Heaven Scent

Xavier glanced at Cat across the table as she gazed at the view. They were dining on halibut with crab Hollandaise at a lovely restaurant high up in the hills. The vista was gorgeous and even as the sky darkened Cat couldn’t help wishing she was here in different circumstances. They probably looked like a reasonably happy couple enjoying a spot of lunch but in reality the air was still rather tense between them.

Xavier was actually quite likeable – when he wasn’t being disagreeable. Over the past few days, they had crossed swords on more than one occasion but when they chatted about perfume, he was intelligent, relaxed and quite funny. He was just incapable of talking about anything remotely personal. The shutters would come down, his sensual mouth would curl contemptuously, and he would become distant and overly polite. Cat had learnt that as long as she stuck to the safe topic of fragrance, she and Xavier could get on reasonably well; in fact, she actually rather enjoyed his company. She was doing her very best not to compare Xavier to Olivier but it was difficult when his phone kept alerting him to texts from various girlfriends. It was also impossible to tell what he thought of her.

Xavier sat back. They had visited most of the parfumeries in the area – Fragonard, Galimard and Molinard – and Cat’s luggage was now weighed down with beautiful perfume bottles and a collection of scents she hadn’t been able to resist, despite the depleted money supply she had mentioned in passing. In Galimard, several of the male assistants had fawned all over Cat as if she were a celebrity, leaving her laughing in bewilderment and reluctantly accepting all the free samples they had insisted she take. To her credit, she had been admirably modest about it, claiming it was simply down to her ‘kooky’ French accent but Xavier wasn’t so sure.

‘Well, there’s Sylvaine Delacourte, Azzi Glasser, Camille Goutal, and Roja Dove, of course,’ he said. He noticed that the pale, hazy sunshine had given her skin a rose-gold hue and that her shoulder, exposed by the mint-green top she was wearing, had caught the sun too. Xavier had half a mind to tell her she might need some after-sun but he refrained, thinking it would sound too intimate.

‘Roja Dove is like a walking encyclopaedia on all things perfume-related,’ he continued. ‘I was obsessed with him when I was younger, he’s a bit of a hero of mine. He used to collect perfumes and perfume bottles when he was a kid and he got a bit of a name for himself pestering experts. He was offered a job by Robert Guerlain in a factory near London and even though he has never trained as a nose, he worked with the perfumers and eventually opened his own boutique in Harrods.’

Cat smiled at a waiter as he removed her plate. ‘I didn’t even know there was a perfume boutique in Harrods. Did Roja create his own perfumes in the end?’

Xavier nodded, raising his eyebrows to ask if she wanted to see the dessert menu. When she shook her head, he ordered them coffees. ‘Oh yes. His boutique had a crystal Caron fragrance fountain and Clive Christian hand-engraved bottles which were diamond-encrusted. They sold for more than a hundred thousand pounds.’ He pointed at her with his wine glass. ‘For a certain sum of money, Roja will make a bespoke scent, just for you.’ Xavier mentioned a figure.

‘I could,’ he said cautiously, feeling his jaw clench. Letting it go, Xavier reminded himself that he shouldn’t always feel as if he was being attacked. Feeling relaxed after several glasses of wine, he decided to indulge her. ‘What would you like it to smell like?’

Happily surprised that he was playing the game, Cat thought for a moment. ‘Well, I’d call it Reckless, or something, I know that much. Leoni would probably want it called Scarlet Woman or the Black Widow Spider, I’m sure.’ She pulled a face.

Cat let out a laugh. ‘What do you think? But seriously, I like dangerous sports, I suppose, parachute jumps, climbing, that sort of thing, and I used to ride a lot . . . I love horses, actually.’

Xavier was impressed. ‘You like climbing? I didn’t know that.’ He told her about his recent climb and Cat was envious – that stretch of mountains was famous for its views and its complexity. She was equally amazed to find that Xavier enjoyed something as physical and as dangerous as climbing; it was at odds with the rather lazy persona he projected. Maybe he was only cautious when it came to love, she mused.

‘Right, yes.’ Cat tried to remember what she’d learnt in the perfume factories. ‘It should have an outrageous brief, like the ones you told me about. Something like the scent of an ocean wave as it crashes down on a sandy beach while a coconut falls on a man’s head.’

