The Perfumer's Secret (27 page)

His gaze narrowed. I felt the compunction to swallow as if to deny my guile but my heart was telling me what my mind already knew: that Felix had picked up on my nervousness and was now suspicious.

‘I’d rather go home, Ettie,’ he sighed. ‘I’m not up for —’

‘No, of course you’re not. But there’s no one else there. Just us,’ I said, glancing at Sébastien, who had fixed his gaze firmly on my brother. ‘It’s just that the servants are already there, things are prepared, the whole house is warm.’ Yes, I could hear myself blathering. It was no good trying to cover my guilt any longer. Anyone else glancing over might think Felix was simply giving eye contact as I spoke but I knew him far too well and realised he was watching me in nothing less than astonishment.

‘Ettie, what’s got into you?’

‘Ah, I think I might be able to help explain,’ Sébastien offered. It was gallant but I denied him with an urgent and, I hoped, small shake of my head, but did I really think Felix might miss that too?

Of course he hadn’t. He looked now between the two of us as people jostled past. We barely heard their salutations, hardly felt them shouldering by, smiling or touching their caps. It was a triangle of stares, a hideous sort of silence within that three-pointed space that shut out all other sound, except perhaps the whirring cogs of Felix’s mind.

‘
No
,’ Felix finally uttered in a low growl of shock. This single word said it all and seemed in that moment to encapsulate the entire, dizzying height of how far I had fallen. ‘Tell me it’s not true,’ he pleaded, his gaze darting between both of us, his expression a twist of disgust.

‘Felix,’ I began.

He shook off my hand. ‘While our brother bled into the filthy mud of the trench with your name the last word on his lips, you were . . .? Making full mockery of our family name, and especially him as head of the Delacroix empire?’

I began to shake my head. I couldn’t defend myself ably because he spoke the truth.

‘Felix,’ Sébastien tried.

But my brother’s injured look contorted to an expression of such repugnance that whatever Sébastien was about to say paused in his throat.

‘No, you treacherous Tommy scum. You don’t get to explain or offer me any advice. Get away from me . . . both of you!’

My breath came in a shallow draught, shocked by his insult to Sébastien, an ally who worked for the same outcome as the French. I looked around, horrified that people might see this exchange, but no one was particularly interested in us this morning, plus we had the good fortune to be withdrawn from the main bulk of people, turning away from the platform and flowing out into the town proper. We would be alone soon, our voices echoing across the station if we were not careful.

‘Felix!’ I snapped, my anger and fear combining with hurt that he’d attack Sébastien so fast. This was not Felix’s way and I knew it was the devastation of Henri driving this attack. I also knew I could tell myself this repeatedly and it wouldn’t change the reality that I’d effectively spat on our family reputation. He rounded on me, dark eyes glittering in the dawn light and filled with his furious accusation. ‘You need to hear something and it’s not about us,’ I said, pointing between Sébastien and me. ‘It’s about our mother and it’s especially about our father . . . it’s about a sin far greater than anything you can accuse me of.’

He shook me off again. ‘I hate you right now,’ he said in a low, mean voice close to my face. The tone made me tremble. I had never heard him speak this way. ‘Whatever it is you have to say to me, you will say it in the Delacroix house so its ghosts can bear witness to your fall from grace.’

Sébastien squared up in front of Felix; they were of near identical height, both broad-shouldered and dark. I had a darkly comic thought that the wrong brothers had been mixed up and in fact I was Sébastien’s half-sister, not Aimery’s. But the tension between the two men was like that between two snarling animals being held back by handlers . . . in this instance it was simply their good upbringing that stopped them brawling in public. Even so I tried to pull them further apart but I was no longer relevant.

‘Too late!’ Sébastien said, barely inches from Felix’s face and I was confronted by my lover’s anger stirred. This was a day for firsts. I was appalled at the rage that simmered in his quiet manner.

‘Too late for what?’

I think I must have known what Sébastien was about to spill in the heartbeat before he did and yet I prayed he wouldn’t. My prayer was ignored.

