The Little Perfume Shop Off The Champs-Élysées

The English girl rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand to me. ‘I’m Kathryn, from London. You’ll get used to Clementine, she behaves as if all the world is a stage, that’s all.’

I laughed, liking both women on sight. ‘How do you two know each other?’

Clementine gave an airy shrug. ‘Kathryn lived in Paris when she took a perfumery class here a million years ago. Back then she ate the cherry clafoutis and she was a lot ’appier, I can tell you that.’

‘I studied here a few years back, but Clem would have you believe I’m in my twilight years or something. I might have imbibed more back then but people mature, they grow up. Well some of us do.’ She gave Clementine a pointed stare.

You could sense their comradery even though they mocked one another, something that was more for my benefit.

‘I’m Del, from Michigan, America.’ Not Del ’n’ Jen. Jen ’n’ Del. Gosh, that felt weird.

‘We know,’ Kathryn said, her eyes twinkling. ‘And rumor has it, you’re one to watch out for.’

I cocked my head, debating how to answer. ‘I don’t know about that.’ Better to downplay any skills they thought I had. I didn’t want them ganging up against me when the challenges began.

Kathryn folded her arms. ‘Don’t be so modest,’ she said, and flicked her hair. ‘We know all about you, your beloved nan taught you perfumery…’ The sentence was left hanging.

How did they know about me and Nan? We came from nowheresville…

‘Who told you?’

‘It’s not hard to find out information if you know where to look,’ Kathryn said. ‘Social media is a marvellous thing.’

‘Oui,’ Clementine cut in. ‘And so what if you ’ave ambition for eyeballs and a nose that could rival Anais Laurent…’

I laughed at her transparent attempt to get me to admit I was one of the main contenders. No chance I’d be that easily fooled. While it was clear they’d done some digging, they really didn’t know much in the scheme of things.

‘I think comparing me to Anais Laurent is stretching it a little.’ Anais Laurent had paved the way for female perfumers in what was once a man’s world. Her nose was legendary, and her perfumes still sold well despite being designed half a century ago. Every perfumer desired a formula so popular it lived on long after you’d left this mortal coil, just like Anais.

Clementine narrowed her heavily made-up eyes. ‘There’s no room for humble ’ere, Del. Better that you admit you’re in contention for the prize and then we can all play fair, non?’

Straight shooting Clementine fascinated me but I kept my game face on. ‘Of course! And I hope we can all be the best of friends.’

‘We already are.’ Clementine tossed her bag on the double bed closest to the balcony, the bed I’d already laid claim to. ‘So tell us,’ she said. ‘How did you find the selection process? Wasn’t it intense?’

I laughed. ‘You can say that again! Towards the end I didn’t think I’d make the cut. There were so many tests! And taking them on the fly on a video call…’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Right? My ’ands shook so bad on those video calls, it was lucky I didn’t drop my parfum and smash it to a million pieces but look, we’re here! What made you enter, Del?’

I folded my arms, considering. ‘So many reasons, meeting the mysterious Lecléres, adventure, wanderlust…’ And the desire to win. ‘Perfumery has always been my happy place.’ Without Nan, I’d struggled to find the joy in creating, struggled to find the joy in anything, and Jen figured this competition might help me find my way back… Or had she orchestrated this so I’d be out of the way?

‘I see,’ said Clementine, drawing me back. ‘From what we ’eard you had plans to open a perfumery boutique in New York, but your sister got cold feet. That must have been tough for you, especially as you’re so close. And she gave it all up for the love of a man…?’

I stood there dumbstruck, wondering how she could know such a thing. I wasn’t one to overshare, and I most certainly didn’t pour my sorrows out over social media. ‘How could you possibly know that, Clementine?’ I tried to sound relaxed, but the words came out clipped.

‘I ’appen to know a few people in Manhattan and they mentioned that you’d forfeited your bond for your cute little pop up shop before you’d even set foot in New York. Tragique, non?’

I swallowed back sudden tears and turned away, pretending to hunt for something in my bag. What a stroke of fate that she’d known that part of my past. Giving up the pop up shop had cut me to the quick but I couldn’t go to New York alone and without Jen’s half of the investment. Basically, the decision was all down to money – without her I just plain couldn’t afford it. And it hurt, knowing that prime piece of real estate would probably never be available again, not in my budget. Jen would have loaned me what she’d saved but I just couldn’t ask her. Not if she wasn’t joining me there.

