The Secret Ways of Perfume

by Cristina Caboni

  When she entered the courtyard, she walked up to the door without even looking around, so lost was she in her thoughts. She rummaged through her bag for her key, and slid it into the lock.

  “Hello, Elena.”

  Cail. She looked up and there he was, a few meters away, casually leaning against the wall. The light from the streetlamp outside sharpened the angular features of his face. He had deep, dark-blue eyes, she saw, and brown hair with reddish hues. She felt her heart skip—and it was as though her mind cleared just by looking at him.

  “Finally we see each other in the light,” she said with a pleasant smile.

  Cail suddenly switched moods. In one swift movement, he peeled himself away from the wall and took a step back. His hands were buried in the pockets of his leather jacket and his expression was forbidding. Elena’s smile died. What on earth had got into him? She hadn’t meant to offend him.

  She turned the key, but it wouldn’t move. She tried again; still no luck. “Damn it,” she cursed before giving the door a kick.

  “Let me do it,” Cail said, moving forward almost reluctantly. Elena glared at him.

  “Sure you want to get that close?”

  He frowned, then glanced around. “It’s just that it sometimes bothers people if I get too close.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  But he didn’t look as if he was joking.

  Elena shook her head. “OK—look, we barely know each other, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  She could tell he’d got closer, because she heard him catch his breath. For a moment she thought about moving out of the way, or even being rude, but she was too tired to start arguing with him. She took a deep breath and the burst of anger that had seized her completely disappeared. Then she smelled his perfume again, altered this time by his discomfort and something like a hint of disappointment. She sighed, then stepped aside.

  “Fine, you try,” she said.

  Cail stretched out one hand and gave a tug on the handle with the other. At that point the key turned. The click echoed loudly around them.

  “There we go,” he said, opening the door.

  Elena walked into the main entrance hall. “Come in, I’ll make you a coffee.”

  Cail didn’t answer; he just stood there in silence, his hands back in his pockets. Elena immediately regretted the invitation. It was a stupid idea: you could see from a mile away that he wasn’t remotely interested.

  “OK, forget it,” she mumbled. “See you later. Thanks for the door.”

  “I’d prefer tea.” Cail’s deep voice resonated, undoing Elena’s worries. He flicked on the light switch. “Do you have any tea?” he asked, looking straight at her again. “If you don’t, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got some upstairs.”

  Apparently they were going to have a cup of tea together; apparently he wasn’t completely hostile. She needed to relax, Elena thought. Being on the defensive like this was doing her no good. She smiled faintly, telling him, “No, it’s OK. I think I’ve got some tea bags somewhere.”

  He seemed about to say something but then just walked over to the door of her apartment.

  “Could I have the keys?” she asked, stretching out the palm of her hand toward him.

  “Shall I do it?” Cail offered, waiting for her permission.

  Elena found herself nodding.

  “Yes, OK. Go ahead.”

  It only took him a moment to open the apartment door and then he stepped aside to let her through. Elena went inside, a little troubled. She didn’t understand what it was, but she knew something had happened between them. Acutely aware of his presence and his perfume, she walked quickly past him and over to the staircase.

  “I’ve never been in this apartment,” Cail said, taking a long look around. “It’s really interesting—the original structure is completely unchanged.” He stretched out his arm, pointing to the series of arches supported by the thick stone walls. “You see how high it is? They used to keep carriages in here. And the servants’ quarters were upstairs.”

  He kept talking, describing the architecture of the ancient building. Slowly he began to bring it to life, and at one point it was as though the walls around them had lost their layer of mold and the plaster had regained its strength.

  “It’s a shame to leave the ground floor like this,” he concluded. Elena was still watching him from the bottom step.

  “If it were mine,” she said, “I’d refurbish it and turn it into a shop—you know, a perfumery.”

  “Is that what you are?” Cail asked. “A perfumier?”

