About the Author

REBECCA RAISIN is the author of several novels, including the beloved Little Paris series and the Gingerbread Café trilogy, and her short stories have been published in various anthologies and fiction magazines. You can follow Rebecca on Facebook, and at www.rebeccaraisin.com

Readers Love Rebecca Raisin

‘Absolutely loved this book!’

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Also by Rebecca Raisin

Christmas at the Gingerbread Café

Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Café

Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café

The Bookshop on the Corner

Secrets at Maple Syrup Farm

The Little Bookshop on the Seine

The Little Antique Shop under the Eiffel Tower

Celebrations and Confetti at Cedarwood

Brides and Bouquets at Cedarwood Lodge

Midnight and Mistletoe at Cedarwood Lodge

Christmas at Cedarwood Lodge

Rosie’s Travelling Tea Shop

Aria’s Travelling Book Shop

The Little Perfume Shop off the Champs-Élysées
REBECCA RAISIN

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Rebecca Raisin 2020

Rebecca Raisin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9781474035521

Version: 2019-12-04

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Readers Love Rebecca Raisin

Also by Rebecca Raisin

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Jeff. Like Del in this book we’ll always wish for just one more day …

Chapter 1

Sunlight blistered the window of the car, shooting in bright prisms of light as I unfurled, shaking the grogginess of travel fatigue. The chauffeur came to a slow stop at the entrance of an apartment just off the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Goggle-eyed, I stared at my new lodgings, awed at the grandeur, from the wrought iron balconies to the elaborate stone work surrounding the windows whose white shutters were thrown open to receive the breeze. Planter boxes housed a riot of red flowers which spilled over in search of the sun.

I was going to live here? A place so wildly different from the family ranch in Michigan, it may as well have been on another planet. I thanked my lucky stars once more.

‘Mademoiselle,’ the driver said smoothly. ‘Aurelie will meet you at the entrance.’

‘Thank you, Monsieur.’ With brisk efficiency he exited the car and opened my door, took my bag, and led me to the grand entrance.

‘Do you need anything else?’ he asked in heavily accented English.

I shook my head and smiled. ‘No, I’m all right. Thanks for the lift.’ I waved him goodbye as he sped off, blasting his horn at unsuspecting pedestrians. From what I’d seen so far, the French drove like they were competing in Le Mans, hair-raisingly fast, beeping and cornering like they had someplace special to be.

I checked my watch and glanced up. A second story curtain shivered as if someone stood just behind it. Aurelie? I clutched my small suitcase close and waited while doubt grabbed a stranglehold.

What if I was out of my depth here? What if the other contestants all knew more than me with their formal training and chemistry degrees? What if … I gave myself a stern talking to – no more what ifs. I was just as good as anyone else, if not better! So I’d struggled a little without Nan when it came to composing new formulas; I was sure it was just a stage and I’d soon be back to my best with my secret weapon, Nan’s trusty perfumery bible. And I had passion, enthusiasm, and the desire to win.

Honestly, it could have been Mars and I’d have been happy to escape the gossipy confines of aptly named Whispering Lakes and everything I’d left behind.

The application process for the Leclére Parfumerie competition had been interminable, with rigorous testing in every facet of perfumery. I’d made videos, sent perfume samples, been grilled by the Leclére management team over Skype about perfume regions, produce, blending, extraction techniques, ageing, and marketing strategies. They’d frowned at first when I explained I used perfumery almost like a tonic for all that ails, so I soon stopped mentioning that and focused on wowing them with secret formulas I’d developed with Nan. Thankfully, she’d left me them as a legacy, but I knew I needed to step out from the shadows and make my own again soon. It felt so wrong without her, that’s all. Like part of me was missing.

It had taken months to get to the last round of the application process; so many times I thought I’d bomb out, so when I got The Call I felt like I’d earned my place. And the timing couldn’t have been better. This was my chance to escape small town living, and take my perfumery to the next level.

The grand prize was an impressive amount of money, and the chance to design a perfume range which would open a lot of doors in the notoriously cliquey world of fragrance.

So here I was, in the most romantic of cities. The Leclére Parfumerie store was just down the street; I couldn’t quite make it out but the alluring scents of jasmine, cedar, and French vanilla drifted into the summer day, beckoning to me like some kind of fragrant Pied Piper. Could I resist the urge to follow my nose? The mélange of aromas was intoxicating and warranted further investigation …

As I dithered about taking a quick peek, my scarf disentangled itself and flew across the street, the delicate silk undulating in the wind. Without thinking I stepped off the curb to grab it, just as a car whooshed past perilously close, sending me sprawling backwards to the pavement. With an oomph I landed hard, hurting both my derrière and my pride.

Taking a shuddery breath, I caught the eye of an attractive stranger across the road. His face was etched with concern, his deep green eyes clouded with worry. Red-faced, I shrugged in apology to the man, the witness of my near miss. Our gazes locked for fraction of a second. Time stopped and my lonely heart skipped a beat. That feeling was quickly replaced by mortification, so I closed my eyes and counted to ten, trying to steady my heart. When I looked up again, he gave me a brief nod and continued on, striding down the Champs-Élysées, hands in his jean pockets, black hair ruffled and windswept.