Xavier shrugged. ‘Gourmand scents are a more recent addition to the fragrance family. DKNY’s Be Delicious, for example, has a coffee accord, and Angel, by Thierry Mugler, features candyfloss and toffee apples. They’re usually childhood scents, to create nostalgia.’ He paused. ‘How about a blast of sweet rose, orchid and white lily, to start with?’ he suggested.

‘Perfect, I love all those.’ Xavier made it sound so easy to come up with a new fragrance on the spot. ‘What about the heart notes – the middle bits?’

Xavier nodded. ‘Something fruity but also deep and full bodied. Plum, red berry and orris root for a raw hit. I think also some mandarin . . . a tropical accord is unusual but if it’s done properly, it can really work.’

Cat felt sure he couldn’t have worked out the perfume he had just described in the past few minutes. ‘All right, time to confess. You didn’t just come up with that, did you? This is something you’ve already given a lot of thought to.’

Xavier pulled a rueful face. ‘Sort of. It’s something I was working on before and after my mother died.’ He stopped, as though he felt he’d said too much. The unfinished fragrance had had all the makings of a modern classic, the kind of fragrance that would be aimed at the younger consumer but could still bridge the generation gap. Something that could offer that much sought-after sense of decadence, sophistication and glamour.

He nodded, his eyes downcast. ‘It’s . . . something happened and I stopped working on it.’ Xavier couldn’t bear to say it out loud but the perfume had been based around his idea of the ‘perfect woman’. If it ever saw the light of day it would probably surprise most women to know – one, in particular, Xavier thought with a grimace – that it hadn’t been based on anyone he knew. It was simply a concept created with certain characteristics and attributes in mind.

Cat itched to question Xavier about why he had abandoned what sounded like a beautiful fragrance, but she knew better. It would put an end to their pleasant lunch and Xavier was likely to erupt. Cat glanced up at the sky, aware of a chill in the air. Dark clouds were gathering and the wind was picking up, tossing the surrounding almond blossoms.

She looked at Xavier’s closed expression and changed the subject to something she’d been meaning to get to the bottom of. ‘Olivier’s parents, how did they die?’

Xavier drained his coffee, disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. He glanced up at the darkening sky and realised they should make a move. ‘Uncle Henri and Aunt Paulette died taking drug overdoses at the party of all parties. Did Olivier tell you something different?’

‘Why would Olivier lie about such a thing?’ Cat blurted out. ‘I didn’t need him to make things up . . . I thought we had so much in common. Leoni was right; I didn’t know Olivier at all. I’m just an idiot for falling for his stupid lies . . .’ She stopped and looked away. ‘God, sorry. I thought I was over him.’

‘Olivier was a pathological liar,’ Xavier asserted. ‘Even as a child he used to make stuff up. He used to run rings around my grandmother, if it makes you feel any better.’

Cat wished he would tell her about it. She wanted to know what had made him the way he was, what had caused him to ditch the one thing he loved doing most in the world.

Xavier hesitated. He was tempted to confide in Cat. She was so open and honest. But it was ridiculous, he had only spent a few days in her company and he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to his own father about what had happened back then. What was he thinking?

Cat lifted her head and leant forward. ‘The thing is, the death of our parents was what we really bonded over. Mine died in a skiing accident,’ she explained. ‘They lived life to the full and they died doing just that. They were caught in an avalanche in Austria when I was fifteen.’

Xavier stared at her, suddenly seeing her in a completely different light. He’d had no idea she’d suffered such a tragedy at a young age. ‘That must have crucified you,’ he commented.

About to retort that she didn’t want to talk about them, Cat faltered, knowing she was being petty. She loved talking about her parents; she couldn’t help smiling, just at the memory of them. ‘They were amazing. I spent my life around so many incredible things like music and art and they travelled all the time and I went with them. We spent a lot of time in France. They had this zest for life, this astonishing way of grabbing it with both hands and living it to the full. I admire them so much for it . . . and since they died, I’ve tried to live my life that way too, you know, as a sort of tribute to them.’

Xavier nodded. He had always lived his life impetuously, not so much because of any wounding loss – those had come much later – but perhaps because he had always battled with his privileged upbringing. Sure, he enjoyed the good things in life but, unlike Olivier, who had positively embraced the easy wealth he had grown up with, Xavier had gone out of his way to take risks and prove that he didn’t rely on the Ducasse name to get by.

