Heaven Scent (22 page)

Leoni rolled her eyes. Cat might be dressed like something from the eighties and she clearly couldn’t work a coffee machine but with her hair tumbling down her back and her naturally golden-brown skin, she looked like something out of a Pirelli ad. All she needed was some oil and a spare tyre, Leoni thought spitefully.

‘Oh, let me,’ she said impatiently pushing Cat out of the way. Within seconds, the coffee machine was purring away with steam chugging out of it, filling the air with the aroma of roasted coffee beans.

‘You’ve obviously got the knack,’ Cat commented nervously, wrapping her bare arms round her body.

‘And you obviously haven’t.’ Leoni glared back.

Cat bit her lip. Forcing a bright smile on to her face, she gestured at what she was wearing, shivering slightly. ‘I didn’t bring much with me and I’m doing some washing.’

‘We have staff for that,’ Leoni snapped.

Cat flushed. ‘Yes, well. I’m used to doing my own washing … and I didn’t want anyone to think I’d made myself too much at home.’

About to agree that Cat should certainly do no such thing, Leoni stopped herself. She knew Cat was desperate to get home and that if she hadn’t lost her passport, she’d be back in England now.

‘Any joy with your passport?’ she asked, trying not to sound as though she couldn’t wait for Cat to leave.

Hearing the hope in Leoni’s voice, Cat almost laughed out loud. ‘Unfortunately not. There’s a postal strike on at the moment and my friend Bella doesn’t even know if my forms have arrived at the passport office yet.’ She pulled a face, clearly vexed. ‘Everyone says the French like a good strike but, trust me, the English aren’t far behind.’

Leoni nodded. Ashton had always said the same. She remembered what he had said about her being jealous of Cat. Was it true? Reminding herself that Cat was probably just as hurt by Olivier’s lies and that she must feel more betrayed than anyone else, Leoni made an effort to be civil.

‘I met up with someone who could produce the candles for us the other day,’ she said. She took out some fragile-looking coffee cups with slender handles and placed them on the counter. ‘Jerard, the owner of the store, seemed confident he can handle our orders, even if they end up being large.’ Going slightly pink, she pushed the box she’d brought with her towards Cat, who was wondering why Leoni looked so keyed up. She took the candle from the box, turning it round in her hands. ‘This is exquisite.’ Cat inhaled the aroma and held it up to the light. ‘It’s luxurious and it feels expensive.’ She placed it on the counter and stood back to view it. ‘I’d love one of these. I wonder if pearlescent glass would look good . . . or maybe this is just perfect as it is.’ She gave Leoni a sideways glance. ‘If you need any help presenting this to Guy, I’d be happy to provide back-up. I mean, if I’m still here, that is.’ She looked gloomy. ‘At this rate, I’ll still be here at Christmas.’ Seeing Leoni’s startled expression, she couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh Leoni, I was only joking! Even the English post isn’t that bad.’ She picked up the candle again. ‘Anyway, this is absolutely beautiful. Your Jerard certainly knows his stuff.’

‘He’s not
my
Jerard,’ Leoni said defensively. She hesitated then realised she couldn’t wait to tell someone about her date. She’d told Ashton but that didn’t count; he was one of her best friends but he wasn’t female. ‘At least . . . not yet. We’re going on a date at the weekend.’

‘Really?’ Cat was surprised. From everything Seraphina had told her, she had Leoni pegged as some sort of workaholic nun.

‘Just for dinner.’ Leoni shrugged casually, the sparkle in her eyes giving away how excited she was. ‘And mainly to discuss work. It’s nothing serious.’

Cat blew on her coffee. ‘Sounds nice.’

Leoni picked up her coffee cup, looking almost disheartened that Cat had agreed with her.

Cat hid a smile. God, Leoni was complicated! Cat wondered at how different Leoni and Olivier were. Olivier had certainly got more than his fair share of the confident genes, Cat thought wryly. Leoni seemed far less self-assured, at least when it came to matters of the heart. And she obviously had no idea that that lovely English guy – Ashton, was it? Cat couldn’t remember – had feelings for her. Or maybe she did and she wasn’t interested.

Leoni made a mental note to ask Jerard about pearlescent glass. ‘So, what are your plans over the next few days?’ she asked.

Cat sipped the coffee Leoni had made and did her best not to wince. It was so strong it nearly took the enamel off her teeth. ‘Well, Xavier offered to take me to Grasse but I don’t think we’ll end up going.’

