Heaven Scent (16 page)

‘I like the way they’re divided up into home, luxury and travel,’ she commented to Ashton as she picked one up. ‘By doing that, you’re covering all angles, from an affordable, everyday luxury to a more extravagant treat at home or abroad. Fruity, citrus and floral – something for everyone.’

Ashton sniffed one. ‘Have you arranged a meeting with that candle-maker chap yet?’

Leoni shook her head. ‘No, I must do that. Guy wants to see samples and Jerard is supposed to be one of the best so I’m sure he can create something beautiful to show off my ideas.’

They wandered around the shop together, inhaling the scent of zesty linen sprays and ‘Living Colognes’ in sensual Amber and Sweet Orange and heady Blue Agave.

‘The perfume you have on today would be good in one of these,’ Ashton said, gesturing to a candle. Looking up, he caught the surprise on Leoni’s face and flushed slightly. ‘You . . . often wear it,’ he explained, wondering if he’d made a mistake. ‘Don’t you?’

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right, it would make a lovely romantic candle, wouldn’t it? We could promote it that way, maybe with a book of matches with the Ducasse-Fleurie monogram on it . . . or maybe a silk flower.’

‘Sounds good. Maybe instead of marketing the candles in terms of where they’ll be used, you could focus on the mood,’ Ashton suggested. ‘You know, romance, relaxing, that sort of thing.’

‘Genius,’ she exclaimed. ‘As you would say. Hey, I thought you were just coming along for the ride. I didn’t realise architects knew about marketing.’

Ashton laughed. ‘We don’t. I just had a moment of brilliance, that’s all. Make the most of it.’

They mooched around the shop and then Ashton hurried Leoni outside. ‘We need to jump on the train,’ he said, checking his watch and turning up his collar.

The journey slipped by in companionable silence, with Ashton responding to messages on his phone and Leoni leafing through the brochure she’d picked up in Jo Malone. In Surrey they caught a cab. Leoni enjoyed the scenery as it zipped past the windows, even though it was almost dark. With its wide expanses and interesting green and brown tones, it was very different to Provence but she liked it. Ashton’s parents’ house, which she hadn’t visited before, was neat and understated. It was also tiny compared to La Fleurie, but then, most places were, Leoni acknowledged wryly. The Lyfield residence was cosy and welcoming and that was the main thing.

‘Leoni, how wonderful to see you again!’ Joyce Lyfield, Ashton’s mother, bustled forward, wiping her hands on an already floury apron. ‘Gosh, it’s been so long, darling, five years maybe, since we visited you and the family in Provence?’

Leoni kissed her cheeks politely, letting out a squeak as Joyce hugged her enthusiastically. This wasn’t what she was used to; at La Fleurie, everyone was so self-conscious and painfully formal. Leoni wasn’t sure if it had always been that way but she certainly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her a rib-crushing bear hug.

‘I’ve been baking all afternoon,’ Joyce was saying as she took Leoni’s coat and led her to a comfy armchair by a lovely period fireplace. ‘I’ve made some cheese scones, some cupcakes and, if I say so myself, a very tasty banana loaf.’

Ashton’s father, Arthur, a nice-looking man in his fifties, rolled his eyes. ‘The kitchen looks like a bloody bombsite,’ he chided, giving his wife a wink. He shook Ashton’s hand heartily, delighted to see him after such a long time. ‘
Really
good to see you, son. Still loving Paris?’

Ashton nodded. ‘God, yes. You must come and visit again soon, the spare room’s all done now. Oh, and I’ve seen this incredible building . . .’ As he still hadn’t mentioned it to Leoni, Ashton took his father into another room to show him some of the photographs he’d taken on his phone.

Joyce brought a tray to the table by the fire. ‘I hope you’re hungry, darling,’ she said, slathering some butter on to a thick slice of banana bread. She gave Leoni a critical once-over, observing her thin calves. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you could do with putting on a few pounds, Leoni. I know you French women don’t eat much because you want to wear those lovely dresses – and you look gorgeous, don’t get me wrong – but I just worry about you not getting all your vitamins . . .’

Warmed by the flow of friendly chatter, Leoni took a small bite of the banana bread. It really was delicious and even though she didn’t usually eat cake, she found herself demolishing an entire slice.

