A few days later Lex shuffled over to my bench and folded his arms. ‘How goes it, America?’ He radiated calm, his mouth curved into a wide smile, exposing his crooked teeth. I sensed Lex had nailed his perfume, he was happy with what he’d made. All week he’d had his headphones plugged in and wasn’t bothered by the rest of the group. I got the feeling nomadic Lex could work anywhere.
I scraped back my hair, not sharing his zen but happy for him. ‘It’s not going great, Lex. I’m struggling a little at the moment…’
‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’
‘Making perfume like this?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m used to playing around on my own, at my own leisure, music cranked up, not a soul in sight. Not like this, like we’re re-enacting Lord of the Flies.’
I laughed. ‘But you managed here amidst the chaos, that’s the sign of a great perfumer.’
‘I still have a bit of work to do with it,’ he said, pulling his lips to one side to imply it wasn’t that great a perfume, though I was sure it was. ‘But I wanted to let it go for the day, see if I still like it as much tomorrow.’
‘You will, and I’m happy for you, Lex. I really am.’ I truly hoped he came back tomorrow and his perfume was everything and more than he expected. Back home, some days I’d rush back to my perfume organ and find the previous day’s work a disappointment, like overnight the compounds had decided they wouldn’t play nice and split, the perfume producing a bitter odd note. But then there were other days, where I breezed back and there it was, a little shining beacon of hope and beauty, the sweet smell of success.
Leaning in, he whispered, ‘They’re getting to you, and you can’t let them.’
How did he know? I wasn’t the only flustered one in the room. Again I had that sense that Lex was more self-aware than most. ‘I know, it’s just the air is thick with so many aromas, it makes it hard to know what I’m smelling.’
‘Keep taking sensory breaks, and do the tricky stuff when you’re alone.’
‘Yes, I will. Let’s hope they leave soon, eh?’
‘Let’s grab a drink, and you can breathe a little.’
Perfumers took sensory breaks to ward off olfactory fatigue. Some believed in the old notion of sniffing coffee beans, others sniffed the unperfumed skin in the crook of their elbow but to me they were more old wives’ tales and the best thing for it was fresh air and some time away from your work in progress.
‘OK,’ I said, tidying my bench. ‘A break might be just the thing.’
We found a small café and I made sure to keep my chair facing outwards and my elbows tucked in and legs bent at the knee…! Lex on the other hand had his fingers laced behind his forehead, elbows distinctly out and splayed his legs. The rebel.
We ordered two cups of café au lait while Lex studiously ignored the waiter’s pursed lips and warning frown.
‘Did you hear the latest?’ Lex asked, lazily.
‘Latest what?’
‘Apparently one of the contestants is considering withdrawing from the competition. All too much for them apparently.’
I gaped. ‘Who?’
He gave a one shouldered shrug. ‘No idea. But I think Anastacia and Clementine have a lot to answer for.’
Lila? Had to be. Being sent on a goose chase to Versailles when she’d asked the only Parisian among us, Clementine, for directions.
Our coffees arrived and Lex thanked the waiter, managing to draw a small smile from the man. ‘Be a shame to give up this kind of opportunity. Makes me wonder why, you know. Were they intimidated or bullied by another contestant, or was it just the pressure, or being away from home?’
‘Yeah, perhaps it’s a bit of everything.’
‘It’s not you, is it, America?’ There was a worried edge to his voice which lifted my heart a little. It was a daunting situation, being thrown into a pressurized environment away from the comfort of home, surrounded by big egos and with sabotage going on behind the scenes. I was heartened to know Lex cared enough to hope it wasn’t me. Especially when one less contestant meant everyone else, including him, were closer to the prize.
‘It’s not me,’ I said, taking a sip of coffee. ‘But thanks for asking.’
He feigned nonchalance but his open-book face made it impossible.
‘You’re a big softie at heart, aren’t you, Lex?’
‘Let’s not be ridiculous,’ he said, but grinned. ‘You’ll ruin my reputation.’
‘Your secret is safe with me.’
As we sat sharing a quiet moment, I wondered if Aurelie had truly managed to convince the runaway contestant to stay. I’d find Lila later and see if she was OK.
When I returned to the lab everyone was still hard at it and the arguments had shifted from hissed profanities to hands on hips belligerence. Sebastien sure had chosen a mixed bunch of personalities, some timid, others with explosive tempers. Half the battle in the lab was concentrating amidst all the bickering.
Still, I had a couple of days until I had to submit. Surely I could finish a fragrance that would wow them? I had to. We had a perfumery excursion planned the following morning which would snatch a bit of my time. I’d have to hustle as best I could and hope that everything went to plan. The mentoring couldn’t come quick enough. Sebastien seemed to understand my need to work in solitude, perhaps we could move to a different studio. But then I’d be alone with him, and that would prove distracting all on its own.