‘They’ve already borne witness, you smug
poilu
bastard.’ I hissed my despair at the slang term for the French soldier that accused them of being hairy. ‘You had your chance to save her from a repulsive marriage and yet money, family name and duty were more important to you two brothers than her safety or happiness.’

‘Safety?’

‘Ask her! Then ask your sister why her marriage has to be annulled.’ He growled so close to Felix’s face you’d have sworn they were kissing each other in salutation. ‘Instead of insulting her, instead of leaping to conclusions, for heaven’s sake, man, listen to her. Give her the respect she deserves.’

Felix’s complexion, normally healthily tan but currently sallow, turned an apoplectic scarlet.

‘You dare lecture me, you lecherous —’

Sébastien actually laughed in my brother’s face and that’s when I moved quickly to stand between them. ‘Stop right now, both of you,’ I snarled beneath my breath that snaked in angry curls around us. ‘And I mean now! Sébastien, have coffee and food sent down to the Delacroix house. Felix, do me the courtesy to walk with me.’

Mercifully, Sébastien limped away after one cutting glance of warning at my brother. We watched him in a shared rage until he was out of earshot.

‘How could you?’ Felix said but didn’t wait for me to answer. He picked up his pack and strode away.

I caught up with him. ‘I’m going to give you one more chance to hear me out or, I swear, I am leaving Grasse never to return.’

That halted him. He eyed me dangerously. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Believe me,’ I pressed, my anger matching his. ‘Because you have no idea what we’re actually arguing about. Sébastien’s right, you should at least hear me out because you’re getting it all so wrong.’

People waved, called out to us, welcoming Felix home. We both feigned pleasure, lifting our hands together in salutation, returning their good wishes before we were back, glaring at each other.

‘I’m not wrong about one thing, though, am I? Your lover confirmed it.’

I stood straighter. ‘No, you’re not wrong.’

He gave a sound of despair and stomped away from me.

‘But it’s not what you think,’ I said, hurrying alongside. Fortunately the Delacroix house was downhill from the station so it was easy going for us. We walked without paying much attention – we knew these streets in the dark, blindfolded, no clues.

‘To be honest, I can’t wait to hear you convince me that your . . . your liaison with Sébastien,’ he said, enunciating the word liaison as though it was a filthy utterance, ‘is pure and permissible.’

‘Far more pure and permissible than Aimery and me.’

He frowned at me, then lost patience. ‘I’m going in. You can come in if you want but I’m not going up to that villa.’

‘Felix, you don’t give me permission to enter my own house.’

He swung around and in that moment I could swear I didn’t know this man. He was a stranger to me. ‘You’re so naïve, Ettie. With Henri dead, this is my house now. I permit whomever I wish. I can also banish whomever I choose.’

I nodded slowly, the truth sinking in deep to a place of injury where it sat like a brooding bruise. ‘Maybe I never want to be in this house again. This house of sin and secrets.’

He pushed into the double gates, his footfall crunching on the gravel drive. ‘I hope you’ve left it open. Hurry up, if you’re coming in,’ he threw over his shoulder without looking at me. I watched him march ahead, fling open the grand entrance door and hurl his bag. He disappeared inside and didn’t glance back.

I stood on our pathway leading to my home and curiously did not weep. This was a situation that even a week ago might have watched me crumple at the unfairness of it, or the heartlessness of my brother; instead, Felix had stoked the fires of fury more. How dare he cast me aside? How dare he presume? How dare he treat me as though I was less than he because I’d fallen in love – of course, he didn’t know yet about my being in love; he only saw the ugly side of infidelity. And even as I thought all of this, I knew something was wrong. This wasn’t the Felix I knew and neither was this about Henri. I had no doubt losing Henri had made him show his emotion more openly but I knew this man too well. My connection with Felix was too finely attuned that my perceptive sense, like invisible antennae, was bending towards him, looking for clues for his oddly demonstrative behaviour. I was now convinced his outburst was connected with something I was yet to learn about, but he was using me as the target to blame, or at least to hurl his despair at.

