The Perfumer's Secret (26 page)

‘Good girl. Lock it away now. Be strong for all of us. There are going to be a lot more deaths and you will need to comfort those who lose their loved ones. You will be their strength because you set the example.’

I nodded.

‘Fleurette?’

I gazed at him.

‘I love you now in this moment more than I loved you an hour ago and I didn’t think that possible.’

‘Which angel sent you to me, Sébastien?’

‘A fallen one, called Marguerite De Lasset, no doubt trying to make amends for her own failings.’ We smiled sadly at each other. ‘Come,’ he urged. ‘Before we both freeze where we stand. Come and take control of your house – they need to see you composed and strong.’

I walked slowly alongside my lover’s limping gait back to the villa to make my family proud. I smelled clean, white snow like virgin air, unbreathed, untarnished, nature’s beautiful purity. I needed to harness that for my perfume.

Jeanne and Madame Mouflard spied us as we walked across the gravel drive.

‘What is it?’ I called into the thin air. My voice sounded brittle.

‘Telegram, Madame, telegram! It’s Monsieur . . . He is returning.’

My heart sank, but then I’d been forewarned by Felix.

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

The women reached us, their excited breath steaming between us. I glanced at Sébastien.

‘Was the telegram for me?’

The housekeeper blinked, embarrassed. ‘It was to me to prepare for his arrival, Madame.’

I felt the sting of being slighted but kept my expression even – it was not our housekeeper’s fault that Aimery didn’t consider my feelings . . . ever.

‘But there is this one too.’ She held out a second telegram, this one clearly marked for my attention.

I ripped it open, read it in a few heartbeats and half cried. ‘It’s from Felix. He’s at Nice, on his way to Grasse.’

‘We are so sorry about your elder brother, Madame,’ Jeanne said for both of them, glancing at her superior as though apologising for taking the lead.

I nodded, keeping the emotion at bay as I’d promised Sébastien I would. ‘I can’t talk about it. I’m sure you understand. Let’s go inside. We have preparations to make for the living. I shall dwell on the dead later.’

I knew it sounded theatrical but it summed up genuinely how I felt in that moment; it was taking every ounce of personal will I could bring to bear against my own sorrow, my need to grieve and be left alone to do so. Except, as Sébastien had pointed out, this was not my time to do so. And so, proving to myself as much as to him that I could, I led by stoic example. He gave my elbow a squeeze that neither of the women saw but I felt its reassurance and his pride in me.

Sébastien melted back from the new burst of activity and I mercifully got lost in it, busily supervising the making-up of Aimery’s bed, airing and scenting his room and heating it with a fire. We put a copper pan, loaded with hot coals, between his sheets to warm the bed. Madame Mouflard felt that the fire and the bed warmer could be done later but I wanted his room to feel cosy and welcoming after so long in the freezing trenches.

‘And please make sure there is a fresh bottle of his favourite cognac in the salon and in his bedchamber.’

With that all happening to my satisfaction I accompanied a small team of helpers to our villa to make identical preparations for my brother, except I was determined to breathe some freshness of Grasse into the air trapped in the house since his departure. I couldn’t imagine how he’d feel rattling around this huge old place alone and decided I’d take the precaution of making up another chamber at the De Lasset villa in case he could be persuaded to stay with us for a day or so. I didn’t for a moment believe he could be tempted; knowing Felix, he would relish the silence and the shadows as much as the painful memories that would flood back on entry into our family residence. I had every intention of returning to the Delacroix home, anyway – I doubted I would have much choice once the truth of the marriage’s sinister secret came out – but right now I didn’t want any of the servants entering my rooms, where just hours ago I’d been discovering my love for Sébastien. I could change my own sheets, air my own chamber when the time was right. It occurred to me then that Sébastien would need to move out of his brother’s house as well. I imagined him digging his heels in, reminding everyone of his surname, but I would cajole him into living in the Delacroix house until calm could be achieved.

I shook my head at all the various permutations – all of us in the big villa, some of us down here . . . I could almost hear the argument that would rage once the initial delight of seeing our men alive had dissipated.

For Felix’s benefit I sprayed cologne around the rooms, misting them with a scent that would make him assured that he was home and that it wasn’t a dream.

I sent Jeanne off with a list of groceries that I discussed with the cook. Our men would not have eaten decent food in months.