Whew! I reminded myself I wasn’t in Whispering Lakes anymore and couldn’t just blithely step out on the road like I could back home. I took some comfort in the man whose concern had given me pause. And a little zap of longing too.

Standing up, I patted myself down and straightened my skirt just as Aurelie appeared. With immaculately coiffed hair and make-up she walked surefootedly in high heels and came to greet me, smelling of Indian rose, a scent I adored. She had the posture of a dancer, and was lithe and graceful, a trait it seemed many French women shared. Was that glamour something they were all born with? Or was it something they were taught? I envied it. My newly purchased clothes suddenly seemed gauche, so obviously chain-store bought.

‘Welcome, Del.’ She smiled graciously and ushered me into a luxurious foyer, all gilt and dark wood, velvet draperies, the scent of polish and whispers from the past. It was grand and sumptuous, and I had to work hard not to stand there slack-jawed with wonder.

Aurelie smiled as if she knew what I was thinking. ‘Welcome to Paris,’ she said in thickly accented English. ‘I’ll to take you to your room so you can settle in. Hopefully Seb will be along later to greet you.’

Hopefully? Sebastien had been promoted to head of Leclére Parfumerie after his father’s death, but so far I’d had no contact with him despite the myriad of calls that had gone back and forth between me and the management team in the lead up to the competition. Truth be told, I itched to meet the enigmatic man because there was so little known about him. All my internet searches had come up blank.

‘I’m looking forward to meeting him,’ I said as a yawn got the better of me. Damn! It smacked of bad manners and my nan would have told me so in no uncertain terms.

‘You must be tired from all that travel?’ Aurelie said with a smile.

‘Yes,’ I laughed. ‘I binge-watched TV shows on the flight when I probably should have tried to sleep.’ Who knew air travel was so fun? From the little bags of peanuts to the plastic flutes of champagne, I’d said yes to everything offered, delighting in it all. And now I was too wound up to feel anything other than excitement and a new level of jitters.

‘Enjoy every moment, I say. Life is for living.’

There was a real warmth in the French woman; she wasn’t the least bit standoffish like I’d presumed the Lecléres would be. They’d shunned the press for years claiming their perfumes told their own stories and they refused to muddy those with their own, so I expected her to be more contained, less friendly.

After the death of their patriarch, Vincent, things were changing. It was out of character for the family to open their doors and let strangers in. Was son and heir Sebastien going to make his own mark on the world of perfumery? Were they going to expand the business? Were they secretly holding the competition to find another head perfumer? So many questions remained unanswered.

Sebastien was a master at eluding the paparazzi and after many years they’d eventually given up, so what the man looked like was a mystery. I imagined the stereotypical perfumery nerd; the typical pinched-face, thin-lipped, starved-of-sun type. Sad as it was, I could’ve used a good dose of vitamin D myself.

‘Come this way. I want to show you something,’ she said and led me back outside.

I followed Aurelie’s brisk pace, and then came to a sudden stop. Before me stood the wondrous Leclére Parfumerie. At the sight of the legendary boutique my pulse raced. I’d dreamed of stepping into this fragrant nirvana for years! Any good perfumer revered Leclére and its heritage; it was famous the world over because Vincent had turned the art of making fragrance on its head and revolutionized scent, but the store resembled an old apothecary, and was even more breathtaking in person. ‘Oh, Aurelie, this is like something out of a dream!’

‘Our little version of Wonderland …’

The dark stone façade of the store was weather beaten and grey with age. Thick teal-blue velvet ruched draperies graced the edges of the window. Inside, antique chairs in hues of royal blue sat solemnly in front of golden display cabinets. Knotty and scarred cabinetry lined the walls, and housed a range of lotions and potions. A black and white portrait of the master himself, Vincent Leclére, hung centre stage. The eccentric man with kind eyes and a secretive smile.

Perfume bottles glowed under soft spotlights. They were unique to each other; some were fringed with delicate gold beading, others had sparkling crystal stoppers. What magical scent did they contain? It was all I could do not to step inside and test them all on the soft skin on the inside of my wrist. Just as I pulled myself from the window I caught sight of a woman who looked so much like that red-haired, powerhouse singer from the UK. When that famous bawdy cackle of hers rang out I was certain it was her.

If rumors were true, Leclére perfumed the biggest names in showbusiness, but of course the family never uttered a word about their famous clients. ‘Is that …?’ Today was no different; Aurelie gave me the ghost of a smile and just lifted a brow.

Aurelie pointed out this and that of special significance through the window – a pretty pink high-back chair that had once belonged to a princess long gone from this world, and was gifted to Vincent, along with her antique dressing table where customers now sat and stared at their reflections. Did the princess visit the store late at night, the mirror a portal from another world? As farfetched as the idea was, the perfumery gave you that kind of impression, that it was a place where magic abounded.

And it was so French, I felt as though I’d stepped into a vintage postcard. Even though Jen wasn’t here, I could hear her voice. Would you look at that, she’d say, or aren’t you a lucky thing getting to visit Paris? If only my twin sister Jennifer could see the perfumery! She’d be clutching my arm and exclaiming at everything like a child.

