The Perfumer's Secret (8 page)

Felix raised an eyebrow. ‘I am merely thankful that we are Chasseurs. You realise, dear sister, that apart from being trained to operate in mountain conditions, on skis or showshoes, and being hardier than our fellow soldiers not trained in alpine conditions, we wear blue?’

I didn’t want to smile but Felix was doing his utmost to amuse.

‘I do not envy the poor old infantry their scarlet trousers one bit. Always stand next to a man who makes an easier target, I say.’

Both Henri and I gave him a look of exasperation.

‘What?’ he said, looking injured. ‘If there was ever a time to make a jest, it is now, when we feel at our most vulnerable and fearful. That’s when laughing, even sadly, helps. We may never stand in this room together again.’

‘Felix!’ I said in a muted half-scream.

‘Be realistic. And if it is the case that this is the last time I shall hug you, darling Fleurette, then I should like to do so with a smile.’

‘I’m afraid your gallows humour is lost on me, brother,’ Henri said. ‘What is going to happen to our family business? We start jasmine harvest shortly. What shall happen to our fields?’ he wondered aloud, staring around our father’s room, now his own – but we all still thought of it as Father’s . . . even Henri.

‘Given that everyone is sharing the same trauma, you could say we maintain a status quo,’ I tried, not really believing it, feeling disturbed afresh that our flowers, watched over with such care, would wither on the stem this year . . . and possibly the next.

‘You’re probably right.’ Henri cheered somewhat. ‘If we all miss out this year, then there’s simply no new perfume circulating out of Grasse.’

‘Not necessarily,’ I murmured. When their gazes slid quickly to me, I shrugged. ‘I mean’ — and I wasn’t really sure what I meant — ‘Um, I mean, not everyone has someone in the family left behind who can manage or indeed run the business.’

Felix snapped me an amused wink. Next to him Henri bristled.

‘Fleurette, we have a manager in place,’ he cautioned.

‘Yes, but you need someone above Monsieur Bouchard who can make decisions. It’s harvest, Henri! And how do you know Monsieur Bouchard hasn’t been called up?’

‘He’s past fifty,’ he snorted.

I lifted a shoulder. ‘We don’t know what’s going to happen, so we shouldn’t speculate. But I am capable and if you forbid me, fine. I’ll just put my efforts into taking the De Lasset brand onwards.’ It was a cruel threat and I felt mean watching my elder brother blink in surprise. ‘Forget I said that. I’m nervous and frightened. You know I will do everything I can to protect the whole region’s business, not just ours.’

Henri straightened. ‘The truth is, Fleurette, your role is now to consider De Lasset before Delacroix.’

‘Never,’ I said.

Madame Girouard was back at the opened door but not crossing its threshold. We all looked at her, expecting the worst.

‘Yes, Madame?’

I was impressed Henri’s voice sounded granite-steady.

‘The Senateur has returned, Monsieur Delacroix.’

Henri glanced at Felix, who in turn cut me a look. This was it.

‘Until we see you, Fleurette,’ Felix said carefully, reaching for me. ‘You may need to send on some trunks for Henri. You know how he needs so many pomades and toiletries.’

I chuckled. Felix was right. It did help to cut through the tension, even though the humour felt sad.

‘Oh, do be quiet, Felix,’ Henri growled with mock disgust but we all knew he was right to not allow us to become maudlin. ‘Fleurette, I’m sorry your day has been marked by . . .’

‘I know, Henri. But it doesn’t matter. What counts is that you and Felix stay safe and come home soon.’ I suppose I should have added Aimery’s name into that mix but I was too busy hugging my eldest brother fiercely so he knew I meant it, and all those dark words that had passed between us earlier today were forgiven, forgotten. I loved Henri . . . I just sometimes found it hard to admire him.

Meanwhile, admiring Felix was easy. I moved my affection to him with a squeezing embrace. ‘I shall miss you every moment,’ I murmured. ‘Don’t die, Felix.’

