The Perfumer's Secret (4 page)

‘Prodigal brother. A good chance to build bridges,’ I mused, knowing we were both enjoying this conversation as a means to avoid the inevitable.

‘Perhaps he doesn’t care sufficiently for his brother to be bothered. They would be perfect strangers to each other.’

‘Then we are kindred spirits,’ I said, smiling at Felix’s look of dismay that he’d walked into that trap.

‘I wonder if Madame De Lasset is still alive?’

I nodded. ‘The last of the quartet.’ That’s how the two great families of the previous generation had been known. The Quartet of Grasse. Their parents had begun the empire but it was our father and Aimery’s who had built its wealth. ‘She would probably be in her mid-fifties now, disinclined to travel for her eldest son’s wedding.’

‘She hasn’t worried about him all of these years; I can’t imagine she would be overly troubled now about whom he has chosen to marry.’

I gave him a glare. ‘Why not? The quartet remains intact through this marriage, even though the boy she didn’t like sufficiently to raise is being forced upon a bride who doesn’t want him.’

He shrugged, clearly bored of the repetitive nature of my argument. I was tiring of hearing my own groans. ‘Ettie, I think you have to remind yourself that you’ve married a man, not the boy we recall.’

I sighed. I wasn’t convinced but I needed to keep those thoughts silenced now. ‘Do you really trust him, Felix?’

‘I trust his promise. It was made gravely within the hallowed walls of our church.’

‘I have no choice.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Is that what you were sent to tell me?’

He nodded. ‘But I only came because I believe it.’

‘I truly dislike him. When he looks at me it’s as though he’s undressing me. I even hate the way he smells.’

Felix chuckled but he looked sad for me. ‘You’ll need to get used to it.’

‘What if I can’t?’

‘You won’t be the first wife who feels repulsion at first but you have to find every small redeeming factor and build on each to find a level of admiration that can help you to feel affection.’ His reply was honest as always but tinged with sorrow for me.

‘How am I supposed to be intimate with someone I detest?’

Felix put his arm around me now. ‘It will be over quickly, I promise.’

I couldn’t help the sound of disgust or the accompanying shudder.

‘You’re not the first bride to go unwillingly to her husband’s bed.’

‘I don’t know what to do!’

‘I can —’

‘No, please don’t,’ I said, halting his words with a shove. ‘I couldn’t bear you trying to conjure the right instructions – it’s all very well for you. You’ve certainly sown your wild oats far and wide.’ Felix made his eyebrows dance suggestively and we dissolved into soft, sad chuckles, snickering helplessly. Nervous laughter, no doubt.

‘Fleurette, you’ll have to fake it, or smarten up and find something to focus on that you do enjoy about him.’

‘Like what? His enormous chin?’

‘Perhaps you’ll discover he has an enormous —’

‘Felix!’ I cackled, and covered my mouth to hush the screech but now we were both loudly laughing.

‘I was going to say “enormous and hidden sense of humour”,’ he lied.

‘We both know that’s about as probable as me calling down a dragon and riding away on its back.’

‘Well, how about his money?’

I snorted with contempt. I didn’t need his money.

‘All right, then. How about the doors that his connections will open for you? Keep an open mind. If you can’t love him, learn ways to bond with him. He’s hardly stupid and he’s not ugly either.’

‘You do remember him pulling the wings off butterflies and traumatising us?’ I snapped.

‘We were eight.’

‘You and I haven’t changed much since then. I doubt he has either.’

He slow-blinked, had fallen into my new trap, but I was no match for Felix. ‘That’s because we’re a partnership. He doesn’t even have a Henri in his life. He’s grown up without a lot of parenting as you well know: his father never cared much and his mother abandoned him. Anyway, I think you might just be the person to smooth those hard edges.’

I folded my arms defensively.

‘You’re going to have power and status now, Ettie. You’ll be running your own household.’

‘I run ours now!’