There was a dull ache in my heart when I thought of her, a quiet thump that reminded me we were under different patches of sky for the first time ever. She was the girl who mirrored my movements, finished my sentences and was identical to me in every way except she was born with no sense of smell. Incredible really, when I lived, breathed and dreamed fragrance. Still, we had planned on opening our own business. The perfumery boutique we envisaged, our empire, the thing that would take us from small town Michigan and catapult us into the stratosphere, was on hold. Indefinitely. It still smarted, to be honest, the way she just gave up on me. Never in a million years did I see that coming – not from my twin, the girl who wanted the same things as me. Or so I’d thought.

But I was here now, fresh start and all that.

‘You’ll have more time to explore the perfumery,’ Aurelie said, bringing me back to the present. ‘But for now, let me show you to your home for the next little while.’

Back at the apartment, Aurelie glided noiselessly upstairs while I clomped behind her, hefting my suitcase and trying not to huff and puff like I was out of shape. The space was rich with the scent of French cooking; buttery garlic, white wine, fresh thyme, and something delectable slowly simmering, its intoxicating flavors wafting through the walls.

‘Down the hall to the left is a sitting room and there’s a shared kitchen and dining room just past that. If you want anything in particular, let me know. You have a mini kitchenette in your room, but any proper cooking will have to be done in the shared kitchen. I trust you’ll enjoy it here.’

I nodded my thanks.

‘This is where you’ll stay with your roommate, our Parisian entrant Clementine. If you need me there’s an information pack on the bedside table with my contact details. The afternoon is yours, though there’s not much left of it. Dinner is at eight o’clock at our apartment. Sebastien will be there to welcome you.’

‘Merci, Aurelie,’ I said mustering a smile. There’d be plenty of time to size up the other contestants at dinner, to find out where they were from and most importantly about their perfumery. I was eager to make friends with people who didn’t know every last detail about me the way they did back home.

Here I’d just be me, not Jen’s twin, not the daughter of wandering hippies. It could be a reinvention, of sorts. Alone, I would learn about myself in a way I hadn’t before. Out of the fishbowl, and into one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Who would I be?

Chapter 2

Inside my new abode, I slung my handbag on one of the beds and gazed around. While it was economically sized, it was immaculate. Two double beds took up the majority of the space and were dressed in fine white linen with plump European pillows. The room was light and bright and utterly Parisian with little touches here and there to make it homely. A vase of fresh peony blooms sat on a chest of antique drawers and perfumed the space. There was a small bathroom with plush white towels, and by the balcony was the kitchenette, which was really only an island bench with coffee and tea supplies and a small bar fridge underneath. I resisted the urge to call my sister, as I’d normally have done. I had to prove I could live without her; I didn’t need to check in every five minutes anymore. Did I?

Outside from the balcony, I caught a glimpse of the Arc de Triomphe standing elegantly as it had done for hundreds of years. The Avenue des Champs-Élysées was abuzz with tourists, cameras slung around necks, and maps held aloft, ice creams melting down hands. Cars zoomed up and down and a world of accents bounced towards me. It was so damn hectic!

A commotion rang out down the hall, and I turned to the sound, straining to make out what was being said.

A loud French voice carried, along with the rolling of a suitcase or two.

‘Excusez-moi, out of the way, please. Ooh la la, these are heavy.’

I could smell the woman before I could see her. Her perfume was an intense mélange of sultry fig bursting with the intense sweetness that comes with ripe fruit.

‘Bonjour, bonjour, coming through.’ It sounded like she was barreling people out of the way as she stomped noisily down the hall looking for her room, our room. I held my breath for a moment. Did she always make such a loud entrance?

A few moments later the door flew open and there she stood.

‘Del!’ she said, launching at me, hugging me to her as if we were long-lost friends, squishing the breath from my lungs. ‘I’m Clementine, and I’ve ’eard all about you. The American girl with the best nose in the business.’ When she freed me, I gulped for air, before taking in my roommate. She was exquisite with her voluptuous figure, form-fitting dress and heavily rouged cheeks. Next to her curvaceous body, I felt suddenly boyish with my straight up-and-down physique.

My mousy-brown waves and more naturally made-up face were no match for her cascading blonde curls, bright blue doe eyes, and bee-stung scarlet lips. Her style was quite incredible, almost burlesque in its extravagance. I was no slouch in the fashion department; I followed trends just like the next girl, but Clementine was something else. It took guts to dress so outrageously, and pull it off.

‘Bonjour! I love your outfit,’ I said, giving her a wide smile.

She paid no heed to the compliment, instead shaking her head and sighing theatrically. ‘This?’ She pointed to her hourglass figure, swathed in ruby-red velvet. ‘I have a little … ’ow you say, addiction to the cherry clafoutis. Nothing can cure me of it except another bite of the sweetness itself.’ She tutted. ‘French women don’t get fat …? That’s what is said, non? Pah! French women can do whatever the ’ell they like! Fat, skinny, square, triangle, I don’t care! No one shall dictate to me! You know my maman?’