He was about to tell Cat when spots of heavy rain began to patter around them. The sky was very dark and most of their fellow diners had ducked inside. Xavier knew there was about to be a torrential downpour, punctuated by jagged, brightwhite lightning. But he didn’t want to break the moment. He was jolted when Cat looked up with tears in her eyes.

‘There are some days when I just miss them so, so much. They taught me everything . . . they shaped who I am and how I live my life.’ Her mouth crumpled. ‘Of course I make mistakes – look what happened with Olivier! Maybe if they were still here, I’d have been able to ask them what to do, instead of throwing myself headlong into a marriage that should never have happened.’ Her voice cracked and, at the same time, the heavens opened.

Cat leapt to her feet. Tearing off his jacket, Xavier threw it round her shoulders and grabbed her by the hand. The wind whipped up around them and they were soaked in seconds. Xavier pulled Cat out of the rain, underneath a canopy, holding her tightly.

Xavier stared down at her, his eyes focused on her mouth. God, she was irresistible. Feisty, opionionated, vulnerable, trusting and open . . . The tangible hurt and loss in her aquamarine eyes, her trembling shoulders . . . the way she had opened up so readily . . . all of it was making him want to gather her up in his arms and kiss the life out of her.

Xavier cupped her face with his hands, pulled her closer and kissed her mouth. He felt her stiffen against him, but he held her more tightly, sinking his hands into her sopping wet hair. Cat threw caution to the wind and kissed him back. Her head was telling her it was wrong but her heart – or more accurately another part of her body altogether – was telling her it was very, very right. Pushing his thigh between Cat’s buckling legs, Xavier took her weight, kissing her on and on as the rain thundered down around them.

Xavier stared at her. What had he just done? He was supposed to be picking her brains not kissing her senseless. But the kiss . . . it had been . . . Xavier didn’t even have the words. Desire shot through him, followed by guilt. What would Olivier think if he could see him now? Xavier took a deliberate step backwards.

Angelique couldn’t believe it was finally happening. After being left out in the cold for the past two years, she was actually sharing tea and sandwiches with Delphine Ducasse. Ensconced at a private table in an alcove hidden from view, Angelique had readily agreed to meet Delphine in the upmarket tea rooms in Toulouse, Delphine’s home town.

Delphine regarded her coolly. She had arranged the meeting with Angelique because she wanted to sound her out; she needed to be clear about her strategy when Xavier returned home from Grasse.

Angelique refused to blush. Her films made her an awful lot of money and provided her with the sort of celebrity lifestyle she craved. She did, however, want a different sort of life now, one a relationship with Xavier could provide.

‘I would love to do more adverts,’ Angelique explained. ‘Classy ones, of course. Something that might raise my profile . . . that might allow me to make more serious films. If I wasn’t lucky enough to become a wife and mother, of course,’ she added demurely, looking down at her mint tea, in case shrewd Delphine spotted the insincerity in them. Angelique wouldn’t dream of giving up her career to become a stay-athome housewife, not in a million years. What had happened with Xavier proved that, not that Delphine knew about that issue, naturally.

Before meeting Delphine, she had received a message from Mason saying she’d been offered the cover of Playboy. That was her point, in a nutshell. Years ago, she would have jumped at the chance, but now, she had different ambitions. Her own line of products – Angelique, the brand. That was her ultimate aim. She made an effort to focus on what Delphine was saying, knowing this was her big moment.

‘I’m so glad to hear that,’ Delphine commented, with slightly more warmth in her tone. ‘I think moving your career in a different direction would be the right thing to do. Especially if you were to move in our circles again . . . and perhaps settle down.’ She let the words hover, certain it was what Angelique wanted to hear.

Angelique could barely contain her excitement. She could deal with the issue of ‘settling down’ later but if Delphine was offering her a free pass back into the Ducasse family fold, she was going to grab it with both hands. The tea and chatter continued in a friendly fashion for the next hour or so, with Angelique employing all of her acting skills. As Delphine left, promising to get in touch soon, Angelique let out a sigh of relief and paid the bill. It had been hard work but well worth it. All she had to do now was wait for Delphine to call.

In Paris, Ashton was showing Leoni the changes he’d made to his apartment. ‘As you can see, I’ve added those shelves and now the balcony really stands out with the addition of the period lighting.’