‘Yes, but only from beneath the shadow of Henri, and once Catherine gets that ring on her finger, you’ll likely feel like a scullery maid when the power for decisions is wrested away. Find all the positives, Ettie. Take the power being handed to you and use it. Rise above the imagined gloom and give Aimery a chance. Let’s not forget you will be mother to his sons. That is where the real power lies, my darling sister. Influence your children, guide them on everything you and I have discussed over the years about growing plants – heaven knows you think creatively in that regard. And even though you’ve met a blank wall with Father and Henri on those ideas . . . perhaps with Aimery, or potentially through your sons, you can pursue those dreams.’

Felix wasn’t playing me. From anyone else I would have felt manipulated but this brother, the twin beat of my heart, understood my passion, and he knew what drove me. He was giving me hope where I felt none existed.

‘And should I have daughters?’

‘They will be as fearless as you. Teach them all you know about perfume notes but in the meantime be the best wife you can be so you gain power and influence early. Handle Aimery right and you might be able to mould him to your way. I can assure you that most men are helpless in the hands of a beautiful woman.’

‘The thought of him touching me makes me ill.’

‘You may learn to enjoy it.’

I shook my head. ‘I want to be in love. Like our parents were. How do I achieve that when the man I must lie with makes me feel cold? I want to dream up perfumes about passion, not despair.’

My brother looked back at me unhappily.

‘I know, I know,’ I said, resigned. ‘It’s not my place but it doesn’t stop me wanting to make perfume.’

‘You’ve got a new life unfolding. Make it work for you and in the process continue to influence perfume. Ours could not have been crafted so exquisitely without you. And I’ll be here, just down the road. We can visit daily.’

I nodded, knowing everything he said was right.

‘Do you believe what’s going on with the military is posturing or are we facing prolonged war? I haven’t paid enough attention. But I know you have.’

I knew Felix wouldn’t be surprised by my shift in conversation; I also knew he wouldn’t treat me as though I lacked mental capacity in this regard purely because I was female. ‘Yes,’ he replied, instantly gloomy. ‘It’s why the mayor and councillors have been holed up most of the last day. I suppose we’ll know as soon as the decree filters down from Paris.’

‘I still keep hoping we might avoid all out war.’

‘I doubt it. Our army is already gathering. Britain thought it could broker the peace conference last July but that only inflamed the Kaiser. He felt it was condescending.’

‘You’re saying he feels obliged to declare war?’

‘I understand Germany not wishing to scuttle to Britain’s foreign secretary’s orders despite their cordial terms,’ he replied with patience. ‘I also understand Germany said it would always support Austria–Hungary. But I just don’t understand why everyone who says they don’t want Europe in conflict is taking every measure to ensure we all march to war.’

‘And —’

The bells stopped. I imagined the bell ringers perspiring with the effort and suddenly being told they had to finish, go find their uniforms. I halted before I allowed my easily distracted mind to wander. The fresh silence seemed more poignant and haunting than the tocsin.

Felix looked around in the quiet and checked his watch. ‘It’s time to go back in, Ettie.’ He sounded weary, as if talk of war had exhausted him. ‘You need to rejoin the festivities.’

The sigh at being forced back to my duty was out before I could stop it.

‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘Matters of state aside, it’s also time for you to leave our childhood playground behind.’ He offered an elbow, which I gratefully took, and we began the stroll back to the house, which was lit by lanterns, with music enchanting the hillside, and laughter sounding from within its happy walls. Felix gave a sigh. ‘You must grow up tonight. Please him, no matter what it costs you.’

‘But war, Felix,’ I appealed. ‘None of this matters!’ I said, flicking at my flouncy lace. ‘Besides, I won’t know what to do.’

‘He will.’

‘Did you see Graciela Olivares?’

‘No.’ He sounded intrigued. ‘I can’t imagine she was a guest.’

‘Not a guest. She was at the church.’

‘With the townsfolk?’

I nodded. ‘The only one not cheering; her glare was like Greek fire. She launched it across the heads of all the townsfolk.’

‘It’s that Hispanic blood in her. You couldn’t blame Graciela, though.’

‘I don’t, but I wish she’d blame him, not me.’