Of course I didn’t, but that had no bearing on the story as she continued. ‘Well, she says I’ll never get married if I eat the way I do. Says I’m not a real Parisian with my appetites! I should show restraint.’ She reeled back as if it was a dirty word. ‘But why? Why should I deny myself pleasure? A man will surely love all of me, if he’s the right man.’ She patted the soft swell of her belly. ‘And until then I’ll eat whatever I please, whenever I please.’

Another girl, with vivid red hair straightened to a shine sashayed past, stopping to lean on the door jamb. ‘It’s not a matter of depriving oneself, Clementine, it’s simply a matter of balance.’ The redhead conveyed in one long look that she thought Clementine was on a slippery slope to imbalance. The pair obviously knew each other, but the girl had an English accent.

‘Pah,’ Clementine said. ‘That’s why these girls are always so misérable.’ She waved her French-polished nails at the redhead. ‘They’re hungry.’

My mind had to work overtime to make sense of Clementine’s hastily delivered, emphatic and heavily accented monologue – and to keep my laughter in check. She was so dramatic and more overt than the Parisian women I’d come into contact with so far.

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 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, damn it, 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 3

‘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 soulmate. 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 fairytale 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 at 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 and 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 4

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 ores, 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.’

With a bit of effort, I managed to 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.

That freedom came at a cost though. Nan and Pop raised us, Mom and Dad were more like errant siblings than parents. I gave myself a few minutes to grieve again for the woman I’d lost and the one who was left behind.

Don’t give into it, Del. Grief was a strange thing. Even after all these years it crept up when you least expected it.

I heard Nan’s voice, like I sometimes did: Come on, Del. Pull those shoulders back and go wow those people!

OK, OK! I smiled at the memory as I dithered about which perfume to wear. It had to be perfect because it would set the tone for who they perceived me as. The Madagascar rose was too soft, too dreamy for a group setting. The citrus blast was a daytime fragrance. Oriental flare, maybe? It was spicy and sultry, a balmy evening scent and had enough oomph to stand out in what would be a very fragrant group. Although, I also had my special remedy cache – aromatherapy oils made for certain situations: to calm, to endear, to love, laugh – but tonight I would need to show them what I was capable of …

I spritzed the perfume on my pulse points and grabbed my handbag on the way out. Clementine had left earlier and hadn’t returned so I locked the room and wandered down the hallway. A few doors down, a rail-thin guy wearing an ill-fitted suit swore as he tried to lock his door.

‘Can I help?’ I asked. His hands shook and when he turned to me I smelled the sourness of stale alcohol on his breath. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot but he smiled, making his features impish, which contrasted to his scruffy appearance that even a suit couldn’t disguise.

‘This blasted key won’t fit.’

Another contestant, but who? His accent was American but with almost an English inflection. ‘Let me try,’ I said, taking the key and slipping it easily into the lock.

‘Must’ve needed a woman’s touch,’ he laughed. ‘I’m Lex,’ he said.

‘From …?’ I asked as I held out a hand to shake.

‘World citizen,’ he said swaying slightly on his feet. ‘But I’ve just flown in from Thailand. And you?’

There was something amiable about the guy despite his scruffy appearance and hollowed features. With his rheumy eyes, and wrinkled brow I put him at around fifty, maybe fifty-five years old. His fragrance was marred by the stale smell of cheap wine, with the undercurrent of mint as though he’d tried to mask it.

‘I’m Del from America.’

‘Shall we, America?’ He extended an elbow so I looped my arm through, feeling strangely at ease with him, like I would an uncle or someone harmless.

‘So tell me,’ he continued, ‘what are they like? They’re not all chemistry nerds, are they?’ While he slurred his words slightly, he still had a sparkle in his eye that led me to believe the alcohol he’d consumed didn’t affect his thought process at all. Maybe he hated flying and had imbibed? Who was I to judge? Though a simple oil blend of basil, clary sage, palmarosa and ylang ylang could have helped alleviate his fear of flying if that was the indeed the case …

‘I’ve only met Clementine and Kathryn properly, and they seem …’, I grappled with words to describe the crafty duo, ‘… well studied about their opposition.’

‘Internet stalkers, you mean?’

I laughed, liking that he played it down, as if it was nothing to be concerned about. ‘Pretty much. They seem to think Anastacia is the one to watch.’

‘Ah, it’s always the Russians who get cast as the bad girls. And how did they rate you?’

I shrugged, not wanting to share their summation of me because I didn’t want him purposely pitting against me if he thought I was a threat. I kept reminding myself to watch what I said, and not give too much away.

‘They didn’t say much at all,’ I lied, smiling up at my new friend. ‘No fancy chemistry degrees for me. I was taught by my nan at home …’ So my nan had one of the best noses in the business; there was no need to share that piece of information.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you are one to watch then. You home-taught perfumers always want it more for some reason. A point to prove and all that.’

Lex had an innate skill at reading between the lines. Perhaps he was the one to watch. ‘I wish,’ I said, making my voice light. ‘I’ve never been to Paris. It’s about the experience for me.’

He grinned as if he wasn’t going to pull me up on the lie. ‘The world of perfumery is much smaller than you think; everyone has secrets which aren’t so hard to uncover, so tread carefully, and don’t trust anyone.’

‘Including you?’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Especially me.’