With dread I followed the trail of cast-off cape and jacket and the sound of glass to my father’s study where I found Felix, with a half-open shirt, muddy boots kicked off and a crystal glass of cognac being emptied down his throat. He slammed the glass down on our father’s desk.

‘Welcome to my study,’ he said in a harsh tone laced with sarcasm and tied off with an ugly bow of anger.

I weighed up my options. He wanted an argument. I could see that. We so rarely argued, this was unfamiliar ground and I couldn’t hide my nervousness. He ignored it and took my hesitation to fill it with more of his humourless baiting.

‘Ah, yes, this is now my empire, Ettie. What do you think? The useless second son, the spare heir finally inherits. Winner takes all.’

I watched him and the pain in his heart was nakedly romping across his lovely face that was presently contorted into a sneering grimace.

‘Do you think a second is wise?’ I asked as he poured another slug.

‘Second? This is my third,’ he said, impressed with himself. ‘
Salut!
’ He threw his head back and gave a growling sound as he swallowed the fiery liquor.

‘That’s too strong,’ I warned.

‘What would you know? Or have you now added drinking to your slutty behaviour?’

I closed my eyes to shut him out. He’s hurting, I told myself repeatedly and took a slow, deep and silent breath before opening my eyes. ‘I know because I can smell it, like I can smell you.’

‘Well, good for you, little sister!’ It was a curious remark. He clinked his glass against the decanter and then raised it to me before he took the remaining slug.

‘Are you planning to get drunk?’

‘Hell, yes. Anything to escape. I thought coming home would help but no, you’ve made sure there’s only more despair for me.’

‘Felix, please . . . can we talk?’

‘We are.’

‘No, you’re baiting me. What’s wrong with you?’

He moved unsteadily and flopped into our father’s leather chair. ‘I used to love sitting in this chair,’ he suddenly said, more like the Felix I knew, his tone now gentle.

I nodded. ‘Me too.’

‘We used to sit in it together when we were really small, didn’t we?’

I smiled briefly with relief. Well, at least he could still tap into happier times.

‘But now we’re grown-ups and dealing with grown-up matters.’

‘Felix, tell me about Henri.’

It was like a blow to his belly. He looked up at me as if winded, his expression bruised, eyes sunken and bloodshot. ‘He was heroic. Took several bullets, to be honest with you. Waved away help, saved so many lives personally over the last few months and especially that youngster at the end. We can remember him with pride. He is one of France’s finest sons.’

‘Amen,’ I said. He slanted me a look of the briefest amusement at one of our favourite expressions. ‘And how has your war been going?’

He blinked at me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’ I sat down opposite him, on the other side of our father’s desk, and I realised this was now indeed his desk, his salon. Poor Henri, his whole life he had been groomed to take over the family empire and he had enjoyed the status for just over one year. Felix had never wanted it. I pointed to my temple. ‘What’s happening up here, Felix? You’re different.’

‘So are you. Now you no longer respect the sanctity of your marriage vows.’

I bristled but held my vexation in check. ‘Do you remember our discussion on the night of the wedding? Remember me saying I wished I’d ruthlessly slept with others? That I desperately didn’t want Aimery to be the first?’

He nodded.

‘My wish came true.’

‘What?’ He looked at me with disbelief.

I lifted a shoulder and quickly explained the captain’s and mayor’s interruptions, the mobilisation and how Aimery wasted not a second donning his uniform proudly and dashing off to join his company.

‘He left your wedding bed when he had at least that night up his sleeve?’ he said, aghast.

‘I’m afraid so. Virginal me in a silken nightgown was still not enough to tempt him. Felix, this marriage is a sham in more ways than one.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Yes, but you will. I need Sébastien here —’

‘Sébastien can go —’

‘Be quiet!’

My brother glared at my admonishment.

‘And don’t pull any “head of the family lines” with me. This is important. This is more important than any of us individuals because it
is
about the family and profoundly affects us all.’

‘So why is Sébastien part of that? He’s not our family.’

‘Thank goodness!’

He threw me a puzzled glance. ‘Am I drunk? What am I missing here?’