‘Maybe I could offer to soothe her wrath?’ He winked.

Back inside the villa and out on the verandah where people were feasting anew at small tables, I mulled over the false jollity and eavesdropped on conversations. It seemed the older folk were eager to avenge the Franco–Prussian disaster of the previous century while our younger guests were filled with bravado and equally eager to taste war. Aimery left me alone while he guffawed with his army cronies, no doubt whipping them up into a frenzy of arrogance that they were all invincible. I wasn’t unhappy for the hours to pass in this way, but it all did move before me while I watched in a sort of daze. Food and drinks seemed to flow faster as though hurtling me towards my destiny but it wasn’t until the mayor arrived, newly from Nice, making apologies for his lateness, that I became fully focused. I heard Felix chuckle nearby and cut him a slit-eyed look but he came up and linked arms.

‘I’m going to war, dear sister; I don’t want my last memory of you to be sour-faced and frightened.’

Aimery appeared before I could answer Felix, Henri trailing him.

‘Ah, here she is,’ Aimery said in a jolly tone but I heard the false note. ‘Hello, my darling,’ he said, pulling me free from Felix. It was a deliberate act that was not lost on us. ‘I’ve been wondering where you’d got to.’ He kissed my hand. ‘From now on I shan’t let you out of my sight.’

I felt a trill of fresh despair pass through me. ‘I was just saying goodbye to everything familiar,’ I ventured.

‘You’re only moving up the road, my sweet. I promise you shall visit here regularly but I do look forward to you making my home your home from this evening.’

He stared at me and I heard the words
make my bed your bed
whisper through my mind.

‘Aren’t you worried about war, Aimery?’

‘Not right at this moment but I promise I shall give it my full attention soon enough,’ he said, shutting me down with his condescension. It seemed I was the only person putting the terrifying prospect of war ahead of the only slightly less terrifying prospect of climbing into bed with Aimery.

‘Is it time to leave?’ Felix said, saving me a response. ‘It’s nearing ten.’ He wouldn’t be able to save me from here on so I squared my shoulders and did my best to take control.

‘It must be,’ I said, catching an enquiring look between the plotters who hatched this terrible yet brilliant union. I wanted to say,
Let’s get this over with
. Instead I feigned a smile. ‘Shall we make our farewells, Aimery?’

His eyes glistened with intent. ‘Indeed. Come, my darling, I think we have to live through one final teasing ritual.’

‘Oh no, can’t we just run for it?’ I said, hoping to prompt a moment of shared wickedness. It was an empty hope as the humour was lost on him. His look of dismay said everything.

‘Heavens, no, girl, the guests expect to formally perform
le charivari
.’

Girl?
There it was, damning proof of how my new husband viewed me. The final evidence I would gather in about an hour. I glanced at Felix, who was moving, refusing to look my way, already letting go of his twin self, as he and I both knew he must.

‘Come along, Fleurette, bear up,’ Aimery urged. I noted he didn’t disguise his vexation sufficiently when he waved his hand impatiently at me.

Henri had the grace to slide me a sheepish look but I couldn’t be tempted to glare at him. In truth I couldn’t bear to hold his gaze, for I’d left behind the warmth of our family bond in the church when I had noticed him share a glance of deep satisfaction with Aimery as the priest pronounced me wed.

In that moment of shared smugness, I hated them both.

Le charivari
was a predictably boisterous affair. The mocking serenade was achieved on instruments that ranged from pennywhistles to the banging of saucepan lids and the clanging of pots with olive wood stirrers. This was one French custom I had hoped to avoid but it seemed the champagne had flowed fast and strong, encouraging our normally well-behaved guests to find their sense of the ridiculous and join the waiting townsfolk for the final public spectacle.

The townsfolk began it and I knew it was meant with affection, particularly as they’d not been allowed to accompany me on my way to the church. They were not going to miss out on accompanying me to my new husband’s bed.