‘Now ’ave I upset you?’ Clementine asked.

I pasted on a smile. ‘Not at all. I’m still going to New York, but first I wanted to see Paris.’ And win the money to go to New York… Did desperation shine in my eyes?

‘Right, well, we have to keep an eye on the Anastacia, apparently she’s a little bit of a wizard when it comes to perfumes. I hear she’s notoriously egotistical though,’ Kathryn said, I think sensing a subject change was in order.

Quick as the click of fingers exhaustion hit me. Was it Clementine and her digging or the memories it conjured? I pulled my shoulders back – I was here to win, dammit, and win I would.

The girls were competitive but at least they weren’t shy about revealing it. They didn’t hide the fact they wanted to win the high stakes game and it was brave to show their hand so openly. Alliances aside, at least I knew what I was in for. Didn’t I?

Paris suddenly felt like a long way from Whispering Lakes…

Chapter Three

‘I’m going to meet a friend before dinner,’ Clementine said, giving me a bawdy wink that helped ascertain the friend was of the male persuasion. ‘Back soon!’ She air kissed me and left, swinging her hips like a diva.

My phone buzzed and Jen’s name flashed. ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle,’ I said, adopting a woefully bad French accent to mask the fact I didn’t quite know how to act with my sister any more. Such a foreign feeling, and one I hoped would fade.

‘Look at you, all Frenchified already!’ she said. I’d never been away from Jen before and now we were on entirely different continents. ‘So fill me in. How was the journey? Is Paris as beautiful as they say?’

Falling back on the bed, I launched into story mode as if nothing had changed and I wasn’t disappointed in her. I told her every little thing except the part about stepping into oncoming traffic and the gorgeous stranger I’d locked eyes with for the briefest moment. No need for her to worry about me in the big bad world.

‘So no hot men? The pilot, the driver, the Leclére staff? I bet they’re all gorgeous in that broody French way?’

I tutted, ‘I’m not here for love, Jen. As you well know.’ And it was a bit of a sore point considering…

She huffed. ‘Surely there’s time for a little romance in the city of love?’

‘City of light,’ I corrected. She knew how important this competition was and what I’d given up to do it. Namely my own dead-end job and financial security. If I didn’t win I’d return home to unemployment, and I had no intention of letting that happen. Especially now.

‘But French men are hot, like throw-caution-to-the-wind hot, right?’ Jen’s latest project was pushing me to find a soul mate. But only because she’d fallen in love, mind you. Suddenly she was all, oh look at that guy, he’s got marriage material written all over him, or knock me down that guy looks like he’d make adorable babies, why don’t you ask for his number? Like I was some kind of desperado, champing at the bit to get married when I clearly was not.

The dreamy romantic in her was new, and I wished she’d get over it already. Sure, I wanted the fairy tale too, love, marriage, babies, but first I needed my career to take off. Love would have to wait. Besides, I was so overwhelmingly bad at dating. My previous relationships had all fizzled out because when I got lost making perfume all else faded to black, and that wasn’t conducive to a healthy relationship. Turning up to a dinner date a day late one too many times had put paid to any chance of love; besides, no one had made my heart sing. Depressing, really, since my thirties were creeping up.

Whoever I met had to be as important to me as perfumery, and when you come from a town as small as I did, it wasn’t hard to find yourself single. The dating pool was more of a puddle really.

Perfumery was the key to a decent future. Security. As much as I loved my folks, I didn’t want to end up like them, unemployed drifters with no ambition, relying on us to care for them.

‘Well?’ she said again. ‘You’ve met someone, haven’t you?’

‘What? No. I’ve been here for all of five minutes!’ I said exasperated. ‘Look, I’m sure there’s plenty of princes among the frogs, but who cares? That’s the last thing I’ll be worrying about.’ With the proverbial rug pulled from under me, I had to plow ahead and chase a different future or else I’d end up back home, a failure, my five-year plan now just words on parchment. Things seemed more precarious than ever before. Sure, I’d still go to New York, but it wouldn’t be until I had the funds, and so many obstacles stood in my way.