‘It really is good to see you again, darling,’ Joyce said, perching her bottom on the edge of a red sofa. She placed her hand on Leoni’s. ‘We were so sorry to hear about Olivier. You must miss him very much.’

Leoni gulped, almost choking on the last of her banana bread. She nodded.

Joyce squeezed her hand. ‘Brave girl. It’s tough when you lose someone. I lost my brother when I was young. Tommy, his name was.’ She looked upset for a moment then pressed on. ‘Ash told us about Olivier’s new wife – what a shock for all of you! I do hope she’s a genuine girl and that she cared about him.’ Joyce got up and bustled around, pouring tea and fussing over Leoni. ‘I’m so excited about this home fragrance line you’re researching . . . oh, I know all about it because Ash told me. I hope that’s all right.’ She looked at her guest. Leoni smiled and, satisfied she hadn’t put her foot in it, Joyce handed her a large mug of tea.

After tea, Ashton invited Leoni out for a walk in the garden while Joyce prepared dinner. Arthur was a keen gardener; the earth in the flower beds was moist and full of freshly planted bulbs, and roses in every colour sat in large, glazed pots.

Leoni looked pensive. ‘That relaunch Olivier’s widow suggested, the one for Rose-Nymphea . . .’

Ashton stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m guessing you hate the idea.’

Leoni laughed. ‘Actually, no. I only wish I’d thought of it myself! Grandmother’s furious that Cat dared to make a suggestion about the business but Uncle Guy put his foot down so now she is arranging the biggest party France has ever seen.’ She pushed a log with the toe of her shoe. ‘Cat is still at La Fleurie. She’s lost her passport. I’d think she was making it up except for the fact that she’s been in a monumental strop ever since.’

Ashton watched as the wind lifted Leoni’s hair from her face. He realised she was still talking and forced himself to listen.

‘I feel so resentful towards her, Ashton, but I don’t know why.’

Ashton thought for a second. ‘Maybe you feel jealous of her.’ The words came tripping out before he could stop them. Seeing the colour rise in her cheeks, he backed away, laughing. ‘Bloody hell, L, calm down! I just meant that perhaps the thought that someone . . . someone who wasn’t you, I mean, spent so much time with Olivier before he died is eating away at you.’ He watched her polish her glasses on the sleeve of her dress, something he knew she did when she felt emotional. ‘You were very close, the two of you,’ he added gently. ‘It’s natural to feel anger towards Cat when she got to see him at the end and you didn’t.’

Leoni tugged at the collar of her coat with shaky fingers. ‘It’s not just that, it’s the fact that he didn’t even tell me about his marriage. I mean, we all know he was a liar but he never lied to me.’ She sniffed. ‘At least, I thought that was the case but it obviously wasn’t. I was just the same as everyone else in his eyes . . . I must have been.’ She let out a bitter laugh. ‘And there was me thinking I was special to my brother.’

Ashton didn’t know how to respond to that. What could he say? Olivier had been his best friend and he hadn’t known about his marriage to Cat Hayes either. Ashton was aware that Olivier had lied to him on several occasions but he’d put it down to Olivier’s devil-may-care attitude and had never taken it to heart. But for Leoni, he knew, it was different.

Knowing that words couldn’t make things any better, Ashton pulled Leoni into an awkward hug. As expected, she stiffened, but as he held her, she relaxed and leant against him, crying quietly into his shoulder. Ashton said nothing; he simply held her because he knew that was all Leoni needed at times like these.

‘Dinner’s ready!’ Joyce called out through the kitchen window, starting as she noticed them embracing in the garden.

Ashton drew back and, using his thumbs, wiped the tears from Leoni’s cheeks. ‘Now, do you think you can hold it together enough to eat a massive plate of my mother’s shepherd’s pie? No one likes a sissy.’

Leoni laughed, punching him on the shoulder. ‘Of course I can. Honestly, you’re so rude sometimes, I don’t know why I put up with you.’

Following her back down the garden towards the house, Ashton stared after her thoughtfully. Giving his mother a bright, warning smile, he headed indoors.

 

Slightly chilly in a pair of white trousers and a baggy beige jumper, Cat was immersed in a book called
The Emperor of Scent
by Chandler Burr. Sitting by the pool on one of the luxurious loungers, she was surrounded by books about perfume. She’d been at La Fleurie for nearly a month now and she felt the need to do something with her time until her new passport arrived. And at this time of year, Cat couldn’t imagine it would take too long now that she’d sent all the forms back to Bella.