I returned his smile but I didn’t believe a word of it. What was the worst any of them could do? Hunt for one of my formulas? Gossip about me? Big deal. It would all hinge on our perfumery skills.

Generally speaking, perfumers were quiet, studious types who found comfort in numbers, formulas, the magic of chemistry. I doubted they’d be devious, or play unfairly. But I didn’t really know that for certain, and with the prize on offer it could potentially turn a quiet wallflower into someone else entirely, so I’d just tread carefully until I got to them know them all.

We walked out into the starlit evening. ‘So let me guess, your nan was some kind of cloistered genius and she’s passed on her gift to you?’

I laughed. ‘Yes, you could say that. Though she was fond of making perfume almost like an elixir.’

‘A cure-all? Why not!’

I smiled. Most people never understood that. Nan believed the right scent could cure anything from heartbreak to the common cold. She was way ahead of her time. Aromatherapy was huge these days, but she’d taken it further, and decades before it was in fashion too. It was where I saw my own niche in the world of fragrance, making not just a scent, but bottling a perfume that could lift a mood, throw sunshine on cloudy days …

‘Is she in Paris, along for the ride?’

‘If only,’ I said. ‘She died a few years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. She’s here with me in spirit.’

And she was, or at least I’d convinced myself of the fact so I could function without her. Still, I knew I’d never forget the day she died. It’d been memorable for so many reasons. We’d almost perfected a heritage rose perfume based upon the bloom of first love. I’d railed that you couldn’t bottle love – how could you? We’d been missing a key ingredient to balance the perfume but we couldn’t figure it out.

Nan had joked it was because I hadn’t fallen in love before; I hadn’t explored the world and learned how to say the words I love you in three different languages. She was always on about that; fall in love, tell the man you love him in French, in German, in the language of love itself … whatever that meant! God, I missed my whimsical nan.

I’d scoffed that day, rolled my eyes and gone back to trying to capture the elements we were missing but falling short.

It was the closest we’d come to capturing something as tangible as love in a bottle. It was a concoction of rose, cashmere wood, raspberry leaf, patchouli, freesia and blackcurrant, but lacked an element, an aroma we just couldn’t pinpoint.

That antique rose perfume remained there still, unfinished. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it without Nan.

Those early days were grey and full of the scent of rain without her.

‘Let’s meet this motley group then,’ I said, smiling and shrugging off the cloak of memory so it didn’t bring me down.

Chapter 5

We arrived at the Lecléres and were shown to an enormous and elegant dining room by an elderly man in a suit that fit much better than Lex’s did. The chatter stopped immediately and all eyes landed on us like laser beams. Some gave us slow onceovers, others cocked heads and smiled, a few narrowed their eyes summing us up with one long stare. Contestants and the Leclére management team mingled as I tried to put faces to names from our various video calls.

A trio broke from their circle and came over to introduce themselves. Someone handed me some champagne which I guzzled to settle my nerves. My roommate sauntered over, a faux fur stole over her shoulders despite the warm weather.

‘Clementine,’ I said, relieved to see a familiar face. ‘This is Lex. Lex, this is my roommate, Clem.’

Introductions were made and more bubbles quaffed. Clementine barely let anyone get a word in, so most of us slowly edged away from her, clustering in couples making polite if not stilted conversation. Kathryn called me over and I excused myself from Lex.

‘So where is Sebastien, then?’ she asked, casting her eye around the room.

I surveyed the men present and recalled their faces from innumerable video chats, so none of them were the great man himself. He’d be tall, and wiry, and have intense eyes that darted about. Or would he be more masculine and suave, letting his famous name carry him?

‘I don’t think he’s here or surely he’d have introduced himself,’ I said with a sigh. No wonder no one could snap a picture of him, he never turned up. ‘Is he even real?’

‘Makes you wonder,’ Kathryn said. ‘Aurelie’s not here either. Some welcome party.’ She toyed with her napkin. ‘It’s all a little strange, this whole competition. Why would they suddenly open their doors to strangers, when they’ve been so reclusive?’

I’d asked myself the same question too. ‘And now they’re not here. Do you think they’re regretting it?’

She frowned. ‘I hope not.’

‘They’re probably running fashionably late to make a grand entrance once we’ve all broken the ice and got to know each other a bit.’

‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘I suppose we should mingle then.’

Normally I’d hang back and let people come to me, that small town reserve always just below the surface, but no one knew me here, and I could be whoever I wanted. So I made the effort to approach a tall girl who scrolled mindlessly on her phone. I’d done the same thing myself to look busy when I felt like the odd one out, so I introduced myself, only to have her nod as if dismissing me on sight. So much for feeling emboldened.

‘And you are …?’ I pressed on, not ready to give up, on pride alone.

‘Anastacia.’

‘From?’

‘Moscow.’

It was like talking to a rock. And she was the one they were worried about? Boredom shone from her half-lidded eyes, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of here.

Part of me wanted to walk away, but another part told me to persevere. Maybe Anastacia felt wildly out of place and her silence was all an act.

‘I’m from Michigan,’ I said.

Again, the brief nod.

Clementine chose that moment to wander over; she must have sensed my unease. ‘Del, come and try the canapés, they’re divine.’

