The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-Élysées Page 2

  ‘Merci, Aurelie,’ I said mustering a smile. There’d be plenty of time to size up the other contestants at dinner, to find out where they were from and most importantly about their perfumery. I was eager to make friends, with people who didn’t know every last detail about me the way they did back home.

  Here I’d just be me, not Jen’s twin, not the daughter of wandering hippies. It could be a reinvention, of sorts. Alone, I would learn about myself, in a way I hadn’t before. Out of the fishbowl, and into one of the most beautiful cities in the world, who would I be?

  Chapter Two

  Inside my new abode, I slung my handbag on one of the beds and gazed around. While it was economically sized, it was immaculate. Two double beds took up the majority of the space and were dressed in fine white linen with plump European pillows. The room was light and bright and utterly Parisian with little touches here and there to make it homely. A vase of fresh peony blooms sat on a chest of antique drawers and perfumed the space. There was a small bathroom with plush white towels, and by the balcony was the kitchenette, which was really only an island bench with coffee and tea supplies and underneath a small bar fridge. I resisted the urge to call my sister, as I’d normally have done. I had to prove I could live without her, I didn’t need to check in every five minutes anymore. Did I?

  Outside from the balcony, I caught a glimpse of the Arc de Triomphe standing elegantly as it had done for hundreds of years. The Avenue des Champs-Élysées was abuzz with tourists, cameras slung around necks, and maps held aloft, ice creams melting down hands. Cars zoomed up and down and a world of accents bounced towards me. It was so damn hectic!

  A commotion rang out down the hall, and I turned to the sound, straining to make out what was being said.

  A loud French voice carried, along with the rolling of a suitcase or two.

  ‘Excusez-moi, out of the way, please. Ooh la la, these are heavy.’

  I could smell the woman before I could see her. Her perfume was an intense mélange of sultry fig bursting with the intense sweetness that comes with ripe fruit.

  ‘Bonjour, bonjour, coming through.’ It sounded like she was barreling people out of the way as she stomped noisily down the hall looking for her room, our room. I held my breath for a moment. Did she always make such a loud entrance?

  A few moments later the door flew open and there she stood.

  ‘Del!’ she said, launching at me, hugging me to her as if we were long lost friends, squishing the breath from my lungs. ‘I’m Clementine, and I’ve ’eard all about you. The American girl with the best nose in the business.’ When she freed me, I gulped for air, before taking in my roommate. She was exquisite with her voluptuous figure, form-fitting dress and heavily rouged cheeks. Next to her curvaceous body, I felt suddenly boyish with my straight up-and-down physique.

  My mousy brown waves and more naturally made-up face were no match for her cascading blonde curls, bright blue doe eyes, and bee stung scarlet lips. Her style was quite incredible, almost burlesque in its extravagance. I was no slouch in the fashion department, I followed trends just like the next girl, but Clementine was something else. It took guts to dress so outrageously, and pull it off.

  ‘Bonjour! I love your outfit,’ I said, giving her a wide smile.

  She paid no heed to the compliment, instead shaking her head and sighing theatrically. ‘This?’ She pointed to her hourglass figure, swathed in ruby red velvet. ‘I have a little…’ow you say, addiction to the cherry clafoutis. Nothing can cure me of it except another bite of the sweetness itself.’ She tutted. ‘French women don’t get fat…? That’s what is said, non? Pah! French women can do whatever the ’ell they like! Fat, skinny, square, triangle, I don’t care! No one shall dictate to me! You know my maman?’

  Of course I didn’t, but that had no bearing on the story as she continued: ‘Well, she says I’ll never get married if I eat the way I do. Says I’m not a real Parisian with my appetites! I should show restraint.’ She reeled back as if it was a dirty word. ‘But why? Why should I deny myself pleasure? A man will surely love all of me, if he’s the right man.’ She patted the soft swell of her belly. ‘And until then I’ll eat whatever I please, whenever I please.’

  Another girl, with vivid red hair straightened to a shine sashayed past, stopping to lean on the door jamb. ‘It’s not a matter of depriving oneself, Clementine, it’s simply a matter of balance.’ The redhead conveyed in one long look that she thought Clementine was on a slippery slope to imbalance. The pair obviously knew each other, but the girl had an English accent.