I worked hard for another few hours before exhaustion got the better of me. It was too late to call Jen, and I didn’t have the energy, so I sent her a long text and filled her in on everything. Close to midnight I snuck back into my room, with a worried heart and still no closer to perfecting my perfume.
***
Excursion day arrived, and with it our first official visit to Leclére Parfumerie. The store was closed, so we had ample time to explore and ask questions and smell everything on offer!
We entered the shop and a hush fell over us. The place was dim, otherworldly, with the thick velvet teal curtains blocking out the light. The beautiful bottles of perfume, art in themselves, stood out, as soft spotlight shone down on them. The space hummed with magic, it radiated from every fibrous pore…
Aurelie called for attention and welcomed us. ‘Leclére Parfumerie first opened its doors forty years ago. Not long compared to some more well-known perfume houses, but long enough to develop a reputation for quality fragrances. Vincent believed that if you loved what you made, from the perfume itself to the handcrafted bottle right down to the parchment label, then so would our customers.’ With pride in her voice she smiled fondly at the memory.
I wandered to a shelf that housed their famous Aurelie perfume. The thick glass bottle was heavy in my hand and had a purple tint to it and was wrapped in the most delicate gold, latticed like lacework. It was the type of perfume bottle you’d keep long after you’d used every drop of scent. Parchment handwritten labels were tied on, loping calligraphy detailing the type of perfume and its notes. ‘Who writes these labels?’ I asked. They didn’t look like they’d been printed.
‘Our staff,’ she said. ‘They’re trained in calligraphy and every label is handwritten.’
No wonder Leclére had made such a name for themselves, every last detail was meticulously thought out.
‘What about the perfume itself?’ asked Lila. ‘Surely that’s mass produced?’
‘We have a lab in the South of France where our perfumes are made. They’re made in large quantities, but all by hand, not by production line. Vincent’s brother oversees it so our formulas are kept secret.’
I wanted to sniff every bottle and open every jar of dried goods. There was a collection of glass jars full of dried ingredients that you could mix with creams and oils to make your very own moisturizers, exfoliators, face masks. There were scented oils: grapeseed, raspberry, and prickly pear. I’d never seen such a place except in my imagination and I was completely besotted by it.
My dream was to design bespoke perfumes for clients, little bottles of joy made especially for them. Not mass-produced scents, but something personal, that would conjure what they needed most, faith, love, joy… We relied on our five senses daily, and evocative smells could turn a somber mood into joy quicker than almost anything, that was the magic in perfumery.
Paris had already opened my eyes to new ideas, from bottle design to small touches like packaging that would make my brand stand out. Perhaps a handwritten note would accompany each perfume I made? Instead of a wishing place, like Point Zero, it would be an affirmation, one they could read over and again when they needed it. Almost like a fortune cookie note but for fragrance …
‘As you can see,’ she said, ‘it’s not only about the perfume, but the sense of luxury, of a craft learned and perfected over time. We have a product you won’t find online, that you won’t find in any other store, and that makes it special.’
Tingles raced up my spine. People loved to tell me that designing bespoke perfume would be a mistake. Too limiting. That I’d never make enough money to live, that no one would pay so much for a perfume made by a nobody (let’s face it, in the world of perfumery I was a nobody) but if Vincent could start from nothing, why couldn’t I? He hadn’t come from a privileged background, just the same as me. We all had to begin somewhere and build a reputation for exceptional fragrance. If he could do it on passion alone, why couldn’t I? Wildcard Perfumery… I grinned at the thought.
I uncapped the bottle of Aurelie perfume and was transported to a rose garden. It was exquisite, fresh and lush and sultry, the top note a heavy Turkish red rose, the type of scent that made you reminisce about love…
‘Feel free to wander around and I’ll be here if you have any questions,’ she said.
I raised my hand. ‘So what do these sell for?’ I asked, noting there were no price tags on any product, and looked up into the baleful eyes of Sebastien himself and my turncoat heart jittered and jived and made talking quite impossible.
He blanched at my question, but took pains to hide it. How stupid of me, the French had this peculiar aversion to discussing money. The American in me just couldn’t come at that. Leaning close he whispered the amount in my ear. Whoa. Liquid gold, and then some.
He smiled, his features softening. ‘You’re not going to trip over something, are you?’
My eyes widened. ‘I hope not. I don’t think I could afford to replace what I break.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a breath of fresh air, Del.’
I gave a fluttery little laugh, ready to make light of my past clumsiness, because that was what he was implying, right? Del, the clown jester of the group. I scuttled away from the intensity of those green eyes of his. But for one lonely second I dreamed he meant it as something more…Like I was the cure-all, the tonic to his loneliness.
It was the perfume lingering in the air, it could make a girl swoon, those light balsam heart notes.