His eyes glittered at me when we pulled away. ‘I shall try not to. Besides, I’m an officer,’ he added, as though title alone would keep him from the bullets.

‘No heroics,’ I warned them both. ‘Just do your duty and come home.’

And then they were gone, greeting the Senateur who stood inside our hallway, stiff and silent. He gave a small bow of respect as he spied my brothers. Perhaps the politician had called at the De Lasset villa too out of similar respect and discovered Aimery already departed. I wondered if he also would be clambering into uniform soon enough. I followed like a loyal pet, walking behind the men, hearing every squeak of their leather boots and crunch of those same boots on our gravel path until we’d reached the gates of the property, where the household staff had gathered. Some of the younger women were weeping. I noticed Felix kissed each of the staff on both cheeks. He knew they were sad to see the family sons walking off to war but there were also their own sons, husbands, fathers, going. What would our prickly family do without Felix’s charm? I wondered, as I noticed the women brightening for him, finding smiles, even a sad gust of a laugh from the housekeeper.

‘Go on with you, sir,’ I heard her admonish, with a gentle tap on my brother’s arm. She’d been with our family since before Felix and I were born.

‘No further, Fleurette,’ Henri warned. ‘The prefect says it’s chaotic out there.’

I didn’t need him to tell me. I could hear the cacophony of men’s voices, marching boots, yells and squeals from women in the distance, presumably bestowing weepy farewells. I knew he’d want me to remain composed, represent our family well. On impulse I hugged him. ‘Take care of yourself, Henri.’

‘Don’t worry about us,’ he said, but I could see the concern like a shadow behind his bravely set expression. It danced in his eyes, which seemed slightly glassy in the lantern light. Henri turned to address the staff, gave them an uplifting talk that I barely heard because my mind was wandering, considering whether this was the last time I’d see them together. Was this the last moment of innocence in our lives, where hours earlier we’d been sipping champagne and toasting my good health? Were we saying farewell forever?

If not for the way Felix turned and flashed me one of his signature grins, I might have faltered. Instead, I watched them fall in with the rest of the men from our neighbourhood who had respectfully gathered outside our villa – they were all part of the Bataillon de Chasseurs Alpin. Our alpine light infantry had a reputation for being reliable soldiers, brave and willing. What more could you ask of any man? I thought, feeling a rush of sentimentality as I watched the huddle move as one away from us in the low light.

They began to sing. It was a French lullaby I recognised: something my father would hum as he soothed us off to sleep as infants. And with their song came the ancient, enchanting fragrance of jasmine that was first cultivated in the Middle Ages in our region. It was now synonymous with Grasse, imprinted on my memory as richly as a photograph captures a moment. Full of opulent sweetness,
Jasminum grandiflorum
could be picked out with its fruity notes. But this moment belonged to its sister, the evening-blooming
Jasminum sambac
, which rose through the warmth of the night like a ghost of our childhoods to remind us of home, where our hearts lay. Brooding and animalistic, it swept like a wild, invisible creature past me, moving nimbly over the top of the hill to stalk the marching men to their destinies.

It had been over a week since Aimery and his 23e Chasseurs had left the town but Henri and Felix were still forming their companies at Villefranche. No visitors were allowed, I was informed. Despite a certain secrecy, it soon became common knowledge that their battalion was going to leave on August 10th. I understood there was nothing to be gained from making the trip down from Grasse other than inevitable pain should we catch a glimpse of each other. Nevertheless, I joined the throng of women to tearfully wave off our men as they proudly marched down to the train station for transportation to La Vésubie.

I gathered that my brothers – two of more than two dozen officers – were on their way to the north, where the Germans had already invaded Belgium. I didn’t see Henri, but Felix I could sense, and I would not let that column of men march past me without one final glimpse of my twin. I scanned the familiar faces, expressions now set grimly as if hammered from stone, eyes forward, following their orders. There was Etienne, perhaps our most trusted chemist. He was nearing forty with a family of five children. I picked out Jean-Paul, a violet grower; Alain, one of our foremen; Hercule, a giant of a fellow who could coax muguet from our fields to be as sweet as I knew his nature to be. On his heels was Stephane, who worked in the distillery – an only child, as far as I could recall.