  ‘Pah,’ Clementine said. ‘That’s why these girls are always so misérable.’ She waved her French polished nails at the redhead. ‘They’re hungry.’

  My mind had to work overtime to make sense of Clementine’s hastily delivered, emphatic and heavily accented monologue – and to keep my laughter in check. She was so dramatic and more overt than the Parisian women I’d come into contact with so far.

  The English girl rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand to me. ‘I’m Kathryn, from London. You’ll get used to Clementine, she behaves as if all the world is a stage, that’s all.’

  I laughed, liking both women on sight. ‘How do you two know each other?’

  Clementine gave an airy shrug. ‘Kathryn lived in Paris when she took a perfumery class here a million years ago. Back then she ate the cherry clafoutis and she was a lot ’appier, I can tell you that.’

  ‘I studied here a few years back, but Clem would have you believe I’m in my twilight years or something. I might have imbibed more back then but people mature, they grow up. Well some of us do.’ She gave Clementine a pointed stare.

  You could sense their comradery even though they mocked one another, something that was more for my benefit.

  ‘I’m Del, from Michigan, America.’ Not Del ’n’ Jen. Jen ’n’ Del. Gosh, that felt weird.

  ‘We know,’ Kathryn said, her eyes twinkling. ‘And rumor has it, you’re one to watch out for.’

  I cocked my head, debating how to answer. ‘I don’t know about that.’ Better to downplay any skills they thought I had. I didn’t want them ganging up against me when the challenges began.

  Kathryn folded her arms. ‘Don’t be so modest,’ she said, and flicked her hair. ‘We know all about you, your beloved nan taught you perfumery…’ The sentence was left hanging.

  How did they know about me and Nan? We came from nowheresville…

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘It’s not hard to find out information if you know where to look,’ Kathryn said. ‘Social media is a marvellous thing.’

  ‘Oui,’ Clementine cut in. ‘And so what if you ’ave ambition for eyeballs and a nose that could rival Anais Laurent…’

  I laughed at her transparent attempt to get me to admit I was one of the main contenders. No chance I’d be that easily fooled. While it was clear they’d done some digging, they really didn’t know much in the scheme of things.

  ‘I think comparing me to Anais Laurent is stretching it a little.’ Anais Laurent had paved the way for female perfumers in what was once a man’s world. Her nose was legendary, and her perfumes still sold well despite being designed half a century ago. Every perfumer desired a formula so popular it lived on long after you’d left this mortal coil, just like Anais.

  Clementine narrowed her heavily made-up eyes. ‘There’s no room for humble ’ere, Del. Better that you admit you’re in contention for the prize and then we can all play fair, non?’

  Straight shooting Clementine fascinated me but I kept my game face on. ‘Of course! And I hope we can all be the best of friends.’

  ‘We already are.’ Clementine tossed her bag on the double bed closest to the balcony, the bed I’d already laid claim to. ‘So tell us,’ she said. ‘How did you find the selection process? Wasn’t it intense?’

  I laughed. ‘You can say that again! Towards the end I didn’t think I’d make the cut. There were so many tests! And taking them on the fly on a
video call…’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Right? My ’ands shook so bad on those video calls, it was lucky I didn’t drop my parfum and smash it to a million pieces but look, we’re here! What made you enter, Del?’

  I folded my arms, considering. ‘So many reasons, meeting the mysterious Lecléres, adventure, wanderlust…’ And the desire to win. ‘Perfumery has always been my happy place.’ Without Nan, I’d struggled to find the joy in creating, struggled to find the joy in anything, and Jen figured this competition might help me find my way back… Or had she orchestrated this so I’d be out of the way?

  ‘I see,’ said Clementine, drawing me back. ‘From what we ’eard you had plans to open a perfumery boutique in New York, but your sister got cold feet. That must have been tough for you, especially as you’re so close. And she gave it all up for the love of a man…?’

  I stood there dumbstruck, wondering how she could know such a thing. I wasn’t one to overshare, and I most certainly didn’t pour my sorrows out over social media. ‘How could you possibly know that, Clementine?’ I tried to sound relaxed, but the words came out clipped.