At the sound of Clementine’s voice Anastacia’s head snapped up, and the pair stared each other down, a bitterness charging the air. I had the distinct impression Clementine was envious of the girl, or felt threatened by her, and that’s why she was telling anyone who listened to watch out for her.

With one last withering stare, Clementine grabbed my elbow and steered me away. ‘Isn’t she icy cold?’ she said in a stage whisper loud enough to bounce around the room.

‘She’s probably out of her comfort zone.’

‘Non, non, don’t be fooled. You have to remember this is a competition.’

I shrugged. Clementine would have had you believe we were contestants on Survivor the way she acted, and it dawned on me that I’d have to be careful around the beautiful Parisian girl, and keep her onside so I wasn’t suddenly offside.

Before long we were huddled with the management team who were intent on grilling us all over again. We’d answered their questions enough, hadn’t we? Couldn’t we let our perfumery talk for us here? One of them, Luc, a tall blonde man with a pinched face, took me by the elbow. ‘Del,’ he said, in a deep voice. ‘How do you think you’ll cope here, without the comforts of home?’

‘Great,’ I said, trying to make the lie sound genuine. ‘I’m ready to forge ahead now, step away from what I know.’ Truth be told, I worried I’d freeze up. Forget everything Nan taught me. Be so far out of my depth I’d drown. But I had to keep my game face on for now, and hope it all came together.

‘So would you say you’re ready to break the rules?’

‘My nan never followed the rules, she made her own, and I am very much the same.’ I lifted my chin. Luc smiled. ‘Good, very good. You are our wildcard. The one who could go either way.’ He drifted off and I was glad he couldn’t see the hurt on my face.

The wildcard? Did that mean I wasn’t as talented as the rest but they’d been prepared to take a risk on me? Whatever confidence I’d had vanished, taking the breath from my lungs. Despite my bluffing, they’d picked up on the fact I’d struggled with perfumery since my nan died. It just wasn’t the same without her. I could mix oil blends, and simple scent remedies but the more complex perfumes eluded me. Without her it was like working with my eyes closed; I’d lost that vision. Had my sister noticed that too? And was that why she hadn’t wanted to risk the money she’d been saving for years? Suddenly I felt impossibly alone, and close to tears.

As the night wore on my feet ached and my eyes grew heavy. I longed for escape. When dinner was finished and the Lecléres still hadn’t arrived, I made my excuses and left them all gossiping heatedly about where the Lecléres were and why they hadn’t shown up to host their own welcoming party. No two ways about it, it was strange, but gossip wasn’t my thing, and the answer would arrive eventually whether we clustered around guessing or not.

My heels bit into my feet as I walked, making my hobble from earlier more pronounced, so when I came to a wine bar right near my apartment, I stopped and peered in. Only a handful of people dotted the place, so I ventured in and took a stool at the far end of the bar. I wasn’t one to drown my sorrows at the bottom of a wine glass, but tonight it seemed the tonic. One glass of wine and then bed. It wouldn’t do to start the first challenge fuzzy headed.

The barman took my order and poured me a glass of white wine and placed a small bowl of peanuts next to it. I took a handful, and munched away, mind spinning at all that had happened, and grateful for the space to think without the contestants nearby.

Part of me wanted to relish this new persona, this girl who sat in wine bars late at night in exotic locales. Why not? Just hearing French accents spring about the room was intoxicating. I could have listened to them all night and it stopped me from worrying as I got lost among their musical accents.

‘Are you following me?’

I turned to a velvety French voice. Oh, jeez. If Jen was here she’d be harping on about fate and divine intervention. The fact that I’d run into this guy three times in one day! ‘I was here first, so you must be following me.’

He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes, as though he’d shrugged off the stresses of his day and was relaxed and amiable, different to the stiff-shouldered, smoldering-eyed guy in the daylight. ‘I promise I’m not,’ he said. ‘I live around the corner.’

‘I’m close by too,’ I said, feeling a little buzz that I could say I lived in Paris. ‘Have you just finished work?’ Despite the hour he wore a dark suit, his tie loosened off a notch as if it had been strangling him and he was finally free of it.

‘Not quite,’ he sighed and scrubbed at his face. Just then his phone buzzed but he ignored it. ‘I have a few more things to do when I get back. I needed a break, to step away from it all.’

‘I know how you feel,’ I said. ‘I’ve just come from this dinner, and suddenly it was all too much.’

‘Why?’ He sipped his red wine. His phone buzzed again and this time he switched it off.

How to tell him? We weren’t supposed to advertise the fact we were working with Leclére Parfumerie, as per the competition rules. The team didn’t want rogue reporters getting any inside information. ‘Well, it was just a little overwhelming. I’m not used to being among such competitive people. I’ll have to learn how to handle that.’ Oh, god I sounded like some backwater hillbilly.

‘Paris is a good place to discover who you are. And competitive people usually show their hand early on and then fizzle out.’

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I need to be one step ahead of them. My whole future depends on it.’

‘Why’s that?’ he asked, his fingers worrying the stem of his glass.

I told him all about my sister, and our doomed plans, leaving out any talk of perfumery itself. How I had to make a go of it here, or else there was nothing left for me. It sounded dire, so I tried to laugh it off as if it was nothing.