‘It would seriously be a waste to go all the way to Paris and not kiss a Parisian…’ she said dreamily, caught up in the romance of Paris, and not thinking sensibly.

‘And lose the competition and come home and beg for my job back? The job where I sell perfume, not make it? Nope. Not going to happen! New York is calling…’ The past was the past, and there was nothing I could do to change it, but still, that feeling of abandonment lingered just under the surface and bubbled up and out.

We lapsed into silence, which was becoming a new habit. This strange shift in our lives provoked these sorts of awkward moments and I was at a loss how to fix them or what to say. Normally we’d be chatting a hundred miles an hour, never running out of steam.

Eventually with a half sigh she murmured, ‘Nan would be so proud of you, Del, living in the perfume capital of the world, chasing those dreams.’

Our dreams had become only my dreams. How could she give it all up for a guy?

I put a hand to my heart, feeling the same ache as I always did when I thought of my nan. ‘As crazy as it sounds,’ I said, ‘sometimes I think Nan orchestrated this adventure.’

I’d loved perfume since I was a child when my nan had discovered that I had the ‘nose’ for it – a highly tuned ability for olfactory compositions. Since then Nan and I had been conspirators and I still missed her so much it hurt. She’d been more than my nan, she’d been my best friend, conspirator and stand-in mom when my own was braying at the sky, or off on one of her adventures, her responsibilities scattered like the fuzz of a dandelion flower on the wind.

Jen spoke softly. ‘If anyone could pull strings from the afterlife it would be Nan, but this was all you, Del. This is your chance to learn from the masters, and I hope you’ll forget all about me, everyone in Whispering Lakes, and focus on perfumery.’

She spoke as though she was giving me permission to let her go. We’d always shared everything, and I didn’t see why things should change, even if she was head over heels in love. But the days of mirroring each other, and finishing each other’s sentences were clearly over.

They were all on my mind though; my beatnik parents, Pop with his melancholy eyes. And Jen who’d broken my heart the way only sisters can do.

‘As if I’d forget about you, Jen. Jeez.’

I didn’t quite know where I fit in the world without my twin. In the past any decisions were made with both of us in mind. A sort of seasickness crept up on me. I felt untethered and adrift without her, knowing I had to go forward on my own and wondering if life would be the same, if I’d ever truly be happy again, alone.

‘Del, live in the moment, soak up as much as you can. This will be the making of you. Make some new friends. Be brave, fearless, and flirt!’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ I said, wishing the worry would float on past.

With laughter in her voice she said, ‘You’re saluting, aren’t you?’

I dropped my hand. ‘Maybe.’

‘What are the other contestants like?’

I told her all about Clementine, the OTT Parisian, and about Kathryn, the soft-spoken Londoner. ‘Sebastien will be there tonight, so I’ll finally get to meet the enigma himself. We’re all having dinner with the Leclére team. A sort of welcoming party, I guess. And I can finally see who I’m up against.’

She picked up my nervousness in the nuances of my voice. ‘They might have had proper perfumery training, Del,’ she began in a pep talk tone. ‘But they didn’t learn from Nan! Textbooks and chemistry teachers can’t compare to Nan’s lessons at the perfumery organ. No one can compete with that. No one.’

I’d spent years with Nan at our perfumery organ, a semi-circle desk with tiered shelves that held all the aroma oils in neat rows and in order from top notes, heart notes, down to base notes. Our knees used to bump as we mixed essences as assiduously as if we were making love potions for strangers. Which in spirit we had been. Bespoke perfumes created for customers who wanted a fragrance unique to them.

Nan had taught me every aspect of the art of perfumery. She’d been a daydreaming avant-garde type, way ahead of her time. Days were spent creating perfume and getting lost in the world of scent, only coming up for air when Grandpop asked politely if he was to have toast for dinner again. He always said it with a rueful half-grin, knowing her other great love was perfume itself, and how could he be jealous of that? He’d shuffle off and soon the smell of buttery toast would waft back to us.

Nan was taken from me a few years ago, and nothing had been quite the same since. One day she was there, and then she wasn’t. Our time together suddenly felt as ephemeral as a spritz of perfume.

