The tiny store in the fashionably older part of the city was set back very slightly from its neighbours—one selling handcrafted chocolates, the other a specialty bookstore. It was the type of place that could be easily overlooked, surrounded as it was by all manner of intriguing and colourful shop windows. The air outside was redolent with the tempting aromas of roasting coffee beans and exotic spices.
At first glance, the purpose of the place was a mystery. An ornate and very old candelabrum was the eye-catching centerpiece of the window display. Large coffee table books, mainly art and travel, were propped up alongside religious icons and beautiful Venetian wine goblets. To the side, a heavy gilt mirror hung over a series of small paintings depicting the stations of the cross. And, amidst it all, fabulous perfumes on silver trays. Stripped of commercial packaging, the sensuous bottles intrigued and enticed.
Not as much an antique store then, although such items could be purchased; this was a perfumery. One that offered fragrances rarely found in large department stores or the anonymous duty free shopping zones of international airports.
It was also one of Anna’s favourite places to browse. The narrow interior was warm and aromatic, and even though space was limited and lighting minimal, there was always something new to catch her eye.
The owner was as eclectic as the store. One long, lazy afternoon when neither had little else to do except pass the time in pleasant conversation, she told Anna that she had been a fashion model in the 1970s. She’d even graced the pages of Vogue. Anna could well believe it. The woman may have passed the usual retirement age, but she had a wonderful zest for life. Also a classic beauty. Her blonde hair was cut into a short and very precise bob, her makeup perfect, and her dress sense impeccable. Anna had openly admired the black trouser suit with the satin lapels and the layered strands of baby-pink pearls.
No matter how often she visited, Anna found her senses revitalized. The once rich colours of art works, the intricate curves of a wall sconce, the sleekness of faceted glass—emerald, ruby, and sapphire blue. But more than anything she was attracted by the evocativeness of the perfumes, which she was easily persuaded to sample.
“One of the oldest perfume houses in Europe.” Admiration and pride were evident, as Anna hesitated over a collection of seductive glass bottles displayed on a side table.
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Of course. And this one was a favourite of French kings and emperors from Louis XV to Napoleon.” The woman was holding a familiar bottle of Eau de Cologne.
Anna shook her head in wonder as the owner moved on to another display.
“This one was launched at the International Art Deco Show in Paris, in 1925.”
There were no intimidating glass cabinets, no intensely white beams of halogen lighting. In this store perfumes were to be picked up, sampled, and enjoyed, and so they were clustered together for anyone to try, as on a woman’s private dressing table.
Anna was fascinated by the shapes of the bottles as much as their contents, and lingered to touch, to run her finger over the smooth lines and geometric shapes.
“Lalique,” the woman murmured reverently, seeing Anna admire an intricately designed stopper. “Now my dear, tell me if you don’t just love these.”
She was being encouraged towards a cluster of large opaque jars, each covered by a glass dome. Inside was a creamy-yellow candle, and looking down, Anna noticed that beside the discreetly placed price tags were small hand-written cards. The script was old fashioned and gave brief notes as to the fragrance.
‘Waxed and wooden floors of Versailles,’ ‘Cuba, on a hot and sultry day.’ ‘Burning amber and other heavenly scents.’
Anna lifted a dome at random and inhaled the scent trapped inside. It was potent and evocative. She closed her eyes to enjoy the immediate rush of sensuality and desire swirling around inside her head.
“I thought you might like it.” The woman was smiling.
“It’s gorgeous.”
The woman nodded. “Tahitian vanilla with clove and cinnamon. Now try this one.”
She was offered another dome.
“Oh yes,” she breathed.
Her senses on the point of overload, Anna realised an idea was taking shape. It was daunting, but also exciting.
She plucked up her courage. “Are you busy right now?” She asked.
The woman looked a little taken aback, but she smiled politely and shook her head.
Anna began with several sincere compliments, admitting that she loved the shop and everything about it. The religious curios, the Venetian glassware. But most of all she loved the fragrances. She was wondering if it might be possible to create a similar venture in another part of the city. Not, she added quickly on seeing the woman frown, that she intended to be in competition. More that they might work together.
She hit her stride, confessing that she knew nothing about retailing, let alone the alluring and exotic world of perfume. But she was keen to learn.
At that the woman appeared to relax. “You do seem to have a true appreciation for fragrance.”
Anna had the feeling she was about to be let down gracefully, and waited for the inevitable but.
“The location would of course be the key and possibly the most difficult part of the venture,” the owner continued. “It would need to be situated amongst other specialty stores, in a neighbourhood with the right ambience. Narrow streets, historical lanes, that sort of thing.”
There was a pause, and then she said, “I’m sure you could make it work.”
“I would love to give it a try.”
“It would mean a lot of work. And not just when the store is open. You will have to study. How perfume is made. Its history,” the woman cautioned.
“I know.”
The woman was watching her closely. “I might be able to help. At least with advice and a little shared knowledge. That is, if you want me to?”
Anna was ecstatic. This was more than she could have hoped.
“I would love that.”
“In that case,” the woman smiled delightedly and held out a slender, fine boned hand, “we’d better introduce ourselves. I’m Gabrielle.”
Over the following days Anna thought of nothing but her store. Maddie’s calls and the subsequent bookings became an unwanted intrusion. She still had to work though the details. Setting up her own business would take a large amount of capital, and her savings would not be enough. She needed a loan. A well-thought-out business proposal would be necessary if she was to have any chance with her bank.
She spent hours in front of her computer, trawling for information. Of course she understood the basics, but soon realised there was far more she didn’t know. Especially about the world of high-end retailing.
It was far easier to be a consumer, she thought, reaching for her third coffee that morning.
She had already pulled up numerous real estate websites, looking for inspiration, only to find that while there were plenty of opportunities in the large, out-of-town shopping malls, there was little to nothing in the older, more attractive commercial districts. Out of sheer desperation she’d even entered the word quirky in one search box. The response—nothing found—was hardly a surprise.
There was another, more appealing option, but it was audacious. Gabrielle’s own store.
Everything about it was perfect. The age and character of the building, its quaint setting in a highly sought-after area. Most important, the business was already well established. Even the bank would be more comfortable with the prospect.
She wondered whether Gabrielle would be open to the idea of selling. If not, would she consider a partnership?
The more she thought about the prospect, the more attractive it became.