The Summer House of Happiness: A delightfully feel-good romantic comedy perfect for holiday!

Chapter Two

No one spoke, everyone just stood motionless, jaws slackened in surprise, waiting for the verbal fireworks Jules Gasnier was famous for to erupt. Gabbie tried to leave the room but her feet felt like they were encased in concrete and refused to obey what her brain was desperately trying to tell them to do. She held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity and saw his surprise morph into fury and finally display a sprinkling of malice. While she knew she should get out of the firing line as quickly as possible, she couldn’t ignore her mother’s voice reverberating in her ears, telling her to stand her ground, to explain the reasons for her decision.

‘Monsieur…’

‘Get out! Get out of my sight, mademoiselle. You will not remain at House of Gasnier for one moment longer!’ he snarled, clearly taking her impromptu resignation as a personal insult and not in the slightest bit interested in hearing her explanation. ‘Did you hear me? Out! Now!’

This time, Gabbie’s feet responded immediately and, with a swift glance in the direction of a very shocked Marianne, she strode from the room, a sensation of lightness, of freedom, rushing through her veins, a thrill of elation settling in her chest. For a brief moment she felt the presence of her mother, smiling at her side, congratulating her on her decision to pursue what made her happy – creating bespoke aromas for real people. She had the training, she had the contacts, but she also had something she had come within a whisker’s breadth of losing – her passion for perfume!

She paused briefly at the end of the pristine white marble corridor to catch her breath and the dulcet tones of Jules Gasnier floated to her ears.

‘Marianne, please ensure that imbécile does not show her face here again! She is finished in this industry – I will make sure of that. Nobody quits House of Gasnier!’

Gabbie’s mood swiftly plunged from the heights of euphoria to the lows of panic. What on earth was she thinking? She had no pot of gold with which to purchase the essential oils needed to start such a business. And without her salary, how was she going to pay for her half of the rent on the little attic studio she shared with Jasmine? An explosion of alarm ricocheted through her body and she only just managed to make it to the bathroom before a wave of nausea enveloped her.

Seconds later, Fleurette burst into the room, concern etched on her attractive features. She reached for Gabbie and pulled her into a rib-crushing hug.

‘Oh, darling! What just happened? Why did you quit? Are you okay?’

Before Gabbie could connect her brain to her modem and even begin to explain the thought process that had caused her sudden loss of sanity, she heard raised voices coming from the other side of the door. She had to concentrate hard to understand what was being said as the exchange was conducted in rapid, irate French.

‘Jules, I implore you to give me the chance to speak to Gabriella, to find out what…’

‘Marianne, ma chère, I think you know me better than most, so let me ask you this. Can you recall a time in the last twenty years when I was persuaded to change my mind about anything? Mmm? Non! Jamais! I will interview Hélèna’s replacement myself.’

‘It’s Gabriella. Jules, please…’

‘Au revoir, Marianne.’

And a sharp clickety-clack signalled the exit of Jules Gasnier from the corridor – and the House of Gasnier from Gabbie’s life. She looked at Fleurette and almost crumbled when she saw the sympathy in her eyes. They both knew Marianne had put her own career on the line to argue Gabbie’s case, and she experienced a surge of gratitude towards her mentor, swiftly followed by a whoosh of shame for letting her down so spectacularly. She should have taken the time to do things properly. Oh, God! Why hadn’t she insisted on staying in bed that morning? The way she had felt, she should have known something like this would happen.

‘Chèrie! Are you in there? Prepare yourself – I’m coming in!’

Jean-Pierre flounced through the door, his arms in the air as he advanced on a surprised Gabbie and forcibly dragged her to his chest, enveloping her in a rich cloud of the heavy, woody cologne he favoured, which was soothing in its familiarity. Marianne followed swiftly on his heels.

‘Jean-Pierre, this is the ladies’ cloakroom! Please vacate immediately!’

Jean-Pierre opened his mouth to argue, then rolled his eyes and strode towards the door, clearly reluctant to miss any ensuing conversation about what Gabbie intended to do next. Marianne waited until the door had swung shut before turning to face Gabbie, her face pale beneath her immaculate cosmetics.

‘Gabbie, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how surprised I am. Tell me, chèrie, is this an aberration because of the stress of this day, or something that’s been fermenting for a while? If it is the former, I will do everything in my power to argue your case with our personnel department, but I have to warn you… Monsieur’s word is usually interpreted as law so I am pessimistic about the outcome. If it is the latter, rest assured I will provide you with the most excellent of references, should you require them.’