Off we went, supposedly happy arm in arm, laughing for the benefit of our guests and the people of Grasse who wanted this rare, important marriage to work. We were to walk up the hill to the De Lasset family mansion where the last fragile tendrils of my hold on the Delacroix name would be broken as determinedly as I was sure Aimery intended to break into me.

The cacophony gave a solid sound to the noises in my mind, which only I could hear, and followed us through the grand entrance into the reception hall, up the magnificent staircase and another flight to the landing on the floor of the house that we would now share.

Tonight I would be in Aimery’s room but I knew that by tomorrow morning I would be shown to a wing on this level that would house my private chambers, including my boudoir and bathroom, a salon and sitting room for greeting close personal friends. Tomorrow felt a long way away, though, when Aimery hushed the discordant music of our trailing guests – mainly the young – and obliged by picking me up to cradle me in his arms as he chivalrously carried me into his room, slamming the door in their faces.

This prompted loud applause and we waited for the cheering to die away finally as people left us behind.

‘They’ve likely attached cowbells to the mattress,’ he warned as I did a slow and full revolution to take in my new place of torture. As I did so, a new lament erupted; this one urgent and demanding. The eight bells of the Cathédrale de Notre-Dame de Puy began tolling once again, and I wondered if the old priest was now hanging on the end of one of the ropes with the choirboys. ‘I can’t believe we’re really going to war.’

Aimery looked back at me nonchalantly and even took a moment to slip off his jacket, loosening his top button. ‘Indeed, war has found us, Fleurette.’

__________

Aimery blinked slowly as if working hard to remain patient. ‘Would you like me to do it? I’m probably faster.’

I’m sure you are
. ‘No, Aimery, I can manage,’ I said as politely as I could, but I was still in shock from the bells announcing the mobilisation of the men of Grasse while my new husband insisted on enjoying his conjugal rights. I knew I was struggling to undo my straight front corset because of trembling fingers, and although I tried to convince myself otherwise, I suspected he could see my nervousness too. I had practised this in private – could have it undone in a few heartbeats – and yet that newly acquired skill had deserted me in the moment of need.

I worked at it a bit longer and finally the ties came free and the palest of pink corsets, designed to go beneath the ecru of my gown to achieve that perfect ‘S’ figure, fell away.

My husband gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Well, thank heavens for that. You can hear how impatient the war is, my dear,’ he said, gesturing towards the open window where the sound of the bells coursed through with a relentless energy. I noticed that Aimery’s gaze was resting on the flimsy, narrow petticoat that was now my sole modesty, save the lace inlaid stockings that I was quickly rolling down.

I gave a thin smile as his little jest forced him to visibly sigh.

‘Let’s have a cognac together, shall we?’

‘I don’t dri—’

‘I don’t care, Fleurette. The cognac will relax you.’

He unbuttoned his shirt further, took off his cravat and flung it carelessly aside. I heard his jewelled cravat stud tinkle as it hit the glass of the dish at his bedside table. He moved around to the marble mantelpiece, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

It wasn’t cold but I shivered before I nodded at his suggestion, resigned. I watched him symbolically place the rose that he’d worn at his buttonhole on the dormant fireplace, which was made up but would not be used for another three months. I would be expected to pluck a rosebud from my bouquet to lie next to his bloom and they would be lit with the first fire of winter and signal a long life and many warm winters together. Try as I might to be open to the idea, he couldn’t stir my internal flames. I simply didn’t like Aimery. Others considered him handsome . . . I didn’t.

A balloon glass was handed to me containing a syrupy slug of liquor. I sipped as Aimery sniffed his theatrically.

‘Ah, the finest of Charente,’ he mused. ‘Do you know the Dutch used to call this burnt brandy?’

I shook my head as the fumes cleared my nose.

He talked for a while about the cognac. I wasn’t paying attention but I sipped quietly, giving myself all the help I could to dull my senses. The cognac must have mixed with the small glass of champagne I’d managed to keep down and a great drowsiness was pushing on my shoulders. I may even have yawned. Aimery smiled but it was one of hunger.

‘Why didn’t your brother come to our wedding?’ I asked in a sleepy voice.