Leoni’s head snapped up. ‘Grasse? Why did Xavier ask you to do that?’

Cat’s aquamarine eyes met Leoni’s. ‘I have absolutely no idea. I was hoping you could shed some light on it.’

‘Me? Oh, don’t ask me what makes Xavier tick. I haven’t the first idea.’ Leoni looked irritated.

Cat frowned. ‘Well, it’s not because he wants to spend time with me. He can’t stand me. I think he might be following orders from above.’

‘Grandmother?’ Leoni felt both relieved and appalled at the same time. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me. Although why she’d make him do such a thing is beyond me.’

‘Yes, well.’ Cat put her coffee down, unable to stomach it. ‘We had a fight the other day and he looked as if he wanted to throttle me so I can’t imagine us going now.’

‘What did you have a fight about?’ Leoni was curious. Xavier had a terrible temper but he had to be pushed pretty far before he lost it.

Cat’s mouth twitched. ‘I . . . er . . . I asked him why he didn’t make perfumes any more.’

‘Ouch!’ Leoni looked taken aback. ‘You’re brave. We all get our heads bitten off if we dare to bring that subject up.’

Cat shrugged. She wasn’t scared of Xavier. ‘I think I probably did it because I was so frustrated about all the secrecy and lies Olivier fed me, to be honest. I wasn’t expecting Xavier to yell at me, though.’ Seething at the memory, Cat didn’t notice that Leoni had fallen silent.

Leoni was feeling rather guilty, mainly because she understood exactly what Cat was talking about. How often had she wanted to take out her anger over Olivier on someone else? In fact, she had done the exact same thing. She had directed her fury at Cat, venting her spleen at every possible opportunity. Knowing she should apologise, Leoni also knew she wasn’t big enough for that . . . at least, not yet.

‘Do what I did,’ she offered instead. ‘Shout at Olivier’s grave. Very therapeutic.’

‘I already have.’ Cat got up and eyed the shuddering washing machine. ‘Let me know if you need a hand with that proposal. If I’m still here, I’d be happy to help.’

Leoni nodded. She knew she wouldn’t be as gracious in Cat’s shoes, not after everyone had been so hostile. ‘If you do end up going to Grasse, keep your hands to yourself,’ she joked without thinking. ‘One Ducasse is quite enough, isn’t it?’

‘You have nothing to worry about on that front,’ Cat told her stiffly. ‘I don’t trust your cousin one little bit.’

Leoni felt defensive on Xavier’s behalf. ‘Look, I know you don’t care either way, but seriously, Xavier is nothing like Olivier. He’s a good man, one of the best. Don’t be fooled by all the women. It doesn’t mean he’s a cheat or a liar.’

Cat looked away. ‘As you say, I don’t care either way.’ She left the room, her shoulders taut.

Leoni sighed. Why had she said that about Cat keeping her hands to herself? It had been totally inappropriate and she had really pissed Cat off in the process.

 

A few days later, Cat was staring out at the valley rather glumly. Bella had been in touch to say that the passport office had received all the paperwork but that they had a three-week backlog to clear, so she was going to have to stay put for a bit longer.

Cat was consumed with frustration. She wanted to get back home and start working again. She had hardly any money left and she was dying of boredom. She was also worried the job at the rival firm might disappear if she didn’t get home soon, although Bella had assured her that the company said they would wait for her. Cat sighed. God, she needed to get away from this place.

‘There you are.’ Xavier appeared, his hair still wet from the shower. Wearing a simple white shirt – albeit a handmade one with the Ducasse-Fleurie monogram discreetly stitched on to the pocket – and dark, belted jeans, he looked the epitome of European casual but his expression was inscrutable.

‘About the other day . . .’ Cat began. She wasn’t sure what to say about it but it would be weird not to refer to it at all.

Xavier shook his head. ‘Forget it. I have.’

Cat stiffened. She was glad she hadn’t wasted time beating herself up about it. He clearly hadn’t lost any sleep over it, despite his livid outburst.

‘That trip to Grasse, how about going today?’ Xavier said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Cat gaped. Was he being serious? ‘Er . . . do you think that’s a good idea?’

Xavier shrugged. ‘I’m sure we can manage to be civil to one another for a few days. We’re both mature adults.’

That’s bloody debatable, Cat thought, almost laughing as she realised how immature she sounded in her own head. ‘Yes, of course we are. What time would you like to go?’