‘Thank you, Marianne.’

Gabbie gulped down the emotions spinning through her chest and assured her friend that her decision to quit, while probably not tendered at the most opportune of moments, was something that had indeed been festering for a while.

‘The thought of spending eighteen hours a day in a lab, disconnected from our customers, was never part of my dream. I’m sorry, Marianne. I will always be grateful for everything you’ve taught me, but it’s time for me to move on. If Monsieur Gasnier is serious about his threat, then it looks like my future career will not be in France!’

As the realisation dawned that her sojourn in the perfume capital of the world had come to an end, tears collected along her lower lashes, but she brushed them away, uncomfortable with the sympathy on her colleagues’ faces. She knew her reaction was just the shock of everything that had happened that day rather than regret at her decision.

‘I suggest you go home and spend a few days pondering your next step. If I can help in any way, please just ask. Fleurette will accompany you.’

‘No, there’s no need. Jasmine will be there – it’s her day off today and she’s waiting to hear about… well, about what’s happened. I’ll be fine, and thank you for intervening on my behalf. It was very kind of you.’

‘I did nothing you didn’t deserve.’

Gabbie followed Marianne and Fleurette out into the corridor where Jean-Pierre loitered, looking almost as distressed as she felt. She leaned forward to deposit kisses on his cheeks, unable to formulate words of goodbye for fear she would succumb to a deluge of sobbing. She hugged Marianne and Fleurette and, with mixed emotions and a final wave, left the cathedral of fragrant dreams on the Rue de Bouvier for the final time.

It was lunchtime and the pavement cafés buzzed with hungry diners in search of a tasty morsel and a little something to wash it down with. To Gabbie, this part of the town had always seemed to be bathed in a splash of gold, lighting up the shops and restaurants with warmth and welcome. In these picturesque surroundings, she really should have taken advantage of the glamorous social whirl Jasmine seemed to be consumed by, but she’d become so engrossed in her work that she’d had little free time.

Initially, that had suited her fine because she wasn’t in France to gather a wide coterie of like-minded friends with whom to party the night away, only to crawl into the lab the next day to find solace at the bottom of an espresso cup. In fact, the fewer people she let into her life the better as far as she was concerned.

She’d had a number of dates, the most persistent being motorbike fanatic François, but as soon as he’d suggested moving their relationship on to the next level, she had panicked. She’d explained that it wasn’t him, it was her, and refused any more trips along the Corniche on his Harley Davidson. After that she had limited her increasingly infrequent liaisons to just three dates before gently explaining that things weren’t working and suggesting they might want to take someone else to the beach party in Antibes or the cocktail party on their father’s yacht. Occasionally, there had been a guy whom she had thought she could connect with on a deeper level – Rafael for example. But the shattering truth was that loving someone meant getting hurt when the inevitable happened – and top of her list of life skills was self-preservation.

She wished her attic lodgings were further away so she had more time to process the events that had taken place at House of Gasnier that morning. But before she knew it, she was inserting her key into the sunflower-yellow front door and collapsing onto the vintage sofa Jasmine had acquired from the brasserie downstairs when it was being renovated.

‘Hey! You’re back early! How did it go? Am I looking at the new Coco Chanel? What did Monsieur Gasnier say about your fragrance?’ burbled Jasmine, appearing at the door in a pink silk peignoir before heading straight to the fridge for the bottle of champagne she had hidden there the night before.

As tall and slender as a shop-window mannequin, with a choppy, pixie-style haircut that emphasised her sharp cheekbones and ski-slope nose, Jasmine really should have considered a career in fashion rather than as a part-time hostess at the casino in Cannes. Gabbie struggled to understand her friend’s choice, especially when she had graduated top of their class at GIP. Instead, Jasmine had elected to follow her heart and apply as much of her time as possible to following her wealthy boyfriend around the globe as he competed in every yacht race known to the nautical world in search of his elusive first win.

However, as Jasmine often told her, winning was not the point – it was the taking part, especially in the fabulous locations where these races seemed to be held. Marco was chasing his dreams without so much as a backward glance and was one of the most cheerful and generous people Gabbie had met in France – not to mention the fact that he made Jasmine happy too.

‘You don’t need to open the champagne, Jazz, but thanks for the thought.’

‘Why? Did the famous Jules Gasnier have a spectacular lapse of judgement and choose someone else’s fragrance?’

‘No, it’s not…’

Gabbie was suddenly ambushed by a wave of emotion and struggled to formulate a brief synopsis of how she had tossed her future away in the space of five minutes.