‘Why can’t you go alone to New York if that’s your dream?’ The wildcard thing flashed in my mind. Maybe I wasn’t as gifted as I thought, and everyone but me knew that. I pushed that anxiety down once more. Nan wouldn’t have boosted me up all these years if I was mediocre, would she?

I realized I hadn’t answered him. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘I see,’ he said, but clearly didn’t.

He’d never understand, he was probably born with a trust fund by the looks of him and probably dabbled in the stock market or something equally high flying. Still, it was nice to chat with someone who didn’t know me but listened intently as if he cared.

Usually I’d never confide in a stranger, but Paris made me bold. There was a freedom in sharing, an almost cathartic quality about it. ‘What about you? You said you’ve got more work ahead of you tonight?’

He nodded, and stared into his wine glass, his demeanor changing at the mention of his work. An uplifting blend of basil, lime and mandarin would lift his mood and galvanize him, but again I didn’t dare mention perfumery because of the rules in my contract, plus the fact he’d probably baulk at the suggestion that a blend of oils could ease his angst. ‘I was supposed to do a lot of things today, but they didn’t happen for various reasons, and I know it’ll make tomorrow so much harder.’

‘Why didn’t you do them? Ran out of time?’

He sighed, and gave me the type of rueful grin that was more a grimace. ‘Some days I find it impossible to do what’s expected of me; today was one of those days. It’s like I’m walking through mud, and I wonder why I’m bothering.’

I nodded, watching as the green of his eyes clouded, his mood sobered and I got the feeling it was more than just a hectic work day. Like me, he wasn’t giving away much detail and I respected that.

‘Perhaps tomorrow will be better for both of us. Aren’t we woeful sitting here, slumped over a bar when we’re in Paris?’ Although I didn’t feel particularly woeful. I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in years. Maybe it was the fact he was a good listener, or that we were both having a challenging day and yet we’d found some common ground. Or maybe it was the amount of alcohol I’d consumed.

‘We can only hope.’

I finished my drink, and jumped when I checked the time. It was past midnight! Contestants were supposed to be back in our rooms well before then. A curfew had been set so that we gave the competition our all, and here I was breaking a rule already.

‘Thanks for the chat,’ I said, holding out a hand to shake, feeling a distinct spark when he squeezed back softly.

‘Thanks, Del. It was lovely to meet you without incident this time.’ His eyes sparkled with mirth.

I shook my head, he just had to mention it. ‘Au revoir,’ I said smiling and walking into the balmy night. If only I’d met him at some other time, when I didn’t have my whole future hanging in the balance. It was only later, I realized I hadn’t caught his name, but he’d known mine. Too much champagne, I groaned, had turned me into an over sharer of the worst kind …

Chapter 6

Brilliant sunlight broke through fluffy clouds while I waited impatiently for the day to begin. Challenge one was here, and I was raring to go, albeit with a slight headache. Still, no one seemed any the wiser that I’d crept in past curfew. My secret was safe and I vowed never to do it again.

I showered and dressed as quietly as possible so as not to wake Clementine who slept like she lived – loudly – her snores and random burst of sleep-talking punctuating the space.

‘Del, stop with that thing you are doing. It’s driving me crazy!’ she said, and held a pillow tight to her face.

‘What thing?’ I said, as I sat quietly on the edge of my bed, waiting for the right time to go down to breakfast. I’d already flicked through my nan’s perfume bible and re-made up my face, going from matte red lipstick to nude in an effort to appear barely made up and carefree.

I’d googled the best way to tie scarves (French women are born knowing such a skill and I didn’t want any more roadside scares while I chased an errant piece of fabric!). I’d also settled on wearing a beret for all of three minutes until I realized I was trying too hard. Being a morning person had its fallbacks. And I was not under any circumstances thinking of the guy the universe had flung in my path three times, because I wasn’t here for love. Those deep unfathomable green eyes of his though …

‘Stop that clink, clink, clink!’

‘What clink?’

‘Your bracelets!’

‘Oh! Sorry. Nervous habit. Well you’re awake now. It’s time to rise and shine, Clem.’

‘I’m not awake!’ she hollered. It was evident Clementine only had one volume. Loud.

‘Clem, we have to go soon.’ It wasn’t my place to babysit her, but I didn’t want her to miss the first day.

I opened the curtains and sunshine brightened the room. She tunneled further under the blanket, swearing at me in French.

‘Non, non, non! Shut them!’

‘OK, fine,’ I said, breezily. ‘I’ll be the first one at breakfast and I’m sure I can find out what the challenge is today. I’ll be one step ahead! I’ll probably win this week …’ I let the words hang in the air as she sat bolt upright, her once heat-styled curls a bird’s nest atop her head, smudges of mascara in panda rings around her eyes.

Raking her fingers through her hair and wincing, she said, ‘Argh. You’re right. Give me an hour.’

‘An hour? It’s already seven-thirty. We’re supposed to be at breakfast by eight and be assembled out front of Leclére Parfumerie at nine.’