‘I love it, Ashton.’ Leoni looked round in wonder. ‘You have captured the essence of the building to a T.’ She smiled at him. ‘I know how much this place means to you.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Leoni said. Through the window the Arc de Triomphe was outlined dramatically against the darkening night sky. She smoothed a hand down the skirt of her dress. It was a frothy number in a deep red, almost black crepe, with a square neckline and a full skirt. In truth, it was rather out of character for her, but it was beautiful and it was fun. Leoni couldn’t help thinking Jerard might not like it as he had mentioned how much he admired her sleek, businesslike style, but she quite liked wearing something that felt quirky and different.

‘Where are we off to again?’ she asked Ashton, thinking he looked rather dashing in his dark suit and snowy-white shirt. He had shaved, which she found slightly disappointing, and his hair was neatly combed.

‘A bar I discovered recently. You’ll love it. It has a dance floor too. It’s quite . . . romantic, actually.’ He faltered, wondering if he’d made the right decision to promise Leoni a night out there – it was all soft lighting and music to sway to. He had arranged it before he realised how besotted Leoni was with Jerard. But it was too late now.

‘That’s me . . . so very, very English,’ Ashton said wryly, wondering why he felt irked by this description all of a sudden. Ever since Leoni had got together with Jerard, he had felt like a clunky spare part; Leoni’s boring, English sidekick who was good as a friend but nothing more. It had been that way between them for years but he supposed he had always felt heartened by the fact that he had never seen Leoni crazy about another man . . . therefore providing him with a shred of hope.

‘You look really pretty in that dress,’ Ashton blurted out, to cover his silence. ‘It’s not your usual style but it really suits you. It’s very . . . feminine.’

‘Thank you.’ Leoni blushed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been described as feminine. ‘You are a true gentleman, always. Let’s go.’ She took his arm and they headed out of his apartment. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at the bar of the new club Ashton had discovered.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Leoni enthused, her cheeks flushed. She glanced over her shoulder at the band who were setting up at the edge of a stunning dance floor with glossy black and white checked tiles and moody lighting. It was full of couples, both old and young, and Leoni was particularly taken with an old couple who were already swaying on the dance floor, even though the band hadn’t properly started. With neat, grey hair and smart clothes, the couple moved in unison as though they could predict each other’s movements – no doubt from many years spent together. Leoni felt quite sentimental at the sight of them.

Feeling desolate, Ashton could only think Leoni’s happiness was due to the text message she had just received. It had to be from Jerard; no one else’s texts made her smile from ear to ear. He ordered some of Leoni’s favourite champagne and watched her eyes spark with happiness. Did Jerard see Leoni’s beauty? he wondered. Did he see beyond the mannish glasses and the stiff, designer clothes to the incredible woman within?

‘You are lovely,’ Leoni said, her eyes shining behind her glasses as she waited for the champagne to be poured. ‘This trip has been great, you know. The building is exquisite and we’ve had so much time to talk. It’s been like old times … minus Olivier, of course.’

‘Let’s drink to him,’ Ashton said, raising his glass with a smile. ‘To Olivier. May he be drinking Dom Perignon in the sky – or in the ground – wherever he might have ended up.’

‘Nothing to do with me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Damn, I could have lied and said I’d arranged it and you’d have thought I was brilliant and the most thoughtful guy around.’

Ashton straightened his tie. ‘Me? I can dance like a pro. My parents sent me to lessons when I was a child so I didn’t end up standing in the corner like a loser.’

Twirling her around in the centre of the dance floor, he pulled her in close. With one hand on her waist and the other cupping her hand, Ashton swayed to the music, occasionally spinning Leoni out and pulling her back in again. She laughed breathlessly, taken aback that he was such a good dancer.

Leoni smiled. She hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in ages – aside from the date with Jerard, of course. But that had been different, it had been more serious. Leoni decided she would bring Jerard here one day. It was so romantic with all the candles and the band playing live. If he wasn’t too busy with work, she would love to bring him to Paris – although she reminded herself that it was Jerard’s dedication to his company that made him so attractive. Leoni frowned; she couldn’t quite summon up his face but she supposed that happened when you didn’t see someone every day.

‘Isn’t it nice to do something like this?’ Ashton said out of the blue, pulling away to glance down at her. ‘I mean, business is important and we’re both very committed to what we do, but there’s something to be said for having fun, isn’t there? You know, love, family, relationships, all that kind of thing.’ He put his cheek against hers again.