And there he was, grinning for me. Or, at least that’s what I told myself. Felix was hailed as not only the most handsome bachelor in the town but the most eligible. I was aware of his reputation amongst his peers of his female conquests and I also knew directly from Felix that he would never marry someone from Grasse.

‘Too much history, Ettie. We’ve all grown up together.’

‘Not all of us,’ I’d remarked.

‘Well, those who didn’t come from our side of the bed have watched me grow up and I’ve probably . . .’ He had stopped and I had given him a sideways look. ‘Well’ — he’d continued with a sigh that said
Let’s say no more about it
, ‘you understand.’

‘Yes, Felix, I do.’

He wore the same slightly lopsided smile now as he had then and while I convinced myself it was for me, because he had broken orders presumably to look directly at me, I heard various women call out his name. He winked and my heart hurt. Felix was so full of mischief, so full of affection for everyone, and was adored in return. I was admired but not adored like my brother. I waved, blew him a long kiss and barely registered the tears until a soft breeze made the moisture cool on my cheeks. I mouthed, ‘Where’s Henri?’ but Felix could only give a slight shake of his head. They’d look after one another.

I had no idea where Aimery and the 23e had been sent from Grasse but I imagined he’d send news soon enough so I could stop shrugging, looking blank or making excuses whenever anyone from the town asked me.

Opposite me, through the column of marching men, I caught a glimpse of Graciela again. Was she looking for my husband? Did she not know he had already left the immediate region? As far as he’d told me, his regiment, though assembled at Grasse, had left during the same day he’d left me. I was yet to learn where the new barracks were. She looked even more anguished than she had on the day of the wedding.

‘Madame De Lasset?’

I swung around, my thoughts interrupted by one of the women from a family of growers. ‘Yes? Oh, hello, Soline. Surely your father is not marching?’

She shook her head. ‘He would if he could. I don’t know if my father will see out the year.’ She sighed, but did not dwell on that hurt. ‘No, my two cousins are leaving with this regiment.’

‘They look resplendent, don’t they?’

‘I suppose. They’re both so young.’

‘Everyone’s too young to go to war,’ I replied, just short of being dismissive and sounding like one of our elders. Did marriage do this to people? One day riding a bicycle through puddles and shrieking with laughter, the next behaving contemptuously of single people, as though being wed brought vast wisdom? ‘I’m sorry,’ I followed up quickly. ‘That was condescending of me. I am a believer that war is pointless, even if you do hail yourself the winner. The ruin of people, families, livelihoods, land, finances feels too costly.’

‘What’s the alternative, though, Madame? I admit I have no desire to learn German.’

She had a point and I conceded it with a sad nod.

I looked back and Graciela had effected one of her amazing disappearing acts and Felix was already advancing out of my immediate sight. At any other time I would have chased the column, calling his name. Now I was expected to behave with grace. It would be unseemly but it didn’t stop me standing on tiptoe to maximise my full height. I caught a final glimpse of his beret, worn just a smidge more rakishly than his companions.

And then he was gone. Lost to the blur of brave blue. What were they marching into? I didn’t want to think on it and yet it was all I thought about over the next few days.

If I was asked to write down what I’d done in the week following the wedding, I don’t believe I could scribble anything of note. It was a grey haze of confusion . . . Not only were we all taking on new duties, sharing as much of the burden left by the men as we could, but I was moving around as if some giant puppeteer was in charge of me. There was no conscious thought that I could recall. My actions were being performed either by rote or simply memory. Nothing was achieved, it seemed, while we all came to terms that our men were gone. This was the first time I could remember not having one family member within speaking distance. I was alone, entirely in charge of myself, two households and a team of women and old men across both villas. Everyone was waiting. I wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but it began to filter into my consciousness that they were waiting for me to make decisions.