‘Plenty. But you have to wait for Sébastien. He’s the key.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will. Felix, if you’re in any way rude to him, I will walk away from here and it will take more than you can imagine to persuade me to come back. I will find it harder to forgive you for treating Sébastien like an outcast than I did to forgive you and Henri for forcing me to take vows with Aimery.’ He tried to interject but I spoke over him. ‘Now, you can live a lonely life without your twin sister, or we stick together as we always have and we can make the best of what we have left . . . there’s only us now.’

He impaled me with a stare that was so nakedly wounded that I looked away; he would not want me to see him so exposed. ‘Or I could just do us all a favour and square up to it, and die like our brother.’

‘Felix!’ My voice sounded thin, whispered across the room like a misty Grasse morning. Even so I knew he must be confronting death daily. ‘How could you say something so heartless to me?’ Pain erupted in my chest. Was this what a broken heart felt like?

He shook his head, then rightly hung it. He should be ashamed for such a shocking suggestion. ‘Forgive me. That was cruel and insensitive to our brother’s memory.’

My hand was still covering my chest in horror. ‘What would prompt you to say such a thing? Every day, Felix, I wait for a letter from you. Every day! The staff think I’m pacing for the postal delivery because I’m so anxious to hear from my husband. I wish him no ill but I don’t care if I never hear from him again. It’s you and Henri I yearned to hear from . . . you are all that matters.’

‘And now Sébastien,’ he said, raising his gaze to meet mine.

‘And now Sébastien.’

‘I wish I were dead and Henri alive.’

I was not going to wait for any further explanation. I was up and around the desk and hugging him. It was all he needed, an excuse to let go of all that simmering rage and emotion. He wept in my arms. He wept for a long time; I smoothed his hair and offered words of comfort. I couldn’t imagine what he’d seen or experienced; I didn’t want to dwell on the notion that he had held Henri as he died and now would live with that memory forever.

He picked up on my thoughts as uncannily as he always could. ‘They’re dying horribly, Ettie. I have watched too much carnage. So much young life bleeding out into French soil.’

‘Don’t the Germans call the brave Chasseurs the Blue Devils?’

He gusted a humourless laugh. ‘Apparently, yes. I know we have acquitted ourselves fiercely.’

‘Yes, and I suspect you are, as usual, playing down your own part in the heroics.’ He said nothing; I knew I was right. ‘You could use a bath, you know.’

‘Could I?’ He shrugged.

I frowned at him. ‘Well, surely you of all people can smell yourself?’ I even chuckled.

But there was no amusement staring back at me in those eyes I knew so well – almost a mirror image of mine; all I saw now was the sense of damage they reflected. He held my look as I held his face and we stared at each other. I searched the darkness that normally twinkled mischief, and now reflected a broken man.

‘Felix?’

‘I imagine you smell really good.’ He sniffed the air. ‘I should be able to smell the remnants of Christmas in Grasse . . . cinnamon, snow, clementines, pine cones and the yule logs.’ He shook his head.

‘Of course, and any minute, some rich coffee,’ I said, looking out of the window, wondering where it was.

‘No, Ettie,’ he said, and it was spoken so sadly, I forgot momentarily what I had looked out of the window for.

‘What do you mean?’ I said, refocusing, turning back quickly to him. I knelt down to look up into his face.

‘I am no longer
le nez
. The Boche might as well have killed me alongside Henri. One of their hateful explosions has brought the worst sort of invisible injury to steal my sense of smell.’

In that heartbeat following his revelation, I felt an odd tingling in my lips as though in sympathy for his ailment. In fact I was sure my face was turning numb with shock and the deadened sensation was now creeping down my gullet to block my throat. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was tremble as the enormity of his admission sank in while I physically folded in on myself like a sack emptied of its rose petals until I was on the ground and resting my head on his knees.

It was his turn to stroke my head. ‘It’s gone, Ettie.’

‘Nothing at all?’ I croaked in a pleading voice.

‘Some, but only the obvious like blood and waste, and only when the air is warmed. I suspect in summer we might anticipate my olfactory expertise to win back some effectiveness but, Ettie, I can no longer make perfume.’