‘Keep it simple,’ I warned, on Sébastien’s advice. ‘Their bellies will not be used to any rich foods, I suspect.’

We’d settled on a warming meaty soup, with homemade
fougassette
, the orange-scented bread of our region that they had likely not tasted since they left. This treat would be followed by uncomplicated roasted chicken with simple fennel to accompany, perhaps some kale from the winter garden; there was nougat, dried figs, pears, some cheeses and walnuts they could also nibble on if they needed something more after that.

‘I wish I could present the thirteen desserts, Madame,’ the cook replied forlornly. ‘They would not have got that on Christmas Day in the trenches.’

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. Even we hadn’t made up the thirteen desserts to represent Jesus Christ and the twelve apostles this year. ‘We can serve our epiphany cake properly now. Next year will be different. Hopefully the war will be won and our men will be home for good.’ Not Henri, though. I refused to let that thought out, determined to impress Sébastien with my resolve to lead.

But all the while I was geeing up others and keeping myself busy as a result, I was trying to keep at bay the demons in my mind that were mocking me, desperate to win my attention so they could question how I was going to face Aimery knowing I’d cuckolded him with his half-brother. Frankly, Aimery hadn’t cared then and likely wouldn’t care now that our legal paperwork wasn’t intact; his intention was to make it so now. Far more to the point was how were we going to explain that the spiritual marriage was to be immediately annulled?

Felix’s telegram said he should arrive at dawn, and I’d learned that Aimery would not be here until mid-morning. I thought about all the other families of Grasse who might already know their precious Chasseurs had finally been given some respite from the explosions, bullets and bloodshed. There would be celebration all over Grasse tomorrow to bring smiles to the town as we turned the corner into 1915, filled with hope for the end to war. The timing was perfect but there would be no smiles in the De Lasset mansion.

There would be only fury.

__________

I had learned last night that not all of the Chasseurs were coming home on leave. It seemed Felix and Aimery as officers were some of the lucky few, and there were many others, who were either injured or had drawn a lucky straw too, but the majority of the two regiments were heading further east. I pitied them and was surprised to see so many of the town folk at the railway station clamouring for a glimpse of the brave boys who so far had survived and were coming home.

Just like the electricity that had come early to our small but flourishing town, so important to the economy and pride of France, the railway had reached into Grasse two decades before I was born. The first train that chugged into Grasse had begun its long journey south from Paris to Lyon and then hugged the coast to Nice before travelling into the highlands. There had been a lot of anticipation that steam would give way to electric trains and I recalled my brothers being excited by the testing four years before, between Mouans Sartoux and Grasse.

I didn't know how word had got around so fast but clearly people were aware that my brother Henri was not stepping off the train when it finally wheezed into Grasse station. I had received glances of sympathy, sombre nods, misted looks of shared pain, but whoever it was that had begun spreading the news of the Delacroix loss, they had also advised to give me a wide berth. I was glad of it but I realised that I mustn’t be a damper on what was a joyous occasion. I knew it should be quietly happy for me too but my emotions were at war, not helped by the fiery new feeling of passion that had been ignited. One moment I could feel the warming memory of being naked next to Sébastien and the next my imagination threw me down into the mud where I was lying and facing my dead brother as the rain spattered his face and I could hear only the angry words we’d shared on our last day together. I had to snatch away the tears that helplessly welled; I didn’t want anyone to see me crying.

Fortunately, though dawn neared, the night sky refused to relent, remaining determinedly black. Not even the moon was permitted to show through a wintry cloud cover, so we waited as a crowd of dim silhouettes, some faces illuminated better than others as lamplight caught them. Mainly what I saw in them was an eagerness, an impatience to see loved ones – for some of us, this moment felt bittersweet.

My mind was loose, wandering free. I stood alone and it struck me as odd that I hadn’t seen Graciela since our meeting of last week, but no doubt this day would be an occasion for her to glimpse the man she loved.

The word
bittersweet
lingered in my thoughts and it brought a moment of clarity. That’s what was needed in the perfume I was building. Was it that cyanide-like quality of the bitterness achieved from soaking almonds that gave marzipan its distinctive taste? Or was I reaching more towards the brighter, sweeter note of bitter orange?

‘What are you searching for in your mind?’ said a familiar voice next to me. I even had my eyes closed in thought and I didn’t need to open them to know who it was.

‘Sébastien,’ I breathed. ‘Is this wise?’