And it was my good fortune the weather had been contrary enough that the harvest would run late and we didn’t look out across our fields to see spoiled flowers.

I’m sure I’d only emerged out of this state of almost frozen bewilderment because I found the letter. I remembered now that I’d hurriedly stuffed Sébastien’s missive into the pocket of my silk dressing-gown when Aimery and I had been interrupted on our wedding night. In the chaos, I’d forgotten about it and I’d left the dressing-gown at the De Lasset mansion. For the past few days I hadn’t returned, preferring to set up my family’s household first on its new war footing before I walked back up the hill to be Madame De Lasset.

This is where I found myself now, seated in my boudoir of my marriage home for the first time, and so resplendent it was that I felt insignificant. We’d discovered the letter rustling quietly when I’d undressed this evening.

‘Madame?’ Jeanne had said, as she’d taken out my silk gown from my trousseau, untouched since my wedding night. Presumably, the housekeeper had hung everything up in my absence. I knew I’d left the room in an untidy state. Jeanne held out the unopened letter with a look of enquiry. Yes, indeed, who did leave sealed letters in their dressing-gowns?

‘Oh, my. I forgot about that. It arrived the night of the mobilisation.’

Jeanne smiled and I was glad she didn’t recognise the writing. Then again, potentially no one would, given that Sébastien had not been glimpsed in Grasse’s small world.

‘Would you like me to fetch your letter opener?’ she offered.

‘Er, no, I’ll read it later. It’s just well wishes,’ I dismissed. ‘Not in the mood for those right now.’

She set it down on the dressing table and we both stared at it for a moment before she picked up the brush and began to polish my hair with sweeping strokes of the boar bristles. I busied myself dipping my fingers into a pot of lavender-scented cream from Haute Provence. The luscious cream was made with the oils from its olive groves, and I took my time smearing the gently fragranced balm onto my hands and arms.

‘May I, Madame?’ Jeanne gestured at the pot.

‘By all means,’ I said, thinking she meant to try some on her skin, but she dipped just a single fingertip into the cream, then warmed the small globule between her hands, coating them, before she ran glistening fingers through the dark waves she had been brushing. I smiled as she began again and my hair started to feel slippery-smooth.

‘This will nourish it, Madame.’

‘Who taught you this?’

‘I used to work in the household of Madame Graciela Olivares.’

I couldn’t hide my surprise fast enough and she could see my shocked expression reflected in the mirror.

‘Oh, forgive me. I thought Monsieur De Lasset had told you this.’

‘No. Perhaps he thought it would feel odd that I would be attended to by his former lover’s maid.’

It was Jeanne’s turn to look shocked. ‘No, no, Madame. I was no such thing. I was the sister of her maid and I simply cleaned in her home. I had very little to do with the family itself.’

‘I see.’ I began imagining Jeanne as a spy for Graciela. Perhaps she guessed this because she blushed.

‘I am not here to pass on information, Madame. I promise you I will demonstrate my gratitude by being your loyal servant.’

As children we had been taught to accept people as they presented and only judge them when cause was given. While I was now helplessly suspicious, Jeanne had given me no cause; she could have hidden the truth and yet had spoken it seemingly without guile.

‘I hope I am placing my trust truly,’ I answered. Using one of my father’s phrases deliberately prompted a sense of needing to live up to his expectation. I don’t think I feared anything more than disappointing my father. ‘Plus, I have nothing to hide. If you are a spy, there is no secret to pass back.’

‘I am no spy, Madame.’

‘I know you will prove that, Jeanne. Trust is earned, is it not?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ She started brushing again, frowning. ‘Sometimes, though, trust is blindly given.’

‘Husbands and wives?’ I said, in a slightly ironic tone.

She smiled and nodded thoughtfully, but her frown deepened. ‘Children, too.’