‘Sébastien?’ He smiled. ‘On his way, apparently.’

That surprised me. ‘I was hoping he might. I’m sorry he missed it.’

Aimery shrugged. ‘Really? I don’t know why. You’ve never met him and I don’t even know him. What would he be now? A couple of years older than yourself but as English as I am French because our mother divided our family, which I shall never forgive her for, and why she was not invited to our wedding.’

‘Oh, Aimery, grudges are hard work to hang on to. Whatever happened occurred a long time ago. She’s old enough now to have regrets. Maybe she’d like to see you, explain her absence?’

‘I don’t care to hear it. To tell you the truth, Fleurette, when I look back upon my childhood I realise that it lacked the motherly love others talk about. She left me; I’ve never understood it.’

‘Oh, stop,’ I began, but he held up a warning finger.

‘Why is truth hard to hear? There’s no need to cover up my reality. I’m perfectly resigned to my situation. My father did his best by me despite being a cold-hearted man, and no amount of wondering or recrimination would bring her back. I used to blame myself as a youngster, but now I blame her and wouldn’t welcome her back if she tried to re-enter my life.’

I winced, never believing I could ever imagine something so cruel about my parents.

‘As for Sébastien, well, he missed out on a father. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to share the news of my marriage with them.’

‘Clearly you did, though, and that’s a good step,’ I offered.

‘I sent a telegram as a formality. And my brother, clearly odd, replied with a telegram from Paris yesterday begging me not to go through with the service until he’d arrived.’

‘Pardon?’

Aimery gave a cynical laugh and downed his cognac with a satisfied sigh. ‘Oh, I suppose he wanted me to wait. You know, the favoured prodigal son returning to steal the show.’

‘I can’t imagine he’d want that. Did he mention your mother?’

‘Dying, apparently. The cancer has her in its grip.’ He raised his glass as if saluting the disease.

‘Aimery!’

‘Hmm?’

‘That’s callous . . .’

‘Is it? Why should I care about someone who does not care about me? One more burden gone from my life. She’d better not make any claim on the family’s empire – we built it without her.’

‘Where is she?’

‘London. I also received a telegram from her. She insisted I hold off for Sébastien.’

I frowned but said nothing, waiting for him to add more.

He obliged. ‘And I was right not to delay. He isn’t here, even now, and frankly why would I? For her? I don’t think so.’ Aimery put down his glass. ‘Come and sit on my lap, Fleurette.’

I shuddered inwardly. Outwardly it must have appeared to him as a coy tremble of anticipation and I could see just how much it teased him. His rising excitement matched my escalating horror. The cognac was doing nothing to quell the loathing.

‘Aimery, apart from the obvious desire to link our families, what do you find desirable about our marriage? I really didn’t think you felt affection for me.’ I hadn’t moved to join him, hoping to distract him a little longer.

Mercifully the jangle of bells ended; the priest had probably collapsed.

Aimery seemed in no hurry, which troubled me even more. ‘Well, now,’ he said, playing along, reaching to light a small cigar next to his empty cognac balloon. I watched him suck and puff at the tobacco. He blew out smoke and there was something about the way he held his head to one side that shockingly reminded me of my father in that moment. I caught my breath, hating the notion, and then it was gone as he grinned from beneath his gingery moustache. What would our children look like? Redheads? Freckled on their arms, like Aimery? I had to conceive the children first, and this prompted another silent intake of breath.

‘I’ve always found you somewhat fascinating, Fleurette. You’ve been indulged from birth.’

I opened my mouth to protest but he tsk-tsked at me.

‘I don’t mean spoiled by your family money, although frankly you’ve never wanted for anything, never had to fight for anything, never had to look for affection or wonder about how loved you might be. You have been adored like a little princess for all of your life. And in being adored in this manner I know your father has given you freedoms that I wouldn’t afford our daughter, for instance. You can be a bit wild; you have opinions and you’re not afraid to air them. You’ve also been allowed to be involved in the family business in ways far more inclusive than I consider appropriate for a woman.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d find any of those qualities endearing.’