Still feeling trapped and claustrophobic at La Fleurie, Cat couldn’t help enjoying the book she was reading. Perhaps it was because the ball was now rolling again in terms of her departure or maybe it was because Leoni was in England and the atmosphere in the house suddenly seemed less intense. Leoni was so uptight, she had a way of making everyone around her feel like a coiled-up spring as well. Delphine was also still giving her a hard time, throwing frosty looks in her direction at every opportunity and Cat was beginning to wish she could escape from the château, even for just a few days to release the tension.

She glanced down at her book again. The perfume business was fascinating and under different circumstances she knew she would really enjoy immersing herself in it. She had only happened upon the books when, furiously visiting Olivier’s headstone again, she had discovered the nearby library that overlooked the private Ducasse graveyard. On a whim, Cat had picked out three books on perfume to take her mind off her dead husband’s betrayal. As a result, she now knew about top notes, middle or ‘heart’ notes, and base notes.

She had learnt that the top notes of a scent – the
tête
or
départ
, as they were known in French – were the most volatile odours and the first to make themselves known. They then faded into the background to allow the heart notes – the heart and soul of the perfume – to take centre stage, before the base notes, the most persistent, revealed themselves. They lingered and ‘fixed’ the scent. This was also apparently known as the ‘dry down’.

Cat flipped through another one of the books she had borrowed. An ‘accord’, she saw, was a composition of harmonious notes which blended to form a perfume, and an ‘absolute’ was a term used to describe a pure substance which, once obtained and refined by rinsing in alcohol, smelt exactly like the plant from which it had been extracted. Florals, citrus, chypres, orientals – there were so many different fragrance families, all with their own unique identity. Cat couldn’t help feeling swept up by the romance of scent and its creative process.

She heard her phone beep over the sound of rustling almond trees beyond the swimming pool and was pleased when she saw a text from Bella saying she’d sent the passport forms off. Apparently, Prism, the rival advertising agency Ben had been liaising with, were putting a job proposal together for her to review as soon as she was back in England. Bella also gleefully reported that the word on the street was that Cat was sorely missed at her old job and that the ad agency had gone spectacularly downhill since she left. Who knew if that part was true, but Cat appreciated Bella’s efforts to cheer her up.

A shadow darkened the page of her book and Cat looked up to find Xavier towering over her, darkly handsome in a black shirt and jeans.

‘What are you reading?’ he asked. Picking up one of her books curiously, he raised an eyebrow. ‘You look as though you’re studying for an exam.’

She really was beautiful, Xavier thought, taken aback, and mainly because of her eyes, which sparkled and changed colour like the sea. Xavier dismissed the poetic notion. He had a job to do.

‘I’m reading up about perfume and how it’s created,’ Cat explained, realising it must seem strange that she was suddenly so interested in the family business. ‘Not so I can take Olivier’s share away from the family or anything,’ she added defensively.

‘Of course not,’ Xavier said politely. ‘Not all of us think that.’

‘No,’ Cat replied. ‘Some of you just think I’m completely mental for marrying someone I barely knew.’

‘Ah, yes . . . that.’ Xavier met Cat’s eyes, inwardly cursing the twins for letting his thoughts about her slip. He wasn’t sure how to smooth the waters. He still thought Cat was foolhardy for marrying Olivier but if he didn’t make some sort of effort to justify himself, he had no chance of getting her to come to Grasse. Swallowing a sigh, he did his best, hoping his grandmother appreciated his efforts.

‘Look, all I meant was that marrying someone so quickly comes with . . . consequences. I don’t mean because Olivier died; I mean because you can’t have known him that well. Even when you know someone intimately, they can still do something unexpected and surprise you.’ He linked his fingers together tightly. His words had conjured up memories he’d rather forget. ‘And when you don’t know someone, the only result you can count on is getting hurt.’

Cat looked away. ‘Yes, well . . . you’re right there,’ she admitted, still smarting. ‘I had no idea Olivier had so many women on the go at the same time. Runs in the family, I see,’ she added without a smile.

Xavier’s eyes became hard. ‘Well, we all have our cross to bear.’ He felt his temper rising but reined himself in, remembering the task in hand.