‘To parents, you mean?’

‘For example,’ she answered.

‘But that’s the purest form of trust, surely?’

‘I suppose. My parents let us down, though. My father had affairs; my mother drank herself to death.’

I felt immediately sad for Jeanne, knowing how secure I’d always felt with my father and brothers.

‘Then there’s our men of the town going off to war, trusting their superiors, our government . . . But we all know some of them aren’t going to return, despite that trust.’

‘Jeanne, I’m sorry I haven’t asked you this before, but do you have a sweetheart?’

She gave a coy smile. ‘I do. His name is Errando.’

‘Is he Basque?’

‘Proudly, yes. He’s been living in Lyon. He arrived two years ago to help with the harvest and never left . . . until now.’

‘Will you marry?’

‘I hope so. We agreed we would wait for his permission to come through for leave.’

I didn’t mention that Felix had got word to me through one of the gendarmes left in our town that no leave was being granted in the immediate future. ‘Well, then, I shall help you as soon as you know more,’ I offered.

‘Really, Madame?’

‘Of course. We can prepare a celebration lunch in our gardens here if you wish.’ I might as well demonstrate my trust now. It would be up to Jeanne to earn it.

‘Only women would be present. And the priest.’

‘All you need is your bridegroom and a bed,’ I offered, affecting a wicked glint that Felix would have been proud of.

‘Madame!’ She giggled. ‘You are so lucky. You managed to marry just in time and have your wedding night.’

So the household believed Aimery and I had consummated our marriage vows . . . I would let that belief remain intact for now, if it kept everyone happy.

‘So what is Mademoiselle Olivares like?’

‘I barely said more than two words to her in my time at the house.’

I smiled conspiratorially. ‘Oh, come on. Your sister must have revealed something.’

‘Not really. I am not very close to my sister. I do know Mademoiselle prefers to be called Senorita behind closed doors, and I know she possesses a fearful temper too.’

‘Really? Spaniards are known to be fiery.’

‘She is more than that, though, Madame. Mademoiselle Olivares struck me as being spontaneous.’

It was such an odd word. Something in the tone of Jeanne’s voice made me believe she actually wanted to say unstable.

‘Do you mean unpredictable?’

She shrugged. ‘I think her actions ebb and flow with her emotions.’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘No, I think the senorita lives off her spontaneity. She could slap a servant or cuddle a child in the same heartbeat.’

‘Truly?’

‘I saw her sweep a fully dressed table clear of everything so that food spilled everywhere because she wasn’t happy with the chilindrón stew.’

‘Surely not?’ I asked, aghast.

‘I do not jest. It was horrifying. She was having guests. Such a mess. All because she claimed the paprika tasted stale.’

‘How old is she?’

‘I think she is past thirty, Madame.’

‘Not a happy age for a spinster.’

‘A rich, unhappy one.’

‘Why here?’

‘I don’t claim to know. Her family had to leave Spain, I believe. Her father was immensely rich; her brother died, her parents were killed in an accident at sea, I believe. She’s been alone since her early twenties.’

‘What a tragic tale. I think, Jeanne, she believed she would marry the man I did.’

Our gazes met over my head in the mirror. Jeanne blushed.

‘Aimery and I have discussed it. I am sad to think she carries a flame for him.’

Jeanne had the grace not to respond. If she knew more, she wasn’t saying at this stage and as she tied back my hair with a satin ribbon, I sensed it was the end of our conversation about Graciela for the time being. However, I felt better – more powerful for having been first to bring the subject into the open.

‘Thank you.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ she offered, reaching for the lamp.

I smiled. ‘No, you get off to bed too. I’m going to enjoy my first full night in my new bed.’

‘Shall I turn off the light?’ she said, looking hopeful.