He smiled wider, blowing out smoke as he did so. ‘I don’t. But I do find you a challenge. You’re not simpering, you’re hardly doting, you’re very beautiful, of course, but then I would not choose a woman otherwise.’ I tried to cover the sneer at his condescension, quickly rearranging my expression to remain interested.

‘No, of course not,’ I murmured.

‘You will make life interesting and frankly, Fleurette, you demonstrate strength. Of all the qualities that I find tricky about you, I do like that one most of all because I suspect it will serve the family well and I’d like to think that this part of you will shine in our children. Strength of mind is important, although perhaps I need to break what I see as wilfulness in you.’ He sniggered at my soft gasp of shock. ‘Wilfulness is certainly neither attractive nor desirable in a woman. So yes, to answer your question,’ he finished airily, ‘it is, I suppose, your strength of character that attracts.’

‘I see.’ It was a backhanded compliment even if it was all but grudging.

He continued, not looking at me, but staring moodily into his cognac. ‘My mother ran away when life got too challenging. I don’t wish for that weakness in my wife.’

‘Do you know why she left?’

He sucked back on his cigar. I watched the cylinder of leaf glow as his breath was drawn through it. I had perhaps another two minutes, maybe three, before it would be ash and my time would arrive.

‘My parents didn’t care enough for each other. Lack of affection, I suppose, drove her away. She used to cherish me – I know I’m not making that up – and then she was gone and I had no mothering at all for the rest of my life, save hired nurses. I can remember her voice, though, her affections, but I also remember the day my father returned from somewhere they’d been without me. He sat me down in front of him – I think I was about four or five – and he told me my mother had left us, pregnant with Sébastien too.’

‘He gave you no reason?’

Aimery shrugged. ‘I was an infant. Why would he bother to explain?’

‘And you never asked more as you grew up?’

‘I did but I was fobbed off. She was ailing; she was with family in England; she was travelling . . . all manner of odd reasons were tossed carelessly at me, so in the end I gave up asking and decided she hated us – or why else would she leave her firstborn? And so I hated her.’

‘Maybe she wanted to take you with her. I can’t imagine she’d willingly leave behind a young child.’

‘Well, if she did, I was given no sense of that. Besides, he wouldn’t permit it. My father couldn’t do much about the unborn child, but knowing him I suspect he’d rather be damned than let an heir be carted off around the world, or made British.’ He gave a moue of disdain. ‘Whatever the reason, they were never suited, I’m sure.’

‘Because they were forced to marry,’ I offered innocently enough but he heard the challenge all the same.

Aimery fixed me with a pale stare. ‘Our marriage is a glorious union, Fleurette. Bear me heirs, be faithful, do not challenge me and the world is yours. I will provide everything you need. I will give you jewels, property, a wardrobe the envy of anyone in France. We will travel and you will meet other wealthy folk. Truly, what more could a woman want?’

His condescension made me seethe. ‘And what about those freedoms you mentioned earlier? The ones my father afforded me.’

He tapped off a clump of ash into the tray nearby and I watched it fall apart soundlessly. It felt like a symbol of my life disintegrating and I had no voice in it. ‘I’m afraid a married woman does not have so many freedoms as a spinster.’

‘Aimery, you know that I have the talent, don’t you? I have the Nose. I can create new perfumes that people haven’t yet imagined possible.’

‘So I’m assured by your twin. But you are a woman, my dear, and no wife of mine is going to be playing in a laboratory when she is supposed to run my household, care for my children and fulfil her wifely duties.’

‘You will ignore my greatest gift? So few are bestowed with it!’ I tried to keep my despair under control.

‘I’m glad we’re having this chat now,’ Aimery said, his tone amiable but firm. ‘I don’t wish you anywhere near the De Lasset perfume factory. You may spend time with the growers and our gardeners – I know you love your flowers and I’m happy for that; it is comely for a woman to be near flowers – but no, Fleurette, it is not a woman’s place to make perfume. We have our perfumer, Monsieur Planque, and he has no need of another assistant, especially his employer’s wife.’