Ashton’s words mirrored what her grandmother had said before she left for Paris, Leoni thought with a jolt. She didn’t answer. In truth, she didn’t know if she should be prioritising business or pleasure right now.

When the dance ended, Leoni pulled away and mumbled something about needing to go to the restroom. She found the old lady she’d noticed on the dance floor there, and was startled when she patted her cheek.

The old lady frowned. ‘No? You looked so right together.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps you should be a couple.’ She winked. ‘That much chemistry shouldn’t be ignored!’

The old lady left the restroom, leaving Leoni pensive. She supposed a man and woman dancing together so closely would look like a couple to anyone who didn’t know them. But she felt unsettled.

‘Jerard? It’s Leoni. I . . . just thought I’d call from Paris and see how you are.’ She stared at herself in the mirror and waited for his response. ‘You’re on a break from a meeting? Lucky I caught you for five minutes then.’ Forgetting all about Ashton waiting for her outside, Leoni willed Jerard to – verbally, at least – sweep her off her feet again.

The day after the kiss at the restaurant, Cat found herself packing her bags with a heavy heart. The past twenty-four hours had been fraught with tension. She and Xavier had barely exchanged more than a few words afterwards. As ever, the only safe topic of conversation thereafter had been perfume but even that had become strained. Cat sat down abruptly on the bed.

The heady kiss at the restaurant, with the rain pelting down around them, had been incredible. Knee-trembling, mindblowing and utterly unforgettable. Her body let her down constantly by filling with desire at the memory at the most inappropriate moments.

She stood up and threw the last of her clothes into her bag. But the look on his face afterwards . . . Xavier’s eyes had been full of guilt, regret and intense disappointment in himself. It had been like a slap in the face. Cat guessed Xavier felt guilty about Olivier, and she knew she should be feeling that way too but she didn’t. His lies had seen to that. She didn’t feel remotely bad about kissing his cousin.

Cat paused. Olivier had married her, so she supposed she had meant something to him. What had his long-term plans been? Had he even thought that far ahead – or had Olivier intended to pass himself off as a penniless waiter indefinitely?

Cat sighed. She guessed she’d never know for sure now and unfortunately, the fact that Olivier had taken the step of marrying her didn’t provide much comfort any more.

She put on a cream jumper over her jeans and hurried downstairs. She was due to meet Xavier outside and she didn’t want to keep him waiting. She found him leaning against his Aston Martin looking like a bloody film star and Cat wished he was less charismatic. Thoroughly fed up with the tension between them, she decided to bite the bullet.

Frustrated, Cat smacked her hands down on the Aston Martin. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she yelled. ‘You can’t even talk about a stupid kiss! Are you emotionally retarded or something?’

Xavier recoiled as if Cat had slapped him. Emotionally retarded? How dare she! If anything, he was far too passionate about the things that mattered to him. He didn’t want to tell her about his past because he knew he’d be in danger of breaking down, and then what might she think of him? Would she think him pathetic for falling in love so deeply before falling apart when it all went wrong?

Cat hardly heard him, she was so angry. ‘If you weren’t so screwed up, you’d understand that sometimes people do crazy things. People fall in love when they haven’t known each other for very long, they even occasionally kiss in the heat of the moment. These things happen!’

‘And you’re a fine one to talk about making assumptions, Xavier! When did you make your mind up about me? When you heard Olivier had married me? Or was it when you saw me for the first time, while you were frolicking naked with one of your many girlfriends?’

Xavier flushed. ‘I admit I had preconceptions about you but why wouldn’t I? Do you know how many people target our family because they know we’re wealthy?’

‘That doesn’t justify tarring everyone with the same brush. Oh, and by the way, thanks so much for letting me cry into my napkin and tell you intimate details about my family and my life, whilst you sit there on your high horse and decide that I’m too naive and silly to warrant any kind of openness back.’

‘Then what is it?’ Cat demanded, her hands on her hips. ‘Are you scared? Worried about what I might think of you? Or do you just hate feeling vulnerable?’

All of the above, Xavier thought to himself tersely as he threw himself into the driving seat of his car. ‘We need to leave now,’ he said, putting his Ray-Bans on and staring straight ahead.

‘Too bloody right, we need to leave,’ Cat muttered under her breath and got into the car like a petulant child. She gritted her teeth and looked resolutely out of the window.