‘Thanks, Jen. I’ll remember that.’

At the memory of Nan, I gave my handbag a reassuring tap, feeling the outline of her trusty perfumery notebook: a fat and swollen tome filled with formulas, complex perfume equations, and her scribbles and drawings. It was my bible, I cherished it.

‘You’ve got this. Text us when you can, so I can tell Grandpop how it’s going. Mom and Dad say hi.’

‘Give them a hug from me will you? Tell Pop I’ll write him.’ We said our goodbyes and I hung up, feeling a twinge of guilt that I was grateful to end the call, just as Clementine returned, her lipstick smudged. ‘I need a nap!’ she announced and flung herself on the bed. I hadn’t met anyone quite as dynamic as Clementine before. She took up all the space with her big personality.

Chapter Four

After unpacking, and eventually convincing a drowsy Clementine that half the wardrobe was in fact mine, I went downstairs and headed back to Leclére Parfumerie hoping to visit before it closed. No such luck. Instead I peeked through the window and ogled the beautiful cut glass bottles of perfumes which blinked like gems under the lights. Scent radiated through the window pane; lily, ambergris, rose, and vanilla…

With an hour until I had to dress for dinner, I continued on, eyes wide with awe at the sights and sounds before me. I came from a place the size of a postage stamp, a small lakeside village in Michigan where everyone knew everyone and nothing ever changed. A suffocating place to live when the whole village knew your business.

The main street back home would have a dozen cars parked down its length on a busy day, and maybe a handful of people window shopping, or dillydallying about which loaf of bread to buy at the bakery. Here, groups queued in stores, others had noses pressed to windows, and some rode bicycles and dodged traffic. It was like someone had turned the volume of life all the way up.

It would take some getting used to. The noise level was incredible but I couldn’t help feeling energized by the big city vibe. Paris pulsed with life! This is what I wanted, to be thrust into a big city, to live and work among so many people, opportunities galore, unlike back home.

I wandered on, delighting in the warmth of the Parisian evening. Around the corner I found a little café with bright red shutters and lots of people milling nearby. I took a table out the front and tried to decipher the French menu, counting back in my mind to when I’d eaten last and on which time zone. Not wanting to spoil my appetite for dinner I settled on a café au lait, but promised myself I’d return for the bevvy of mouthwatering food on offer. Croque monsieur. Chouquettes. Soufflé fromage, the list went on and I shut the menu with a decisive bang, as my stomach rumbled in protest.

The café was a hive of activity but I couldn’t grab the attention of the bustling staff so I made my way inside and got to the front of the queue and ordered my coffee.

A waitress wearing a bored expression said, ‘We’ll bring it to you.’ Her voice brooked no further conversation, and any reply died on my lips, unsaid. Her attitude was wildly different to back home, where any stranger would be grilled about their lives, why they were in town and for how long, and within minutes, they’d find themselves sharing far too much information on account of the barrage.

Here I was faceless and nameless. Wasn’t that what I wanted?

Hurrying back to my table, I was lost in these thoughts when I tripped over a shopping bag. There was no time to react, instead I flew towards the back of a stranger and tried to strangle the shriek that rose from deep within me. Soaring through the air at a ridiculous speed, I tried to break my fall, by latching onto the man in front like a koala bear. We fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

Way to blend in, Del!

We were a tangle of arms and legs, as he groaned and turned from his front to his back, pinning my ankle, and I sat half-straddled atop him. Not the best position to be in, quite personal, really.

‘So, so sorry,’ I said and struggled to disentangle myself from his limbs, my face aflame. One of my legs was skewed so far to the left I wondered if I’d broken it. With that in mind, it took me a moment to recognize him. My breath hitched at the sight of those intense green eyes. Of all people! I straddled the guy who’d witnessed my near-miss on the Champs-Élysées and who I’d now taken down in front of a café full of elegant French people, some laughing behind their hands, some frowning at the disruption to their meals. But all looking square at me. Goddammit.

‘It’s not my fault,’ I said a little more haughtily. ‘I tripped.’ I jerked a thumb at the businessman at the table above us whose seemingly twenty-seven-meter-long baguette had been the cause of all this fuss. ‘Over his baguette, which clearly was not tucked away in a safe manner.’