  Suddenly everything made sense. “A perfume that smells of earth and roses . . .” Perfume had an important place in this woman’s life. There was something else, Cail mused. For a moment he’d thought she was the same as everyone else. His scar wasn’t that terrible, but people are instinctively repulsed by anything that isn’t perfect. He’d got used to it over time, and besides, not everyone was his cup of tea either. When he’d felt Elena looking at him, he’d noticed her surprise and he’d recoiled, like he always did; people hated being too close to him. In general, he just needed to give them a bit more space, keep his distance, to make them less nervous. But she had amazed him again, by getting angry. Then she’d gone back to being friendly, even invited him in for coffee.

  “That’s right, yes, I’m a perfumier. For what it’s worth,” she replied, and turned to go up the stairs.

  “That’s up to you.”

  Elena looked at him over her shoulder. “How do you mean?”

  “What it’s worth, I mean.”

  She laughed wistfully. “You’re right. In the end, it’s all up to me.”

  Cail couldn’t take his eyes off Elena’s slender figure as she made her way upstairs; he liked the long blond hair swinging across her shoulders, and her frank, direct look; but what struck him straightaway was her smile. When she smiled, she was beautiful.

  Suddenly, Elena staggered. She’d reached the landing, one hand on the wall. Cail rushed up to her, taking the stairs two at a time. “What’s wrong?” he asked brusquely, grabbing her by the shoulders.

  Elena took slow, gentle breaths, and the dizziness started to pass. “Nothing—I’m just a bit light-headed. I’m probably coming down with the flu or something,” she said. But her vision was still blurry, she couldn’t breathe properly and she was starting to get really worried. She’d been feeling unwell for a few weeks now—and on a regular basis, too.

  “Can you manage?” Cail asked, still holding her up. He spotted the kitchen and led her there. “You’re pale, sit down. Where do you keep things?” He started to look through the cupboards. “A cup of tea will do wonders for you,” he added.

  “Really?” she asked, still a little fuzzy, leaning back in her chair.

  Cail saw the kettle, filled it with water and put it straight onto the stove. He found the tea bags and put one in each cup.

  “At least, that’s what my mother says. So it must be true.” He stood still and looked at her. Then he went over and put the palm of his hand on her forehead. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes.”

  He kept looking at her, as though he was analyzing her answer. Then he nodded. “It’s probably just low blood pressure. The tea will do you good.” He left her and went back to the stove, lowering the flame.

  “Were you waiting for me before?” she asked, partly because she didn’t like thinking about mothers, and partly because she was curious to know.

  “Yes,” Cail said. “I wanted to tell you I put a new lock on the terrace.”

  Elena stared at him, and the cold teeth of disappointment bit away any happiness she’d felt watching this man busying himself in her kitchen.

  “But there’s no doorbell, so I thought I’d give you my mobile number and ask you for yours. Next time you fancy looking at the stars, call
me first. I . . .” He paused. “I’m not used to having guests.” His voice was so quiet that Elena had to strain to hear him. “Anyway, you still need to tell me why you’re afraid of dogs,” he added.

  As he spoke, he took a card out of his jeans pocket and placed it on the table. “There you go,” he said, and went to pour boiling water into the cups.

  Elena didn’t know what to say. He’d waited for her to give her his mobile number. No, better than that: to exchange numbers. All of a sudden she felt lighthearted, like a naive teenager.

  “So, what happened to you? When did you get bitten?”

  Cail’s question brought her back to reality.

  “I was little.”

  He sat down in front of her, looking into her eyes. “OK, we know you were a child. Then what?”

  Elena started to smooth the fabric of the tablecloth with her fingers. She found it hard to dredge up the memory and didn’t do it willingly. It was one of those things that she preferred to forget had ever happened. Then she sighed, and the shadow of a smile emerged.

  “I was nine and I was very inquisitive. Our dog Milly—a German shepherd—had just had puppies. I didn’t know dogs were fiercely protective of their babies.” She paused.