Was this worse than learning my mother had committed suicide? Or as painful as being gathered at my father’s bedside when he smiled beatifically at me for the final time just before he slipped into a coma? Or was it even more shattering than learning I’d married a member of my own kind? Yes, I believed that this news, if I lined it up against the few terrible events in my life, was the most horrible of all, including losing Henri.

‘What happened?’ My voice sounded small and I felt inconsequential against Felix’s revelation.

‘Head trauma from a shelling session.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why would I?’ he replied, exasperated. ‘You can’t fix me. No one can. This is it. The lottery of war. Henri dies, I lose the only gift I possessed. I think I’d prefer to have died heroically.’

‘Stop it now. You have to stop thinking like that.’

He moved, helped me to stand, but I knew he was effectively pushing me away so he could prowl the room like a caged animal.

‘There’s no future in perfume for me. If I had done us the good turn of dying, this could all have been yours and I know you’d make something of it all. As long as I’m in the way it means —’

‘Shut up, Felix! Just shut up! I don’t want it. I never did. I just want to work with you as we always did. I want respect. That’s all! I want the chance to make perfume and have my name attached to it . . . nothing more. I don’t want to run a business, or have the status as owner. It’s not about money, either. I’ve already got more than enough and use little of it. This is about achieving a lifelong dream but you’re part of that dream.’

He had moved to the window to stare out of it.

‘Felix?’

‘I heard you. I’ve always found self-pity to be loathsome in others and here I am all but drowning myself in it. But, Ettie’ — he swung around — ‘I do wish I were gone. Not being able to smell the world makes me less than half the man I was.’

‘You can’t die, Felix,’ I said firmly. ‘Because I need you. And you’re my twin and we need each other.’

‘You hardly need me with a husband and a lover.’

‘I have things to share,’ I said, not meaning to sound as cryptic as I did but I could see over his shoulder to Sébastien and Jeanne arriving with another youngster from the main villa. ‘And I need to tell you before Aimery arrives.’ I nodded. ‘Now Sébastien is here. Don’t you dare abuse him; I need you to listen to us.’

Felix sighed as if in sharing his news all the bravado of coming home had been expelled, and I looked at the shell of the brother who had returned. ‘Henri’s death aside, I can’t imagine you can share anything that feels more daunting than me learning I can no longer smell the scent of flowers.’

I stared at him, fixing his gaze. ‘Imagine it,’ I replied in a grave tone. ‘Because I believe I’m about to.’

__________

The two men had behaved cordially, me standing between them, my glare enough to warn them both against any further anger being exchanged. We had moved to the drawing room where a fire had been tended since the early hours to warm it for Felix’s arrival. In any other circumstances, it should have been a jolly scene but we sat straight-backed and tense within an atmosphere that felt instantly brittle and as though it might shatter at any second. Even the coffee that brought genuine joy for my brother was short-lived in its effect.

Soon enough his hostile expression had withered into the shock of learning what we had to tell him, our voices finally petering out to a taut silence as we let him read all the correspondence between our two parents. I knew he couldn’t doubt this: he would recognise our father’s writing in an instant and his gentle, affectionate words to Sébastien’s mother, to say nothing of the sharing of information about their son Aimery. He rubbed his chin distractedly as he read letters back from Sébastien’s mother, a sure sign of his irritation, and he became as still as a marble bust as he read the letters from each of their lawyers, which formalised an agreement that while Aimery was their son, he would be regarded as a De Lasset so that he might live his life as the son of Arnaud and inherit accordingly.

Felix finally raised his head and looked between us both. His expression was haunted and he chased his incomprehension back and forth between our two pairs of eyes that gazed at him with searching expressions, willing him to believe.

‘He’s our brother?’ he finally ground out, still incredulous.

We both nodded. The letters between our father and Sébastien’s mother were conclusive. Felix had had a lifetime of trusting me when I was serious – as I trusted him. He didn’t even waste the breath of arguing it but his overwrought expression told me plenty about the internal wrestle; I knew the feeling. If his complexion was sallow when he’d arrived, it was now the colour of raw pastry.