‘Now sounds good to me,’ Xavier replied, already striding away. ‘I’ll get my car and meet you out the front.’

Cat scratched her head. And people said she was impulsive. Did she really want to go anywhere with this man? He had the most awful temper and he was so touchy, he put a hormonal woman with a chocolate craving to shame. But the alternative was mooching around the château in total boredom, avoiding Delphine and Leoni. Unappealing to say the least.

Cat hastily packed a bag. She had no idea what she might need and conscious that she didn’t want to look like a silly female who brought fifteen pieces of luggage for a few days, she kept it simple and packed the bare minimum.

She found Xavier leaning against an immaculate silver Aston Martin. She knew a little about cars. It was a DB9, a stunning, sporty number with a long, smooth bonnet and a sleek, curvy frame. To complete the image, Xavier, looking nonchalant and suave, was leaning against the car wearing Ray-Bans to combat the weak February sun.

Handsome twat, Cat thought irritably. She watched him put her luggage in the boot and frowned when he held the door open for her politely.

‘Nice car,’ she commented. ‘Flashy.’

Xavier didn’t rise to the bait. ‘I agree. But it’s lovely to drive so it’s worth it.’

He drove down the driveway at speed. His phone beeped and he glanced at it before switching it off and slipping it into the pocket of his shirt.

‘Your girlfriend?’ Cat asked sweetly.

‘Ex,’ Xavier replied shortly.

Cat studied the road ahead. ‘It must be difficult keeping track of them all.’

‘Not really.’ Xavier’s expression darkened. ‘My organisational skills are excellent.’

They travelled in silence until they were past Mougins. Heading in the opposite direction to the sea into some lovely countryside, Xavier surprised Cat by telling her a bit about Grasse.

‘It produces something like two thirds of France’s perfume aromas and food flavourings,’ he informed her, lighting a cigarette after courteously checking she didn’t mind him smoking. ‘It’s far enough away from the sea air to encourage flower farming and with its sunny climate, it’s perfect,’ he continued. ‘It has a high altitude and there are plenty of hills and forests around it to be useful for farming.’

‘I had no idea it was so close.’ Cat leant out to get a better view of the pretty, medieval town in the distance. She suddenly wondered where they’d be staying and guessed Xavier must have booked a hotel.

‘It’s only fifteen kilometres from Cannes, actually. Molinard, Fragonard, Galimard, they all have factories here.’ He pointed to a vast field that hadn’t yet come into bloom. ‘That’s jasmine. Nearly thirty tonnes of it are harvested in Grasse every year; they even have a festival in August to celebrate it. There are floats decorated with flowers and they drive through the town soaking onlookers in scent.’ He tossed his dying cigarette out into the road. ‘In the old days, people used to have little jasmine fields next to their houses but most of them have been sold off over the years. In the eighties, Chanel bought their own jasmine farm which is looked after by the Mul family.’

‘Chanel have their very own jasmine farm?’ Cat raised her eyebrows. ‘That was smart of them.’

‘Wasn’t it? I detest the smell of jasmine but that’s just me. Most people love it.’ Xavier’s jaw became set for a brief moment and Cat wondered what his problem was. ‘They now grow rose de Mai as well, because it’s such an important component in fragrance.’

Cat inhaled gulps of fresh, Provençal air punctuated with wafts of earthy mimosa. She knew from the information she’d read that Grasse produced quantities of the bright yellow mimosa that grew at La Fleurie, as well as rose and lavender. She couldn’t help expecting to see houses covered with floral, scented blooms, as if everyone in the town mixed their own special fragrances, although Cat knew that couldn’t be the case.

Xavier took the turning to Grasse. ‘Don’t get too carried away with romantic notions about the process,’ he told her wryly, reading her mind. ‘The industry now relies on synthetic chemicals as well as on flowers and natural produce. Some substances, ambergris, for example, are far too expensive and rare to use naturally.’

‘What’s ambergris?’

‘It’s a strange substance found in the bellies of sperm whales.’ Xavier caught sight of Cat’s appalled expression. ‘It sounds disgusting, I know, but it has a uniquely pungent and powerful aroma that blends well with other scents, as well as making them last longer.’ He turned into a street alongside a large square signposted Place Aux Aires, with a three-tiered fountain in the centre and a busy food market. ‘It’s illegal to trade in ambergris now, except any that might be washed up on a beach. Amber resin is often used instead.’