I nodded. Electrical lighting was still a novelty. Our rich town enjoyed electrified street lighting from the turn of the century and our villa, along with the wealthy families like the De Lassets, joined the new world of lighting in every room. Our staff and the general population were still carrying around oil lamps at home, however, so I could understand her pleasure that at the pull of a cord light magically came on or switched off at her command. Plus it was clean and required no additional work so I could imagine how much easier that made her life in the big house.

As Jeanne left the room I was plunged into a moodier atmosphere that was illuminated now by a single lamp at my bedside. I picked up Sébastien’s letter and carried it to the bed so I could read it properly. It popped open easily enough and I withdrew two small sheets. The purple ink once again trapped my attention because it was such a rare colour in nature and yet it was so thoroughly symbolic of Grasse, with its purple spring violets. Purple . . . the colour of royalty and also of mourning. And unlike most, who might cite scarlet or crimson first, I considered purple to be the colour of the romantic. It was, without any doubt, my favourite colour, and I was arrested by its rich beauty on the thick cream paper and wondered if the hand that wrote this felt the same way about the colour as I did. Sébastien’s handwriting, though flamboyantly looped, flowed on neat, straight lines.

My dear Mademoiselle Delacroix,

No doubt you will think it odd that I choose to write suddenly, given that we do not know one another. However, we are connected strongly through our families’ past friendship. I must ask you to forgive both my candour and brevity, as I am taking this precaution of sending you a letter should anything prevent me from reaching Grasse in time to, in person, prevent you from marrying Aimery.

I caught my breath, stopped reading. I could feel myself blink with consternation at his blunt words. I had to scan them again to be sure they did in fact say what I thought I’d read.

No, I hadn’t misread or misunderstood it . . . 
to prevent you from marrying Aimery.

Fresh shock trilled through me at the bald statement. This felt entirely different to the alarm of Jeanne’s revelation of her connection to Aimery’s lover; this felt sinister, full of threat.

I read on, hardly daring to stir the pages before me by breathing.

I will explain more as soon as I see you, and my deepest apology for disrupting your life with such a dark instruction. Yet, I feel sure you already accept that I would not make such a traumatic suggestion in jest. I am honourable in my mission to ensure this marriage is not made and there is solid reason for it never to take place. Make any excuse, Mademoiselle; make yourself ill if you must, but do not take a vow of marriage to Aimery De Lasset.

I implore you not to ignore this edict that comes from our mother.

I had been gobbling these words with widening eyes and an escalating pulse but now I paused. ‘Edict. . .’ I heard myself repeat in a whisper. She didn’t know me, as her son said, but we were connected. How could Aimery’s mother possibly have such a strong feeling against me when she knew of my family, our links, our importance to the town? As much as it galled me, I was privately and helplessly claiming the perfection of our match. I set aside my disgust and continued with the letter.

I am in haste to get this away to you. The gifts are a ruse to carry the letter. It is likely wise you do not permit my brother to know of this communication; I am assured he has a famous temper that may emerge. I have sent him a separate parcel so that he suspects nothing.

There is something urgently important I must tell you both but it needs to be said in person rather than in writing. It is a message from our mother and Aimery must be convinced of her sincerity and that can only be achieved face to face. Unfortunately she’s gravely ill, and I have the unenviable choice of either being with my mother as she dies and thus traumatising her by not following her instructions to return to Grasse, or returning to Grasse to deliver her instructions and not being at her side as she passes. I am damned either way but, as a dutiful son, I am carrying out her demand.

Needless to say, the information my mother wishes to share will explain much of our strange life that I’ve led with her, which I now finally understand.

Again, forgive me for the cryptic nature of this message and that I cannot say more now; it is necessary to leave it unwritten in order to protect us all. I shall be with you shortly. Trust me, please.

Yours,

Sébastien

Except he’d never arrived. I sat back on the edge of the bed with my heartbeat drumming a pounding rhythm in my chest so hard that I felt nauseous. I breathed out at last and, moving with confusion and disbelief, hurried across the room to fling the windows open further. I gasped my disbelief at these instructions.