‘It might look odd if I didn’t meet my brother-in-law . . . and if I didn’t accompany my new sister-in-law.’

‘Neroli,’ I said.

‘Really? Bitter orange oil? Instead of bergamot?’

‘Maybe. Bergamot is beautiful but potentially might be too softly floral, now I dwell on it.’

‘So bitter orange for a fresher sweetness?’

I cut him a brief smile of cunning. ‘To bring a brightly honeyed element with a metallic trace and a spiciness that I believe is required.’

He chuckled in spite of our sadness. ‘You make perfume fun, Fleurette . . . and the way you speak of it is like a different sort of lovemaking,’ he murmured.

I didn’t look at him because people would always be watching, but I cheered inwardly at his comparison.

I couldn’t respond because the town of Grasse surged as one at the first shout that the train had been spotted. We held our collective breath and then it arrived in a loud sigh of steam. Men we recognised were already hanging outside of windows waving, and my sorrow aside, I felt as though my heart was leaping within my chest at the thought of seeing Felix again. We had never been apart for this long, not even when he did his officer training.

Doors were slamming and soldiers were toppling onto the platform in a spill of blue. Hands were being raised to the sounds of women’s yells and cries of delight. Those who weren’t welcoming back their beloved alive had still come to clap the soldiers who defended France. I suppose, if they felt as I did, that they would privately cheer on those who lived because it brought a special nobility to those who had already died for them. I realised this was an odd psychology but it was helping me; it meant I could feel proud of Felix and could honour Henri at the same time.

And there he was. Suddenly my gloom lifted. I saw my brother, my second self, as he jauntily arrived on the platform, being joshed along by his companions. He was a sous-lieutenant and so I suppose he had to keep some composure, set some example for the whistling, cheering men he walked with.

They brought new smells to me, none I particularly liked, of damp cloth with decay clinging to it and of unwashed bodies. Nevertheless, there was Felix – that was all that mattered – and he’d spotted me, given me a heartbreaking smile that told me everything would be all right, and still I felt my chin wobbling with the easing of my resolve not to cry.

By the time I had rushed into his arms, I was weeping freely and he was holding me close and no doubt shedding tears also, both of us thinking of Henri, as around us people sang ‘La Marseillaise’ and fiercely hugged their loved ones.

__________

The two men I loved most confronted one another.

‘I’d heard you were at the Front,’ Felix said, shaking Sébastien’s good hand. ‘I didn’t know you were injured, though, or that you’d come here,’ he said, glancing at me, not yet making the connection that I hoped wasn’t written all over us. ‘What a surprise,’ he beamed. ‘How goes the healing?’

Sébastien grinned and once again I was reminded of how similar they seemed, even in build. ‘Your sister has been most generous.’

I resisted clearing my throat. Was that a slip of the tongue or was Sébastien taking some wry amusement playing on words? I cut a look back at my brother, who appeared untroubled by the remark.

‘I was taking up a valuable bed in the hospital. Seemed the right thing to do to head home when the medical team suggested I do so. Real home felt a voyage too far.’

‘Yes, of course. You’d have been in poor shape to travel, although England would have been closer.’

‘I’m a shocking sailor when I’m well. Trains were easier in my state.’ Sébastien shrugged. ‘When I suggested southern France, they couldn’t get me down here quick enough.’ He lifted his bad arm slightly. ‘I’m one of the lucky ones,’ he admitted. ‘I’m, er . . . really very sorry about your elder brother.’

Felix and I glanced at one another and found strength in the gesture. It had always been this way between us. Suddenly I felt capable of rising above my grief that just hours ago had felt like an impossible mountain to scale. Now, shoulder to shoulder with Felix, he and I could lean on each other and cope as had done when our pets passed away, when our father took his final breath . . . and now in losing our brother.

‘Do you know the expression we use that he died “
en beauté
”?’ Felix asked. His manner was so gentle I could tell he was still in awe of the reality that Henri was gone.

Sébastien nodded. ‘In England we often say “He died with his boots on”. I suspect it means much the same. It’s certainly a compliment to his courage.’

‘Come on. It’s freezing,’ I reminded. ‘You must be in desperate need of some real coffee, Felix.’

‘Just hearing you offer it makes me feel weak at the thought,’ he admitted.

‘I’ve made up your rooms and aired our house but I hope you don’t mind if we go up to the villa first where we have food laid on . . . er, just briefly.’