He didn’t utter a single word. We competed in a stare-a-thon until I gave in.

‘Well?’ I said. Perhaps he didn’t speak English? ‘Would you mind moving? I can’t get up until you do.’

Oh! With a bit of effort, I managed wrench my leg from under him, hoping the numbness wasn’t anything serious. Imagine if I had to limp from here? Or drag my dead limb behind me like some kind of peg-legged pirate. Not exactly the fast getaway I was hoping for.

Once upright I held out a hand and helped him up, when realization shone in his eyes. ‘It’s you.’ His eyes widened. ‘The girl who stepped into the path of oncoming traffic.’

Jeez. ‘Well, yes, but I was…’

‘You’re a walking disaster.’

I lifted my chin. ‘The traffic thing was an accident. And this could have happened to anyone.’

‘Are you hurt?’ He frowned.

‘No.’ Yes. My pride withered and died on the spot.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite,’ I said primly. If my leg was broken in eight places there was no way I was going to confess to him. I’d damn well walk out of here if it killed me! But his sudden concern was touching and lightened the mood. Our audience went back to their meals and their chatter grew loud once more.

His lips twitched as if he found me amusing. Did he find this funny? Why of all the millions of people in Paris did I have to make a scene in front of this guy? Twice. I wanted to slap my forehead.

‘I’m sure we’ll meet again,’ he said, his green eyes unfathomable in the dim light of the bistro.

‘Perhaps.’ I walked away, heart hammering.

***

After a quick shower, I read some texts that Jen had sent. It was hard to break the habit of a lifetime, or maybe guilt was driving her. We’d only spoken on the phone an hour ago! I didn’t want to feel as though I was relying on her here. If she could live this shiny new life, then, damn it, so could I.

In my reply to her I left out all the whole falling-for-the-Frenchman thing or she’d start planning the wedding. And it wasn’t like I was falling for him, more like, on him. Instead I told her more about Clementine, and her sidekick Kathryn, who’d both been scheming when I’d returned.

A reply beeped back instantly.

Oh, they sound like fun girls! What’s a little competition between friends, hey?

I shook my head. I could’ve told Jen the girls made me stand on my head for five minutes and she would have said: ‘Aww look at you making friends!’

Nan would have told me to keep my guard up, but be open to any possibilities, so I kept that thought in my heart.

I replied: Fun, maybe, but I wouldn’t call them friends just yet. What’s up with you?

In truth I wanted to say, are you missing me, have you changed your mind about moving to New York? Are you joining me in Paris? Any of those things… But I didn’t.

She replied: Mom has chanting group here (how long will this last?!) and Dad is busy in the shed (whittling) and me and Pops are making popcorn and about to watch a French film in honor of your adventure. He says hi and wants you to get off that dang piece of machinery and enjoy yourself. Gotta love him. xxx

I smiled picturing my grandpop admonishing me from afar. He was always on about that dang piece of machinery we used to communicate. To him cell phones were the devil no matter how much easier they made our lives, especially now I was so far away. When I showed him I could read a book on my cell phone he almost keeled over. But why, he’d cried, when there’s plenty of books right here? And any mindless games, forget it, he was actually offended by them.

Tell him I love him and I’m putting the dang thing away for the night. Xxx

We sent a few more texts before I shut off the phone, shaking my head at Mom’s latest pastime. She saw no reason to live in the real world, and instead spent her time on the periphery. Dad was much the same, and it often struck me how normal Jen and I were, considering. I could have announced I was going to live my life naked in a commune that worshipped sunflowers and they would have applauded us for following our dreams. They had good hearts, but were just that little bit too away with the fairies…

Growing up hadn’t been easy when they were M.I.A. for yet another school play, or at exam time when we needed some semblance of stability. They were often the laughing stock of Whispering Lakes, their behavior always fodder for local gossip which was tough when you were a kid. Even now there was still that same whispering behind hands when I walked past, laughter following me down the long road to home, and I’d wonder what they’d done this time. They lived life on their terms though and as unreliable as they were, you had to give them a grudging amount of respect for it. They didn’t care one iota what people thought about them. There was a freedom in that.