque surroundings, she really should have taken advantage of the glamorous social whirl Jasmine seemed to be consumed by, but she’d become so engrossed in her work that she’d had little free time.

  Initially, that had suited her fine because she wasn’t in France to gather a wide coterie of like-minded friends with whom to party the night away, only to crawl into the lab the next day to find solace at the bottom of an espresso cup. In fact, the fewer people she let into her life the better as far as she was concerned.

  She’d had a number of dates, the most persistent being motorbike fanatic François, but as soon as he’d suggested moving their relationship on to the next level, she had panicked. She’d explained that it wasn’t him, it was her, and refused any more trips along the Corniche on his Harley Davidson. After that she had limited her increasingly infrequent liaisons to just three dates before gently explaining that things weren’t working and suggesting they might want to take someone else to the beach party in Antibes or the cocktail party on their father’s yacht. Occasionally, there had been a guy whom she had thought she could connect with on a deeper level – Rafael for example. But the shattering truth was that loving someone meant getting hurt when the inevitable happened – and top of her list of life skills was self-preservation.

  She wished her attic lodgings were further away so she had more time to process the events that had taken place at House of Gasnier that morning. But before she knew it, she was inserting her key into the sunflower-yellow front door and collapsing onto the vintage sofa Jasmine had acquired from the brasserie downstairs when it was being renovated.

  ‘Hey! You’re back early! How did it go? Am I looking at the new Coco Chanel? What did Monsieur Gasnier say about your fragrance?’ burbled Jasmine, appearing at the door in a pink silk peignoir before heading straight to the fridge for the bottle of champagne she had hidden there the night before.

  As tall
and slender as a shop-window mannequin, with a choppy, pixie-style haircut that emphasised her sharp cheekbones and ski-slope nose, Jasmine really should have considered a career in fashion rather than as a part-time hostess at the casino in Cannes. Gabbie struggled to understand her friend’s choice, especially when she had graduated top of their class at GIP. Instead, Jasmine had elected to follow her heart and apply as much of her time as possible to following her wealthy boyfriend around the globe as he competed in every yacht race known to the nautical world in search of his elusive first win.

  However, as Jasmine often told her, winning was not the point – it was the taking part, especially in the fabulous locations where these races seemed to be held. Marco was chasing his dreams without so much as a backward glance and was one of the most cheerful and generous people Gabbie had met in France – not to mention the fact that he made Jasmine happy too.

  ‘You don’t need to open the champagne, Jazz, but thanks for the thought.’

  ‘Why? Did the famous Jules Gasnier have a spectacular lapse of judgement and choose someone else’s fragrance?’

  ‘No, it’s not…’

  Gabbie was suddenly ambushed by a wave of emotion and struggled to formulate a brief synopsis of how she had tossed her future away in the space of five minutes.

  ‘Gabbie, what’s wrong? Tell me! What’s happened?’

  The fear in her friend’s voice brought Gabbie to her senses. Whatever had happened, it was not the end of the world and no one had died. In fact it was the opposite; it was the beginning of something new, something fresh and exciting! She quickly spilled out every detail of her early morning drama in the presence of the eponymous head of the company she no longer worked for.