  ‘I ’appen to know a few people in Manhattan and they mentioned that you’d forfeited your bond for your cute little pop up shop before you’d even set foot in New York. Tragique, non?’

  I swallowed back sudden tears and turned away, pretending to hunt for something in my bag. What a stroke of fate that she’d known that part of my past. Giving up the pop up shop had cut me to the quick but I couldn’t go to New York alone and without Jen’s half of the investment. Basically, the decision was all down to money – without her I just plain couldn’t afford it. And it hurt, knowing that prime piece of real estate would probably never be available again, not in my budget. Jen would have loaned me what she’d saved but I just couldn’t ask her. Not if she wasn’t joining me there.

  ‘Now ’ave I upset you?’ Clementine asked.

  I pasted on a smile. ‘Not at all. I’m still going to New York, but first I wanted to see Paris.’ And win the money to go to New York… Did desperation shine in my eyes?

  ‘Right, well, we have to keep an eye on the Anastacia, apparently she’s a little bit of a wizard when it comes to perfumes. I hear she’s notoriously egotistical though,’ Kathryn said, I think sensing a subject change was in order.

  Quick as the click of fingers exhaustion hit me. Was it Clementine and her digging or the memories it conjured? I pulled my shoulders back – I was here to win, dammit, and win I would.

  The girls were competitive but at least they weren’t shy about revealing it. They didn’t hide the fact they wanted to win the high stakes game and it was brave to show their hand so openly. Alliances aside, at least I knew what I was in for. Didn’t I?

  Paris suddenly felt like a long way from Whispering Lakes…

  Chapter Three

  ‘I’m going to meet a friend before dinner,’ Clementine said, giving me a bawdy wink that helped ascertain the friend was of the male persuasion. ‘Back soon!’ She air kissed me and left, swinging her hips like a diva.

  My phone buzzed and Jen’s name flashed. ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle,’ I said, adopting a woefully bad French accent to mask the fact I didn’t quite know how to act with my sister any more. Such a foreign feeling, and one I hoped would fade.

  ‘Look at you, all Frenchified already!’ she said. I’d never been away from Jen before and now we were on entirely different continents. ‘So fill me in. How was the journey? Is Paris as beautiful as they say?’

  Falling back on the bed, I launched into story mode as if nothing had changed and I wasn’t disappointed in her. I told her every little thing except the part about stepping into oncoming traffic and the gorgeous stranger I’d locked eyes with for the briefest moment. No need for her to worry about me in the big bad world.

  ‘So no hot men? The pilot, the driver, the Leclére staff? I bet they’re all gorgeous in that broody French way?’

  I tutted, ‘I’m not here for love, Jen. As you well know.’ And it was a bit of a sore point considering…

  She huffed. ‘Surely there’s time for a little romance in the city of love?’

  ‘City of light,’ I corrected. She knew how important this competition was and what I’d given up to do it. Namely my own dead-end job and financial security. If I didn’t win I’d return home to unemployment, and I had no intention of letting that happen. Especially now.

  ‘But French men are hot, like throw-caution-to-the-wind hot, right?’ Jen’s latest project was pushing me to find a soul mate. But only because she’d fallen in love, mind you. Suddenly she was all, oh look at that guy, he’s got marriage material written all over him, or knock me down that guy looks like he’d make adorable babies, why don’t you ask for his number? Like I was some kind of desperado, champing at the bit to get married when I clearly was not.

  The dreamy romantic in her was new, and I wished she’d get over it already. Sure, I wanted the fairy tale too, love, marriage, babies, but first I needed my career to take off. Love would have to wait. Besides, I was so overwhelmingly bad at dating. My previous relationships had all fizzled out because when I got lost making perfume all else faded to black, and that wasn’t conducive to a healthy relationship. Turning up to a dinner date a day late one too many times had put paid to any chance of love; besides, no one had made my heart sing. Depressing, really, since my thirties were creeping up.

  Whoever I met had to be as important to me as perfumery, and when you come from a town as small as I did, it wasn’t hard to find yourself single. The dating pool was more of a puddle really.

  Perfumery was the key to a decent future. Security. As much as I loved my folks, I didn’t want to end up like them, unemployed drifters with no ambition, relying on us to care for them.