  Maurice had told her not to go near them, but Elena disobeyed him. She waited until he was back in the laboratory and sneaked over to the basket. Milly and she were friends—surely she would let Elena hold one of her puppies? They were so cute, so chubby and soft; Elena couldn’t wait to stroke them. But when she picked one up, the mother snarled at her. Shocked, Elena instinctively held the puppy to her chest. It was then that Milly threw herself on top of her, biting her arm and then her leg.

  She couldn’t remember much of what happened next. There was a lot of screaming. Maurice was furious. Even her mother had shouted, blaming Maurice for something; then he had walked away without calling the animal off.

  The ambulance siren, the pungent smell of disinfectant, and the fear of that long night spent in the hospital, alone, were etched on her young mind. They weren’t serious injuries—the dog hadn’t sunk her teeth in—but Elena hadn’t forgotten.

  Cail put a cup of tea in front of her. Her eyes were still darker than usual; a muscle twitched on one side of her jaw. “Here, sip this slowly. It’s very hot.”

  He sensed that Elena was angry, but he had no idea why. She blew on the sweet tea, breathing in its perfume, savoring the sensation of the steam caressing her face.

  “That man,” Cail said, after a few seconds. “Who was he?”

  Elena creased her forehead. “Maurice?”

  Cail nodded. “Milly’s owner.”

  Elena put the cup to her lips and took a sip.

  “When I was eight, he married my mother. Now they both live in Grasse. He owns a laboratory that produces essential oils—roses, mostly, but tuberose and jasmine, too.” Her voice had become monotone: she almost seemed to be talking about someone else, someone who didn’t have the slightest connection to her own life.

  Cail could tell there was more to this confession. He controlled the rage that had caught him by surprise as he listened to Elena’s story. What kind of man would leave a little girl at the mercy of a dog who only wanted to protect her puppies? In such a situation even the most tame creature could become dangerous. It was a miracle Elena had come out of it with just a few stitches. Anger was coursing through him now—and it was ridiculous. He barely knew her: she meant nothing to him. But Cail had long since stopped analyzing the rationality of his own reactions. A long time ago he’d learned to accept them, and then to keep them under control. So he decided to do something for the woman sitting in front of him, trying not to brood over such a painful memory. He wanted to help her. He owed it to her, because even though she didn’t know it, she’d be the one to help him through his recurring nightmare about the crash.

  “It’s Saturday tomorrow, and I need to go out. Seeing as you’ve just arrived in Paris, I could give you a tour of the city center, if you’d like that.”

  With her hands wrapped around the still-warm teacup, Elena shook herself out of her memories.

  “That would be wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Although technically speaking, it’s not really my first time in Paris.” She smiled and shrugged. “Mind you, the previous times I was probably too little to appreciate it, because everything seems so new to me now.” The truth was, she had only vague memories of the city, and the prospect of rediscovering it with Cail filled her with joy. She thought he would make a very special guide. She stood up and smiled at him. “Yes, yes. I can’t wait.”

  Perhaps it was Elena’s enthusiasm, or perhaps it was the smile that lit up her face, making her truly beautiful, but something made Cail’s heart beat faster. He was thrown by the strength of his own reaction. For a moment, just a moment, he regretted having made the offer.

  “All right, I’ll pick you up in the afternoon.”

  He didn’t hang around but simply said goodbye then, leaving his cup of tea on the table, untouched.

  • • •

  For a long time, Elena stayed sitting at the table, wondering about herself and about this man, until she realized she was actually very tired. She picked at a plate of grilled vegetables, had a shower and decided to take a look through Beatrice’s diary. But however hard she tried to concentrate on her ancestor’s neat handwriting, the words escaped her. When her mobile rang, she already knew who it would be.

  “Hi, Monique.”

  “Hello, chérie, I couldn’t wait to hear from you. So, tell me, any news?”