‘Gabbie, what’s wrong? Tell me! What’s happened?’

The fear in her friend’s voice brought Gabbie to her senses. Whatever had happened, it was not the end of the world and no one had died. In fact it was the opposite; it was the beginning of something new, something fresh and exciting! She quickly spilled out every detail of her early morning drama in the presence of the eponymous head of the company she no longer worked for.

‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,’ sighed Jasmine, her dark eyes scouring Gabbie’s face, distress and sympathy written clearly across her expression. ‘So, what are you going to do? You’ll walk into another job, I’m sure of it. Hey, why don’t you come with me and Marco to Antigua next month for the Caribbean 600 yacht race? We’ll have a ball!’

Gabbie’s heart squeezed at Jasmine’s support and generosity. It was a kind offer, but even if she had wanted to join them, she couldn’t afford the flight and nor did she have enough funds to cover her half of the rent for any length of time. While she knew Jasmine wouldn’t even blink an eye at paying the full cost herself until she got back on her feet, she couldn’t allow her friend to do that. She had always paid her way and that wasn’t going to change.

So what was she going to do?

It wasn’t hard to come up with the answer. She would go home to Devon, a place she loved but which, after her mother’s death, held so many painful memories. Apart from the last couple of months, when she had been working flat-out on her summer fragrance, she had made it a priority to meet up with her father in London, because she knew how difficult it was for him to leave the garage and fly to France. She missed him tremendously, and some of the best times she’d had were when he had flown over to Nice and they’d spent the weekend together, sitting at a pavement café, sipping espressos and soaking up the sunshine, watching the beautiful people promenade and the sleek, shiny yachts glide across the sparkling water of the bay.

She knew he too was still grieving for her beloved mother, but the last time she had seen him, at the beginning of summer, she’d noticed that the sunken shadows underneath his crinkly blue eyes had softened. Relief had rippled through her – after all, he was the only family she had left and she worried about him all the time; about how hard he worked, how much he fretted about his car-maintenance empire and the maelstrom of paperwork and red tape that went with running a small business. When she had mentioned his more relaxed demeanour, her father had told her he’d taken on a new mechanic to help him meet increased demand and to step up as his deputy while he was sunning himself on the French Riviera.

It had been one of the most enjoyable, carefree weekends she had spent with him, chatting about her mum, reminiscing about the hours Gabbie had spent with her in the cream-painted summerhouse in the back garden, laughing at the myriad concoctions the two of them had come up with to relieve the strain of her cancer treatment, but some of which had just made Sofia feel more nauseous. Gabbie wished with all her heart that she’d had the benefit of her GIP training during that difficult time, when she had yearned to create a fragrance, an aroma, a scent, a lotion, anything that could alleviate her mother’s suffering, even for a short time.

With some difficulty, she dragged her thoughts back to the present and smiled at Jasmine. ‘A trip to Antigua sounds wonderful, Jazz, but I’ve decided to go home. I miss Dad, and I know he misses me too but doesn’t want to stand in the way of me pursuing my dreams. I even miss the garage, would you believe, and maybe this is fate giving me a gentle nudge in that direction, telling me it’s time to face my demons head-on, instead of giving them headroom where they can relax and be pampered. If I do that then maybe I’ll be able to move on and find someone to share my life with, like you have with Marco.’

‘An excellent plan! I’m sorry about what happened with Jules Gasnier, Gabbie, but if it means you’re going to have the time and space to work through your grief at last, instead of hiding from it under the guise of a manic work schedule, then it’s the best thing that could have happened to you – and I know Jeff is going to be overjoyed to have you home. Hey, maybe Marco and I can call in when we come over for the Royal Regatta?’

Gabbie laughed for the first time that day. Jasmine always had her mood-o-meter switched to positive and she knew her friend’s influence had a huge impact on her life. She and Marco had been there to celebrate every accolade she had achieved with her perfumes, every namecheck in the trade press and glossy magazines, not to mention the fact that Jasmine insisted on wearing nothing else but her creations! She would miss her friend’s talent for introducing a little ray of sunshine into the darkest of days, and resolved to ensure they stayed in touch, even if an ocean separated them. Friends like Jasmine, and Clara, her best friend at home, were just too precious to lose.

‘I’d love to see you and Marco in Devon – and so would Dad!’