‘Mon dieu, OK, thirty minutes!’ With a groan she dragged herself from bed and surveyed herself in the mirror, gasping at the sight of her semi-dreadlocked tresses. I shuddered to think how much time Clementine spent on her morning toilette: intensive hair dressing, the over-the-top outfits, make-up application including dramatic fake lashes, and color-coordinated nail polish.

I let out a long sigh, more for effect than anything. ‘Don’t fuss with your hair, just put it in a ponytail.’

She reeled back as if I’d suggested she go running through the streets naked. ‘I don’t think so, ma cherie. Run the iron over my pink dress.’ She hopped into the shower, steam filtering out the open door and filling up the small space.

‘No, Clementine!’ I yelled over the hissing water. ‘I’m not your parlor maid! Just wear something casual.’ Still, I flicked through Clementine’s clothes out of curiosity, each of her dresses more outlandish than the last, but stunning in their extravagance. I envied her confidence to wear such fabulous clothing.

‘Pah! I don’t do casual, Del! Did you see a pair of jeans or a sweater in my collection? Non, because I am French and …’

Before she could start on one of her monologues, I pulled the pink dress from its hanger, and laid it on her bed. ‘All right, relax, it doesn’t need ironing. Just hurry up.’ Honestly, she acted as though she was used to having hired help at her beck and call.

Miraculously she showered in under five minutes and, wrapped in a towel, sauntered back into the room, bare-faced and beautiful. Without all the make-up and the thick ebony eyelash extensions, she was lovely, like something out of a Botticelli painting.

‘Merci, Del,’ she said quietly. ‘Without you, I might have missed the first morning.’ She gave me a grateful smile.

As she pulled the curling iron through her hair, she sung softly to herself. There was no sign of the previous evening’s abundance of vin rouge and lack of sleep, and she looked every inch the bright-eyed sunny Parisian once more. Life was so unfair. If I didn’t sleep well, the next day I resembled the walking dead no matter how much make-up I applied, and today was no better. My eyes resembled a puffer fish in protect mode that no amount of concealer could fix. But I reasoned the French probably grew up quaffing wine so it had no adverse effects on their complexions.

‘We’re roommates so we have to stick together, right?’ I said, knowing I had to be careful of Clementine and keep friendly.

She broke off her song. ‘Oui. You’re mon amie, and I am yours.’

Friends? Perhaps we would be. Once the shutters came down and Clementine wasn’t on show, she was calmer, more real. In front of others she was a caricature; a big, bold woman of the world. Was it a ploy, that drama, to get noticed in the competition, to stand out in the group of perfumers? Hard to tell at this early stage.

Outside, birds chirped; their mellifluous musical chatter drifted in, as they gossiped among themselves and we joined in too. Clementine gave me the low-down on everyone in her overzealous way. She thought Lex was too old to be a threat (he wasn’t that old, and he most certainly was a contender) and Lila was too timid. And Clementine believed that Anastacia was the danger. She’d studied under some formidable perfumers and didn’t give much away about technique or skillset, so she thought we should freeze her out.

‘Freeze her out? Clem, that’s school yard behavior.’

She frowned. ‘Oh, Del, you’ll never get anywhere with an attitude like that! Don’t come crying to me when she wins, then.’

I shook my head. She was clearly put out that I wouldn’t consider such a thing.

‘Trust me, I won’t.’

Thirty-four minutes later we were downstairs and ready to greet the day.

Breakfast was a noisy affair. We ate slowly and had long enough to down a couple of strong black coffees and munch on some fresh flaky croissants before assembling out front as instructed. The mood was ebullient; we all wore wide smiles, and fidgeted and jittered in anticipation. What would the day bring?

Lex wandered over, his face grey in the light of morning as if he hadn’t slept well, but his lopsided smile firmly in place. What kind of perfume would fix that malady, that sleeplessness that plagued him? Maybe a lavender and bergamot blend?

‘Hey, America. Ready to battle it out for the lead?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ I said. The air was electric with the unknown and I couldn’t wait to get started.

Maybe Lex would be an ally? The chat with Clementine and the whole freeze-her-out conversation left me a little dubious about her motivations. There seemed to be two sides to Clementine. I told myself to be careful, and not trust so easily. It was a game, after all, and the desire to win hung heavy in the air, though we all tried to downplay it. But with affable Lex, I felt as though he had the potential to be a real friend, and that I wouldn’t have to pretend around him.

‘What about you?’ I asked.

‘I was born ready,’ he said, laughing, the deep lines near his eyes crinkling like stars.

We huddled together, awaiting the Lecléres. Would there be an explanation as to where they’d been the evening before?

The group hushed as Aurelie appeared, a tight smile in place. Just behind her stood a man, his back to us as he spoke in rapid-fire French on his cell phone. Would this be the elusive Sebastien, finally?

I waited impatiently for him to turn, excited to finally see the man in the flesh! He wasn’t tall like I’d imagined, but he filled out his suit in all the right places, and even from behind, he had a presence you couldn’t miss. He finally pivoted to us with his brow knitted. And those brows were glorious as far as men’s brows went. Black as midnight, and arched just so, framing those luminous green eyes of his. And then it struck me, a realization so chilling I gasped. Please god, he was not the elusive Sebastien Leclére!

Not him! My stomach flipped – of all the luck!

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