  ‘Well?’ she said again. ‘You’ve met someone, haven’t you?’

  ‘What? No. I’ve been here for all of five minutes!’ I said exasperated. ‘Look, I’m sure there’s plenty of princes among the frogs, but who cares? That’s the last thing I’ll be worrying about.’ With the proverbial rug pulled from under me, I had to plow ahead and chase a different future or else I’d end up back home, a failure, my five-year plan now just words on parchment. Things seemed more precarious than ever before. Sure, I’d still go to New York, but it wouldn’t be until I had the funds, and so many obstacles stood in my way.

  ‘It would seriously be a waste to go all the way to Paris and not kiss a Parisian…’ she said dreamily, caught up in the romance of Paris, and not thinking sensibly.

  ‘And lose the competition and come home and beg for my job back? The job where I sell perfume, not make it? Nope. Not going to happen! New York is calling…’ The past was the past, and there was nothing I could do to change it, but still, that feeling of abandonment lingered just under the surface and bubbled up and out.

  We lapsed into silence, which was becoming a new habit. This strange shift in our lives provoked these sorts of awkward moments and I was at a loss how to fix them or what to say. Normally we’d be chatting a hundred miles an hour, never running out of steam.

  Eventually with a half sigh she murmured, ‘Nan would be so proud of you, Del, living in the perfume capital of the world, chasing those dreams.’

  Our dreams had become only my dreams. How could she give it all up for a guy?

  I put a hand to my heart, feeling the same ache as I always did when I thought of my nan. ‘As crazy as it sounds,’ I said, ‘sometimes I think Nan orchestrated this adventure.’

  I’d loved perfume since I was a child when my nan had discovered that I had the ‘nose’ for it – a highly tuned ability for olfactory compositions. Since then Nan and I had been conspirators and I still missed her so much it hurt. She’d been more than my nan, she’d been my best friend, conspirator and stand-in mom when my own was braying at the sky, or off on one of her adventures, her responsibilities scattered like the fuzz of a dandelion flower on the wind.

  Jen spoke softly. ‘I
f anyone could pull strings from the afterlife it would be Nan, but this was all you, Del. This is your chance to learn from the masters, and I hope you’ll forget all about me, everyone in Whispering Lakes, and focus on perfumery.’

  She spoke as though she was giving me permission to let her go. We’d always shared everything, and I didn’t see why things should change, even if she was head over heels in love. But the days of mirroring each other, and finishing each other’s sentences were clearly over.

  They were all on my mind though; my beatnik parents, Pop with his melancholy eyes. And Jen who’d broken my heart the way only sisters can do.

  ‘As if I’d forget about you, Jen. Jeez.’

  I didn’t quite know where I fit in the world without my twin. In the past any decisions were made with both of us in mind. A sort of seasickness crept up on me. I felt untethered and adrift without her, knowing I had to go forward on my own and wondering if life would be the same, if I’d ever truly be happy again, alone.

  ‘Del, live in the moment, soak up as much as you can. This will be the making of you. Make some new friends. Be brave, fearless, and flirt!’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ I said, wishing the worry would float on past.

  With laughter in her voice she said, ‘You’re saluting, aren’t you?’

  I dropped my hand. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What are the other contestants like?’

  I told her all about Clementine, the OTT Parisian, and about Kathryn, the soft-spoken Londoner. ‘Sebastien will be there tonight, so I’ll finally get to meet the enigma himself. We’re all having dinner with the Leclére team. A sort of welcoming party, I guess. And I can finally see who I’m up against.’

  She picked up my nervousness in the nuances of my voice. ‘They might have had proper perfumery training, Del,’ she began in a pep talk tone. ‘But they didn’t learn from Nan! Textbooks and chemistry teachers can’t compare to Nan’s lessons at the perfumery organ. No one can compete with that. No one.’

  I’d spent years with Nan at our perfumery organ, a semi-circle desk with tiered shelves that held all the aroma oils in neat rows and in order from top notes, heart notes, down to base notes. Our knees used to bump as we mixed essences as assiduously as if we were making love potions for strangers. Which in spirit we had been. Bespoke perfumes created for customers who wanted a fragrance unique to them.