  Elena bit her lip, thinking. She was tempted to tell her friend what was happening, that she kept feeling dizzy and unwell. But maybe it would be better to just ask her for her doctor’s number. “Actually, yes,” she said with a sigh.

  Monique picked up on that sigh, trying to interpret it. Then she decided she didn’t have the patience to decipher her friend that evening.

  “If you can’t deal with the situation at work, we’ll find you something else. I mean, you were right, Narcissus isn’t the only perfumery in the city.” There, she’d said it. She was sure it was the right place for Elena, but Jacques could be a real idiot. She didn’t want Elena being bullied by her former lover.

  “It’s not about Narcissus, which is actually much better than I anticipated.”

  “So what is it?” Monique asked, sounding worried.

  Elena opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. Monique already had too much on her plate: her relationship with that impossible man, her new job . . . why give her something else to worry about? Elena decided she would handle this one by herself. If the dizziness came back, she’d go to the doctor. Besides, it couldn’t be anything serious; it was bound to pass. Cail was probably right about the low blood pressure. Right now, in fact, she felt completely fine.

  “I’m going out tomorrow,” she said instead. “I’ve got a date, can you believe it?”

  Over in her apartment, Monique sat up straight in bed. “Yes, I can believe it,” she said. “Look, it was you who had so little confidence in yourself that you felt you had to make do with that chef guy.” Secretly, she was trying to hide her astonishment. So, things were going much better than she’d hoped. Soon Matteo would be a distant memory.

  “Tact really isn’t one of your strong points, is it?” Elena said. But she was too happy to take offense at her friend’s bluntness, so she let it go.

  “I say what I think—what’s wrong with that? Anyway, stop changing the subject and tell me who’s the lucky man?”

  Elena made herself comfortable between the cushions and looked at the ceiling.

  “Did you know there was a man who lives on the top floor of the building here?”

  “Now that I think about it, I do. Isn’t he some kind of researcher?” Monique racked her brain, trying to piece together everything she could remember abou
t the neighbor. “Scottish guy, yes. He grows roses . . . yes—yes, that’s it. I think he breeds them,” she said, as her mind turned over all the details and scraps of conversations she’d had with her neighbors when she lived in the Marais. “I’ve seen his roses in magazines a couple of times. He’s won prizes, you know.”

  “No way.” Elena’s eyes widened. “That’s why he’s got so many plants on the terrace. To be honest, it’s not as if I’ve seen them,” she continued, “but the scent is unmistakable. You can smell it on him, too.”

  “Shame he’s a bit odd. Now I remember his face . . . he must have been very attractive once.”

  Once? Elena bridled. “Come on, have you looked at him properly? He’s not just handsome, he’s so much more. There’s something about him that draws you in. And the perfume he wears? I’ve got no idea who created it, but it’s extraordinary.”

  Monique seriously doubted that Cail McLean put on perfume before he left the house, but she didn’t say anything. Elena sounded as if she was infatuated, and there was nothing better than a new romance for getting over a lost love. She smiled happily. From what she could remember, Cail was quite forbidding. He walked quickly, with long, confident strides. He looked out for himself and didn’t seem to care about anyone else. A bit too strange for her liking; but if Elena had smelled perfume, maybe he had changed. You never know.

  “Is he taking you somewhere nice?”

  “It’s a surprise. To quote: ‘city center.’ That’s it, he didn’t elaborate. He doesn’t seem like one to mince his words. Let’s just say he’s very concise. Did you know he’s got a telescope? He knows the names of the stars.”

  “No way. Don’t tell me you looked at them together?”

  “We may have done—I’m saying nothing.”

  Elena was laughing now. Monique hadn’t heard her sound that happy for a long time. She might have her doubts, but she knew Cail had lived in the Marais for years and that people respected him. Besides, he couldn’t be that bad, if he’d set his sights on her friend. So Monique skipped the usual advice and just asked Elena to stay in touch with a text now and then.