‘Then it’s a date. Gabbie, you know what I’m always telling you, yes? When one door closes, another is ready to be flung open! I know you thought House of Gasnier was your dream job, but dreams can and do change, you know, and being back home will help you figure out what the next stage of your life has in store – professionally and romantically. Sofia would never have wanted you to shy away from finding someone who makes your heart sing – because that’s exactly what she found with Jeff.’

Gabbie knew her friend was right. No matter how confused she felt at the sudden turn of events that had resulted in her resignation, nothing came close to the pain she still nurtured in her heart and carried with her every day, no matter where she chose to make her life. It was time she worked on coming to terms with her loss, just as her father was, and allowing someone into her heart again.

Chapter Three

The journey from Nice airport to her childhood home in Devon passed in a blur of frenetic activity. She had flung everything she couldn’t bear to part with into a suitcase, then told Jasmine she could keep what she wanted from whatever remained and take the rest to the homeless charity which the two of them, along with Marco, had raised money for in a canoe race the previous month during one of her rare days off.

When she arrived at Gatwick she had stupidly glanced in the bathroom mirror and a jolt of shock reverberated around her body. The previous day she had faced the world – albeit courtesy of Jasmine – looking polished and elegant in a pair of Louboutins and a three-hundred-euro dress. Now look at her – she looked as if she’d been dragged through Customs on the back of a tractor! Her hair was no longer pinned in a sleek mahogany chignon but had ballooned into a candyfloss mess.

However, Gabbie didn’t care what she looked like. Until she had relocated to France, sartorial perfection had been low on her list of priorities. She much preferred to sport a pair of comfortable old dungarees, more than likely enhanced with a splodge of oil from when she had helped her father change an exhaust or fit a new clutch. Sadly, jeans were frowned upon at House of Gasnier and she’d been towed around the boutiques in Grasse by Jasmine, who’d been intent on giving her a lesson in French couture. She hadn’t argued because her theory had always been that if she kept busy, even if it was shopping for dresses – something that had never hung in her wardrobe – there would be no time to contemplate the grenades life had strewn in her path.

She had utilised her time during the flight back to the UK to formulate a believable explanation for her impromptu visit home. Her father had mentioned, only in passing, that the finances at the garage were squeezed, and the last thing she wanted to do was cause him any additional anxiety over the fact that she no longer had a source of income. Despite this complication, she was looking forward to being back.

Yet, Oakley would never be the same ‘home’ as the one that still existed so vibrantly in her thoughts. How could it be when one of the most precious people in her world was no longer there?

Shoving her anguish into the dark crevices of her mind, Gabbie smiled brightly at the monosyllabic taxi driver who picked her up at the station and settled down to enjoy the familiar ride through the Devonshire countryside. When, twenty minutes later, she caught her first glimpse of the white-painted signpost declaring Oakley’s award for Best Village in Bloom – something her mother had loved to be a part of – she almost unravelled. She squirmed at the thought of succumbing to tears in the taxi, but surely it was better than the alternative scenario – to feel nothing at all, to be cold and unmoved by life’s tragedies, wading through life like some kind of automaton?

She paid the driver, watched him screech off to collect his next victim of the silent treatment, and inhaled a steadying breath, taking a few moments to cast her eyes around the place that had been her home for twenty-one years. No matter how hard she had tried to block out this image of bucolic beauty and replace it with an equally picturesque image of Grasse, she had never quite managed it.

Her heart hummed with affection. The village had once been selected as the setting for a TV murder-mystery drama and the locals hadn’t stopped dropping the fact into dinner-party conversations ever since. It was no surprise it had been a star performer, with its thatched roofs, painted window boxes bursting with scarlet geraniums, and the welcoming allure of the village pub – The Pear Tree. However, for Gabbie, it was the people who made the place so special. Every single one of the residents had rallied round to support her and her father in their hour of need; in fact, they still did.

An upsurge of emotion tightened her throat as her eyes were drawn to the church on the other side of the village green, but she just didn’t have the courage to linger on what had happened within its walls. She hitched her canvas bag higher up her shoulder, hooked her fingers around the handle of her wheelie suitcase, and fixed her gaze on the sign in front of her. Immediately the corners of her mouth perked upwards.

Jeff Andrews Autos.

For the first time, she noticed that the blue-and-silver paint had started to peel like sunburnt skin and a couple of the letters were missing. When had that happened? Further inspection revealed that the double doors, currently flung wide open in an expansive and welcoming gesture, could also do with a fresh coat of paint, and there was a tangle of weeds sprouting from the hanging baskets instead of the pale-pink fuchsias her mother had planted every year as part of the RHS Britain in Bloom competition.